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definewisdomTitle: Five times Arthur Pendragon woke up with no memory of the night before... and one night he remembers
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers: None really, 1x01 and that’s pretty much it
Author’s Note: Written for the![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
merlin_the_elf fic exchange for ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
andthedescent Now the reveal has happened, I’m reposting them. The prompts were:
1. Body heat.
2. Arthur gets himself into trouble. Merlin has to save him.
3. Battle. Metaphorical, mental or literal.
This was sort of my attempt to include them all in one mega fic… I’ll leave it to you to judge how well I did.
Oh, and the slight formatting problem should be dealt with now. *facepalm*
Summary: It is not unusual for the Crown Prince of Camelot to wake up with no memory of the night before, sometimes this is a good thing, but mostly it's not.
Five times Prince Arthur Pendragon Woke Up with No Memory of the Night Before… And One Night He Remembers
I.
Merlin was giggling.
That was the first thing Arthur noticed as he woke up. Somewhere to his immediate right his manservant was standing, giggling at him. Well, that and the fact that someone seemed to have stuffed his mouth with goose down, but that was a mere annoyance when compared to the disrespectful outright treasonous idea of giggling at the future monarch. Such an affront to everything decent in the world could not be allowed to continue.
He opened his eyes, with every intention of glaring at the insolent giggler, but as soon as he opened them, light stabbed in at him, making his head reel and his eyelids clamp shut automatically. When had some inconsiderate person turned the sun up? The after image of his servant’s silhouette stuck to the back of his eyelids.
Merlin, he thought uncharitably (noting that someone had stuffed his brain with goose down too – that was probably Merlin as well, the giggling moron), was the only man he knew who giggled. Some men guffawed, others chuckled, several larger gentlemen of his acquaintance laughed heartily. There had even been a Lord once who sniggered, but Merlin was the only man in Camelot who giggled like a little girl.
“Shut the curtains,” he growled through the thick fuzzy feeling in his tongue, trying to maintain his dignity in the front of Merlin’s amusement (sadly he had a sneaking suspicion that he had lost all dignity in Merlin’s eyes a long time ago, if he had ever had any). He heard the quick passage of Merlin’s footsteps to the window and sighed with relief as the light dimmed.
But Merlin was still giggling.
“What is it Merlin?” he said, warily cracking one eye open in a half-hearted glare. His eyes did not seem to want to glare at his manservant, which was particularly insubordinate of them. He wondered if it were possible to get new eyes, ones that glared when he wanted them to, and didn’t burn so much when he tried to open them. He would have to speak to Gaius about it.
Merlin’s only response to his inquiry was a louder giggle, although he had a hand clamped over his mouth.
“Honestly, Merlin. If you’ve lost all your wits at least have the decency to leave me in peace with mine…” he managed to grind out. Even insulting Merlin was coming to him with greater difficulty today; the world was clearly against him. He turned his head and forced it further into his pillow. Maybe he would just take the day off.
“Sire,” Merlin said. Just as he had managed to gain control of his mind once more, Merlin’s voice set it off tilting again. It was especially bad because Merlin only ever said sire in that tone of voice when he was about to do or say something that Arthur would be perfectly within his rights to have him executed for.
“What, Merlin?” he asked through a mouthful of pillow.
“What is that?” his manservant asked unhelpfully.
“What is what?” Arthur replied. He pushed himself over onto his back. Clearly Merlin had decided that he was not going to get any sleep that morning.
“That…” Merlin said and Arthur knew he was going to have to open his eyes again because the idiot was no doubt pointing to something.
“You’re going to have to be a little more specific,” he told his manservant, blinking blearily and attempting to focus.
“That… at the foot of your bed,” Merlin clarified, pointing towards whatever it was, and Arthur followed the line of his finger downwards to the foot of his bed and then he blinked, and then he blinked again.
“Those appear to be my feet,” he said, keeping as calm as he could under the circumstances. Years of being a Prince – a whole lifetime of being a Prince in fact – had taught him that if you treated something like it was completely normal everyone else would think it was.
Sadly, Merlin was not everyone else, and he seemed to have as much survival instinct as a moth drawn to a candle flame.
“Yes, sire,” Merlin agreed, “But what’s on your feet.”
“I believe those are shoes, Merlin. You have seen them before.” They weren’t very comfortable either, although he was fairly certain that if he told Merlin that then his manservant would just start giggling again.
“Yes… on Morgana,” Merlin said and Arthur shot him a glare that should, by rights, have had him running from the room. Any other servant in the castle would have run by now, but then any other servant in the castle would not have woken him up with their inane giggling.
“The problem being?” he asked, looking back up at Merlin who seemed to be looking at his chest now. “What is it now, Merlin?”
“That…”
“We really need to work on introducing you to the English language, Merlin. That is not a very descriptive word.” He paused, waiting for Merlin to continue. However, the servant appeared unable to string a sentence together so Arthur, rolling his eyes, looked down at his chest.
Ah.
“That would be a dress,” he said, surprising himself by how calm his voice was. He had known that agreeing to that third yard of ale had been a mistake, but Sir Lucan had finished three and he was the Prince so he had had to keep up. Of course, that was where it all got a bit blurry, but he could not, for the life of him think of a reason why he would be dressed in a… dress (one of Morgana’s as well if he looked at it closely, and if she found out he was responsible for its going missing he would no doubt suffer great pains).
“I got that,” Merlin acknowledged. “I was just wondering why you were wearing it.”
“Why not?” Arthur asked, forcing himself to look away from the dark silk that was stretched around his body (and not done up, which would explain the strange things digging into his back. “You know how it is when you get drunk, things happen.”
“Yes, sire,” Merlin said, and Arthur could practically see the wheels turning in his manservant’s head. The look of barely restrained amusement said it all.
“If I find out that you told anyone about this,” he said in his best threatening voice, which was a little more difficult to do when he was suffering from abject humiliation and the world was shifting slightly from side to side, “then I will see that you are thrown in the dungeons for the rest of your sorry little life. Understand, Merlin?”
“But I thought it was perfectly normal, sire,” and Arthur wished that the idiot would stop calling him sire because nothing was quite as insulting as the way Merlin called him sire. It made his head hurt. “People get drunk, things happen.” Arthur could feel himself starting to flush and he forced the reaction down, brutally.
“Yes, well… but no one needs to find out about it.” He swung himself out of bed as quickly as he could, ignoring the horrible lurching feeling that struck his stomach when his feet finally hit the floor. “Now… get these things off me and dress me in my proper clothes. You’ve been standing around there doing nothing for far too long.”
“Yes, Arthur,” Merlin said with a quirk of a smile, which Arthur, in spite of himself, returned. Apparently his body had decided that if he was going to be smiling at Merlin then it would behave. He filed that away for future reference and watched as Merlin peeled the dress off him, biting his lip to stop his giggles.
But they weren’t quite as annoying any more.
II.
The world was strangely fuzzy as Arthur opened his eyes, and his bed was a lot harder than he remembered, with long thin lumps in which were digging in to his spine. His pillow seemed to have disappeared as well.
Merlin must have left the window open, he reasoned as a light breeze drifted over his face. Not that that explained why he still had his boots on. He remembered - what did he remember?
He and Merlin had been in the forest, or had that been last week? Maybe there had been a feast, that would explain the way his head was throbbing and his lack of memory and he seemed to remember food – lots of food.
“You’re awake,” Merlin’s face swam into view above him and Arthur stared at him. He had the feeling that something had happened, and there was a bruise blossoming on Merlin’s jaw, hard and purple against his pale skin. Arthur reached out an arm that felt twice as heavy as usual to trace it. Merlin flinched away, his eyes slipping to the side. “What do you remember?” He looked worried and almost guilty. Maybe he knocked Arthur round the head with a big stick again and this was his way of saying sorry. The idiot probably whacked himself in the jaw with it as he was picking it up.
“Where am I?” Arthur asked. The room on the other side of Merlin’s head was a lot greener than he recalled, with spots of blue and a strange effect, as though the ceiling was glowing.
“You’re in the forest, a day’s ride from Camelot,” Merlin told him. Arthur nodded. That made sense – it explained everything from the greenish light – trees, to the uncomfortable long thin lumps – sticks. Except, that was, for the bruise.
“What happened?” He asked, although he knew that he should know that without asking, the lurid purple of the bruise was mocking him with half-memories. Merlin must have been hit pretty hard. It was lucky that his jaw wasn’t broken.
“You don’t want to know,” Merlin told him, smirking slightly as he pulled Arthur up into a sitting position – which was only more comfortable than lying because less of him was touching the hard, lumpy ground. “Believe me.”
“Why are we out here?” Arthur asked and Merlin gave him a searching look.
“You really don’t remember?” There was an unmistakeable tone of relief in Merlin’s voice and Arthur’s curiosity was peaked. Something quite dreadful must have happened, or maybe Merlin fell over and made a prat of himself, pulling Arthur down with him in the process, and he was just glad that Arthur would not have him put in the stocks.
“I remember… we were riding,” he said, bringing a hand up to rub his head gingerly. The lack of memory was disconcerting. It was not like the memory loss he sometimes got from alcohol, the entire night was an empty black space as though someone had sucked his memories out. It made him shiver slightly in distaste. “Then there’s nothing,” he shook his head and immediately regretted the action, the fuzzy feeling grew as though he wanted to go back to sleep. He just wanted to go to sleep. Arthur felt his eyes drift shut and the soothing sound of the wind through the branches above them seemed to be calling him down into unconsciousness.
But Merlin was shaking him, his fingers grasped the Prince’s shoulders and Arthur found himself being shaken and jerked out of his reverie.
“You’ve got to stay awake, Arthur,” Merlin said, and his voice was almost frantic. He was worried, Arthur realised, and Merlin only let himself sound worried when something had gone horribly wrong – life or death wrong, and usually Arthur’s.
“What really happened?” he asked again, allowing Merlin to pull him to his feet. He curled his hands into balls so that his nails bit into his skin, the pain keeping him awake. Merlin slipped an arm under his shoulders, the Prince wanted to protest that he could stand unaided, but when he raised his head, he could feel himself lurch to the side, the only thing supporting him Merlin’s solid presence at his side.
“Come on, Arthur,” Merlin muttered into his ear, “let’s get you home.”
Arthur looked down at the area around him, trying to work out where they were. The clearing they were in seemed man-made somehow, and the trees around the outside form arches, almost like in Camelot’s grand hall. The canopy over their heads was almost like a ceiling and the ground was strewn with flowers. “Where is this place?” he asked again.
“I told you,” Merlin said, trying to move them forwards, but Arthur stubbornly refused to budge. “We’re a day’s ride from Camelot, so we should be getting back soon or we’ll be arriving in the middle of the night.” He was trying to put Arthur off and distract the Prince from what had happened.
Arthur drew in a deep breath, smelling the sweet scent of the flowers and herbs that covered the floor.
“That’s not what I meant, Merlin, and you know it, what is this place?” He felt Merlin exhale, his shoulders falling downwards as the air rushed out of his lungs.
“I’m not really sure, but I think it might be some kind of… grotto,” He shrugged and Arthur’s whole body moved up and down with the movement.
The scent was overwhelming, it seemed to seep into Arthur’s skin, and every breath made him feel lighter, as though the world were falling away from him. His eyelids felt heavy and the world slowly faded into black.
“Arthur!” Merlin’s voice again, calling him back as it always did. “We’ve got to get you out of here.” Arthur’s head jerked up and he swallowed down the urge to fall back to the ground and rest. “Look, just, whatever you do, don’t go to sleep again. I think I got here in time but…” Merlin was looking into the far corner of the grotto, or whatever it was, and Arthur followed his gaze.
There was a crazy moment as though he was seeing double. There was a figure slumped against the root of a tree, not far from where Arthur had been lying himself and as Arthur looked at it – her – she seemed to change. One second she was the most beautiful creature he had ever seen, delicate and slender with rosy cheeks and a figure that made him go weak at the knees (or maybe that was the atmosphere) the next she was strange and otherworldly, her features harsh and pointed, a cruel sneer across her face.
“Is she…?” Arthur left his sentence hanging and Merlin nodded next to him.
“She’s dead, but there might be more. I got as many as I could,” and suddenly Arthur can see, against more distant trees, more of the curious people lying still on the floor, some crushed by trees, others looking as though they had been thrown by some great force. Many had broken limbs, yet the world around them seemed almost undisturbed. “How?” he asked, in confusion. He did not doubt that there had been some attempt on his life, but he could not fathom how Merlin, on his own, could take out all of those assailants. His manservant could barely hold a sword without hurting himself.
“I got lucky,” Merlin said quickly. “I…uh, managed to trick some of them into hitting each other and then they all sort of got involved.”
“Good strategy,” Arthur said with a weary smile, and he knew without looking that Merlin would be smiling at the praise, but he looked anyway, just to remind himself of what that looked like. “So, are you going to tell me what happened before all that, or not?” Merlin laughed as Arthur allowed him to be led away, leaning heavily on the dark haired young man as they made their way out of the clearing.
“The usual really,” Merlin said, chuckling a little under his breath. “You were hunting, you met a woman. She invited you to eat with her – there was a feast, she offered you a drink from her goblet and then you fell under her enchantment.”
“And where were you while all this carousing was going on?” Arthur inquired wryly. As they made their way further away from the clearing his head became clearer and his limbs less heavy.
“They led me into the forest – I thought I was chasing you, but…”
“But you got back in time,” Arthur said, cutting in.
“You know me,” Merlin said, his voice a mixture of relief and laughter that made Arthur smile. “I’m never on time.”
“A fact which is the bane of my life,” Arthur acknowledged, taking more of his weight own feet, but leaning on Merlin just enough that the other young man would not release him.
“But I always get there in the end,” Merlin insisted and Arthur nodded gratefully.
“So, while we were on this terrible adventure, Merlin,” Arthur began, looking around the curiously.
“Yes?”
“Where did you leave the horses?”
III.
“Arthur?” Merlin’s voice was a little gentler than usual as Arthur pulled himself awake. He was used to unceremonious yelling of his name, particularly when he had drunk himself into a stupor the night before. His head did not feel that bad, though, a fact he was grateful for, and the only indication in his mind that he had done anything last night other than crawl into bed was a gap in his memory between leaving the banquet hall with Merlin supporting him in his drunken lurching and waking up in the morning.
He probably had not missed much though. There was not much that could happen in between the hall and his chambers.
“Yes Merlin?” he said, turning to face his manservant. Merlin was smiling at him, not his customary ear-splitting grin, but a rather more subdued smile that seemed to glow almost. Arthur slid up the bed so that he could sit up properly and inspected his manservant properly. Apparently someone had had a good night last night. His good mood fell as he thought about it. Merlin had probably gone back to the banquet after escorting him to his room, or maybe down to the servants’ quarters. He knew that they often had their own party after events such as that.
No doubt he and Gwen had had a lovely evening, he thought bitterly to himself.
“So, did you enjoy last night?” Arthur asked, with a forced smile. Merlin blinked in confusion for a minute, probably wondering how Arthur knew about his sordid little activities, and then smiled a little shyly.
“Yeah, what about you?” he asked and Arthur shrugged.
“It was okay, I guess,” he said shaking his head. “Same as usual, really.”
“Same…” Merlin repeated slowly, the smile on his face fell and Arthur waited for him to realise that he had forgotten to polish his armour, or get breakfast from the kitchens, but breakfast was sitting on the table and his armour, on the bench by the door looked shiny enough.
“Yes, you know banquets: there are tedious people, there’s a lot of drinking and there’s food. What’s not to like?” He held out his hand for his boots and Merlin handed them to him wordlessly.
“You don’t remember last night, do you?” Merlin asked, his face tightening and all lingering remnants of his smile gone. There was not even a smirk, and Arthur had the feeling that he had said something ridiculously stupid, but he had no idea what.
“Of course I remember last night…” he said, “well, up until you took me back to my room. But I remember all the important parts… Lady Celia was talking my ear off about her eldest daughter, she fancies herself to be the mother of the next queen. And Sir Ector tripped over and accidentally landed on Lady Mildred’s lap.”
“Because those are the most important things that happened last night,” Merlin said in a voice that implied that they were really not.
“What else happened?” Arthur asked and Merlin just shook his head, exhaling in bitter amusement.
“Right, of course… You are such a prat.” Arthur barely had time to glimpse the angry and upset look on Merlin’s face before his shirt hit him in the head and he heard Merlin’s angry footsteps coming towards him and tugging on his shirt just that little bit too hard.
“What’s the matter?” he asked, but Merlin just shrugged. Their eyes met and his manservant’s anger faded. Arthur wondered if he had said something last night to upset the other man. Although the walk back to his chambers was not long, it was more than enough time for them to have had an argument. But Merlin had seemed happy at first, and they had argued before, not to mention that Merlin knew better than to take anything he said when he was drunk seriously. He reminded him of that, but his words just made Merlin sigh heavily, as though he was disappointed.
As soon as he had finished dressing the Prince, Merlin bowed politely.
“May I leave?” he asked.
“Since when did you ask permission?” Arthur asked curiously, and Merlin just shrugged. It seemed that the Prince was not going to get any answers that morning. He reached out and caught Merlin’s arm as his manservant turned to go. “Look, if you want to tell me something, just say it; don’t sulk around like a wounded puppy.”
“Yes, sire,” Merlin said, the soul of politeness, which was so many levels of wrong that Arthur did not want to contemplate it.
“Seriously, Merlin…”
“There’s nothing to tell, sire,” Merlin said before turning on his heel and leaving the room.
Arthur stared at the closed door for a minute before shrugging and heading over to his breakfast. Merlin would come round sooner or later, he always did.
IV.
“Merlin…” Arthur said softly. He knew his manservant was there because he could see the edge of one of his ears and no one had ears quite like Merlin’s. “Merlin,” he hissed again, with more ferocity this time because it was imperative that Merlin wake up right now, this instant and stop drooling and dreaming about whatever it was idiot menservants dreamt about because they were in trouble.
Very slowly, very very slowly, and as quietly as he possibly could (which was even quiet enough that Arthur was impressed with himself, but then Merlin would tell you that Arthur was always impressed with himself, so maybe it was not quite that quietly) the Prince turned himself over to look at Merlin.
He had been right, he was drooling.
He reached out a hand and poked Merlin in the ribs experimentally. The only response he received was a grunt and an ineffectual swat of Merlin’s hand.
“Merlin!” He said, leaning right down so he could whisper in his ear.
“Arthur,” Merlin said, but it was less like a word and more like a breath, as though the air expelled from his lungs had formed itself into a word without him realising. Arthur cast a look at Merlin’s face and saw that his eyes were still shut and behind them his eyeballs twitched with dreams.
“Merlin! Look, you moron; it is vitally important that you wake up now.” He muttered, trying to be as loud as he could to Merlin, while as quiet as he could to the rest of the world.
Slowly, far too slowly for Arthur’s peace of mind, Merlin stirred, blinking sleepily before opening his mouth.
“Arth-” The Prince clamped his hand over Merlin’s mouth as the other young man began to speak in a normal volume. Merlin’s eyes widened in alarm.
“Merlin, I don’t mean to alarm you, but don’t turn round,” he instructed.
“moy?” Merlin asked, and Arthur took that to be a why. Could he not have been blindly obedient for once in his life? Apparently not, because Merlin was trying to shift around and stare behind him and Arthur had to pin him down to the stone ground.
“There’s a dragon,” the blond said, lowering his voice even further so that it was barely audible.
“Mm?” Merlin’s eyebrows scrunched together in confusion and Arthur realised that one of his sleeves was over one of Merlin’s ears and apparently his manservant had been unable to hear him.
“There’s. A. Dragon.” He repeated and Merlin’s eyes widened in understanding. “Don’t panic, and whatever you do don’t do anything stupid… It’s asleep and I think we can get out of here. Don’t talk too loudly, understand?” Merlin nodded, but there was amusement in his eyes and when Arthur removed his hand the dark haired man was smiling. Arthur was half tempted to ask what was so funny about the fact that they had found their way sometime during last night to the Great Dragon’s lair, but he refrained because there was no point wasting words that might very well get him killed. Dragons, he knew from lessons, would fry you alive first and ask questions later, especially, he imagined, if your father had imprisoned them for all eternity.
He turned and saw the exit, sighing with relief, but was confused when he turned back to see Merlin waving at the sleeping lizard.
“Merlin,” he called as loudly as he dared, the cavern was pretty cavernous and there was no way to allow for echo. “What are you doing?” Merlin turned and shrugged.
Arthur had never been down into the dragon’s prison before, and he never wanted to again. When he was young he had begged his father to bring him but the King had always replied that it was too dangerous and as Arthur had grown older he had to agree.
“So dragons sleep then?” Merlin asked his voice barely lower than his usual volume. Arthur glared at him and cast a quick glance at the dragon. It still slept, the tip of its tail twitching backwards and forwards in a strange irregular rhythm.
“Obviously,” he replied, “Now, come on.” Merlin turned and followed him, still grinning idiotically. No doubt his manservant thought that meeting dragons and possibly being burnt to death was fun.
Luckily for them, the way out seemed pretty straight forward and… if Arthur was quick enough he could make it seem as though he had come in from another direction and distract the guards for long enough to let Merlin make a hasty exit.
He had no idea how the pair of them had got down there in the first place, but they were clearly fortunate that the dragon had been asleep the whole time. As they rounded the top of the stairs he heaved a sigh of relief and looked out at the guards. They were paying their usual amount of attention – i.e. not a lot. They seemed to believe that prisoners could guard themselves and for once Arthur was grateful for it.
He was about to stride out and demand that they explain their activities when Merlin caught his arm and pressed a finger to his lips, a small smile on his face.
Merlin had a plan – they were doomed.
Despite Merlin’s horrendous planning abilities they managed to get out of there with all limbs in tact, no one reporting to his father that he had disobeyed the second most important law of Camelot and even with a couple of jugs of ale for their troubles. He must remember to ask Merlin just when exactly he had become such good friends with the prison guards.
At the top of the stairs, once they were out of sight of the guards, Merlin turned to him while Arthur sipped a little of his ale (and really the castle should provide this at the high table because it was good stuff and who really cared if wine was more appropriate for state occasions?).
“What did happen last night?” Merlin asked. Arthur looked at him.
“You mean you don’t know?” Merlin shook his head.
Down in his cavern, the Great dragon cracked an eye open before stretching himself out lazily when he saw that the warlock and the Prince had gone. Really, pretending to sleep took a lot of effort.
V.
The world was still when he woke up, and he knew the hush all too well. It was the sort of silence that exists after periods of intense noise and fervour. It was the unearthly still of a land after war.
It took a few moments for the pain to filter in, a searing line of burning agony down his right side and he could not help but gasp in pain.
“Arthur?” There was a movement next to him and he turned stiffly to see Merlin sitting in the chair next to his bed, dark circles around his eyes as though he had not slept in weeks.
“Merlin…” he grunted back. “What happened?”
“There was an ambush,” Merlin said, his voice low and soothing and Arthur knew he must be at death’s door because Merlin was being nice to him. “A raiding party caught you on your way back from the border.”
“A raiding party from where?” he asked, the politics of the situation flying through his head. A direct attempt on the Crown Prince’s life was a declaration of war and his father would no doubt treat it as such.
“We’re not sure… they,” Merlin broke off, turning to lift a goblet from the table beside him. “They got away.”
“My men should have followed them, it’s essential that we know who sent them,” he tried to sit up, but the movement sent pain coursing through his body and he allowed Merlin to gently push him back down again before tilting his head up and allowing his manservant to trickle water into his mouth. “Why didn’t they? Even if I was injured they should have followed procedure.”
“Arthur,” Merlin began, but the Prince cut him off.
“Don’t defend them Merlin, not everyone can be as useless as you are. Have Sir Pell brought in here at once.”
“Arthur…”
“He was the most senior member of our party, when I was incapacitated he should have taken over.”
“He’s dead, Arthur.” Merlin said as Arthur opened his mouth to speak again, but before he could further his tirade Merlin’s words trickled through.
“And…”
“They’re all dead, Arthur,” Merlin told him again, setting down the goblet and using that as an excuse not to look Arthur in the eye.
“I rode out with twelve men,” the Prince said. The words made sense, but they didn’t and he could not tell how it could possibly be true. He did not remember this; he did not remember any of it. “Surely someone must have…” Merlin shook his head. “Then how come I’m alive?” he asked, “Why didn’t they kill me as well?”
“They thought they had,” Merlin said softly, leaning forward, his eyes lingering on Arthur’s side where the pain was steadily throbbing. “When I found you…”
“You found me?” Arthur asked, because somehow that seemed important. People were dead and he was lying in his chambers being told that he had come close himself, but the fact that Merlin had found him and saved him (again) was important. The dark haired man just nodded solemnly. “How?”
“I knew which way you’d gone,” Merlin told him, still avoiding his eyes. “I followed when you weren’t back when you had said you would be. I found them… the… I found them, and I couldn’t see you,” Merlin’s face was haunted and Arthur knew what it must have looked like, a field of corpses, and Merlin desperately searching for him. “There was so much blood,” his manservant looked down at his hands, as though he could still see Arthur’s blood coating them in thick, glossy red. “You – it didn’t look like you were breathing,” He paused and Arthur tried to move his arm, to rest his hand lightly on Merlin’s arm, or just to show that he was still there, but his entire body ached as he tensed his muscles and he felt the spasms of pain start up again so he was left staring.
“I’m fine,” he said.
“Gaius wasn’t sure you were going to wake up,” Merlin admitted.
“Look at me,” Arthur commanded, but the other young man refused to look away from his hands. “Merlin, that’s an order, you moron.”
“Yes sire,” Merlin said, looking up and Arthur managed to give him a slight smile, sad at the edges.
“Thank you.” He said, and Merlin returned the smile, just as sadly.
“I’ll need to speak to their families,” he said into the silence, turning to stare at the opposite wall. But what words were there for this situation, when he could not even remember that the men had died? He could tell them that they died bravely, but he had no evidence of that. They had been attacked by cowards who hid in bushes and stabbed men in the back. How could he face their families when he knew that the only question they would want answering was ‘why did you come back?’
And he really had no answer for that, except that Merlin had found him, like always.
He supposed he had got lucky, but he did not feel like it.
VI. One Night Arthur Pendragon Remembers
“Here we go,” Arthur said his voice thick with exasperation and amusement. Beside him Merlin giggled again. He supposed he should have realised that if Merlin giggled when he was sober he would definitely giggle when he was drunk. “Back at Gaius’ rooms.”
When he had suggested that Merlin have a goblet of wine himself, he had really not been anticipating quite this reaction. True, he had seen Merlin’s home and he knew that they didn’t have much, but every village he had ever been in had someone who was in charge of making the alcohol, and it was usually far stronger than it was in Camelot. He had seen tankards of foul smelling liquid be brought out where the fumes themselves were enough to make him feel light-headed and a drop seemed to burn a hole in his tongue.
He had assumed that Merlin would have grown up on the stuff, weren’t country boys supposed to be able to drink anyone else under the table? But then in his stereotypical view of the world, country boys also had ridiculously large muscles from years of hard labour and that did not really tally with the skinny, gangly young man who was hanging off him and giggling into his shoulder. He had not factored in the lack of food and the poverty, certainly, but Merlin ate well enough now but he was still skin and bones.
He even had a bony chin, Arthur grumbled in the confines of his mind, and when he laughed it stabbed the Prince again and again until he was tempted to just drop Merlin and leave him to it.
“You’re pretty,” Merlin said and Arthur pulled his head back slightly to gaze at his inebriated manservant. Merlin’s eyes were staring at him innocently, and Arthur forced himself to remember that he was drunk and he was babbling. Merlin babbled: it was what he did. He was a babbling idiot and… Merlin licked his lips unconsciously and Arthur found that he could not drag his eyes away from his mouth. “And you’re warm.”
Arthur had to admit that Merlin was warm too, draped as he was over one side of the Prince’s body, an arm hooked about Arthur’s neck. He was far warmer than a cloak. He was half tempted to add it to Merlin’s list of duties – official Prince-warmer, but that would undoubtedly raise questions and issues that should probably stay unraised.
“And your lips are really soft,” Merlin said, his voice dropping down to a conspiratorial whisper. That made Arthur stop in his tracks.
“How do you know what my lips are like?” he asked, before he could censor the words coming out of his mouth. Merlin had barely had two goblets of wine. Honestly, he shouldn’t be as plastered as he was.
“From when you kissed me,” Merlin told him in a very matter of fact tone, as though Arthur should know immediately what he was talking about. Arthur’s mouth fell open in surprise as one of Merlin’s fingers came up to stroke across his bottom lip playfully. He tried to ignore the heat that coursed through him at the touch. Merlin was drunk and a light-weight and he should really not take advantage of his servants when they were incapacitated. It was unchivalrous and definitely not Princely.
“I’ve never kissed you, Merlin,” he said firmly, reminding himself that the images which were replaying themselves in his head were dreams, not reality.
“Yes you did,” Merlin insisted. “You were drunk and you tasted of wine and apples,” he smiled, leaning further onto Arthur as they made their way across Gaius’ work-room. The Prince tried carefully to guide him to his chamber without knocking anything over or breaking something and it led to some interesting lurching from side to side. “It was after the feast, I was taking you back to your chambers and you pulled me into one of the empty rooms…” Merlin giggled again. “You didn’t remember in the morning, though.”
Arthur froze, a half formed memory of sloppy kisses and fumbling hands in the dark, which he had been sure was just a dream; then a flash of Merlin, standing by his bed looking crestfallen.
“I…” he managed to get out, but Merlin was rambling again.
“It was good… you were so hot, it was like you were burning,” the drunken servant told him, and Arthur thought that he could sympathise because every word Merlin was saying was making his breath come faster and the parts of his body where Merlin was touching him seemed to be on fire. “So good…” He could feel Merlin’s arousal pressing against him as his breath rushed across his throat, making him shiver although he was not cold in the least.
Merlin was drunk, he had to remember that, but apparently there were other things he really should remember that he had forgotten completely. He looked down at Merlin’s face again and wondered whether he was just making this up or whether it was real. Could he have actually forgotten about something like that: something that had fuelled more dreams than he cared to think about?
“Merlin,” he said, and Merlin looked up at him, the hand that had caressed his lips coming up again to rest softly on Arthur’s chest, where Merlin must surely be able to feel his heart pounding.
“You forgot, and it didn’t matter,” Merlin told him, and the smile had faded. “I… don’t tell anyone this,” he said, lowering his voice to a whisper again, “Promise?”
“I promise,” Arthur said, struggling to move them further towards the stairs. “What?”
“I like you,” Merlin told him with another giggle. “I really like you. You’re pretty and you make funny faces, and you kiss well,”
“You mentioned that,” Arthur said, wishing for the life of him that he could remember these kisses clearly.
“And… and we’re destiny.”
“We’re what?”
“Destiny, and we’re a coin, all shiny and round and pretty,” Merlin was babbling again, but his hand was stroking up and down Arthur’s chest in an absentminded sort of way, as though he had no idea what he was doing to the Prince, and Arthur would listen to Merlin babble nonsense all day if he would just keep doing that, and pressing against his body like that, warm and heavy and real.
“You’re drunk, Merlin,” he said, just as much to remind himself, because he should not be considering throwing Merlin down on the steps and grinding against him right here, not least because Gaius might walk in at any time, but mostly because Merlin was definitely not in command of himself at the moment.
“No – you’re drunk,” Merlin retorted, with another giggle as though that were the wittiest remark in the world.
“If you say so, Merlin.”
“I do say so,” Merlin agreed, “because I am a great warlock, and everything I say is true.” Arthur’s heart skipped a beat before he laughed.
“Don’t let my father hear you say that, or he’ll have you executed, whether you’re drunk or not,” he warned and Merlin nodded solemnly.
“Off with my head,” he said with a cheery giggle. “You can’t tell anyone I’m a warlock though,” And Merlin moved his finger from Arthur’s chest to his lips and Arthur almost groaned at the lack of contact. “It’s a secret.”
“Yes, Merlin, you’re an all powerful warlock, who fetches and carries for me and trips over your own feet whenever you have a sword in your hand.” Merlin nodded and giggled again before Arthur sighed. They had managed to make it most of the way up the stairs and suddenly Merlin was pushing him up against the wall and their mouths were pressed together messily.
The world narrowed to the feel of Merlin’s mouth on his, and the burning heat of his body pressing against Arthur, one leg pushing between the Prince’s and forcing them closer together. Arthur knew that he was wrapping himself around the other man, but he could not force himself to stop. The warmth of Merlin’s body was making him lose all sense of self control and all that he could think was that this he had to remember. There was a glorious feeling of freedom as he crushed Merlin as close to him as possible, wondering if the two of them could actually fuse together. His hips were thrusting upwards and it was only when Merlin pulled his shirt up and Arthur’s bare skin touched the cold of the stone wall that he could gain enough control of himself to pull away, and gently push Merlin back to arms-length.
The self-proclaimed warlock made a moan of dismay and pushed back against Arthur’s hands, trying to force their bodies together again.
“Merlin,” Arthur said, his voice hoarse and lower than usual. He swallowed and tried to sound commanding, but he couldn’t focus himself. “You’re drunk.”
“I know,” Merlin told him, and their eyes met.
“We can talk about this in the morning if you want to,” Arthur said, reaching over to push the door to Merlin’s room open. “I still expect you bright and early.”
“You could come in,” Merlin said a smile playing at his lips. Arthur’s eyes shot immediately to the small bed in the middle of Merlin’s room.
“I think I’ll pass,” he forced himself to say, trying to smother the images that were flooding his mind. “My bed’s a lot more comfortable.” Before Merlin cold say anything more, Arthur pushed him into the room and fled back to his chambers, trying to avoid as many people as possible and struggling to disperse his arousal.
-
The morning dawned bright and early and Arthur was lying awake in bed when Merlin made an appearance. He had forgotten to knock again, but there were other things on the Prince’s mind.
It took his manservant a minute to notice that Arthur was staring at him openly and when he did he froze, shifting uncomfortably.
“Sire?” Merlin asked and Arthur groaned at the blank look on his manservant’s face.
“You don’t remember last night, do you?” he asked wearily. Merlin blushed furiously and shook his head. “You only had two goblets of wine!” he exclaimed, rolling out of bed and crossing towards Merlin, looking distinctly unhappy.
“What did I do?” Merlin asked, grimacing. “Stocks?” Arthur didn’t answer, stalking towards him slowly, his eyes glaring into Merlin. “Jail…?” There was still no answer from the Prince and the colour drained from Merlin’s face entirely. “Oh… I didn’t…”
Arthur surveyed his face for a second.
“Well, you did tell me you were a great warlock,” he said with a smirk. Merlin’s eyes grew wider, “and you’re lucky my father wasn’t there for that. It’s not really something you joke about, Merlin.” Merlin nodded and the relief that flooded his face seemed as though it should mean something to Arthur, but he was more concerned with other things. “And then you told me a very interesting story about something that happened one time that I can’t remember.”
“Which time?” Merlin asked automatically.
“Apparently once when I was drunk you took advantage of my state.” Merlin’s mouth fell open.
“Arthur, I…” then he paused, the fear fading from his face and indignation taking its place. “You took advantage of me,” he protested.
“I was drunk,” Arthur said with a smirk, “I was hardly in my right mind.” Merlin’s face hardened and he looked away over the Prince’s shoulder.
“And we were going to have a conversation about certain things this morning,” he said, “now that we’re both sober.”
“Yes, sire,” Merlin said curtly. He turned to go, but Arthur brought his hand down on Merlin’s shoulder, effectively holding him in place.
“The conversation isn’t over yet, Merlin,” he said, taking another step forward so that they were flush against each other. Merlin’s eyes snapped back to his in shock and confusion. “Now, let’s see if you can get this right, this time, shall we?” the Prince said, pulling Merlin to him and pressing their mouths together.
It took a second for Merlin to react, but when he did, he practically threw himself against Arthur, wrapping his arms around the Prince’s neck and making him rock back on his heels.
“You’re not drunk, are you?” Merlin asked into Arthur’s mouth.
“Are you?” the Prince replied and Merlin drew back from him just enough to giggle.
-
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers: None really, 1x01 and that’s pretty much it
Author’s Note: Written for the
merlin_the_elf fic exchange for andthedescent Now the reveal has happened, I’m reposting them. The prompts were:1. Body heat.
2. Arthur gets himself into trouble. Merlin has to save him.
3. Battle. Metaphorical, mental or literal.
This was sort of my attempt to include them all in one mega fic… I’ll leave it to you to judge how well I did.
Oh, and the slight formatting problem should be dealt with now. *facepalm*
Summary: It is not unusual for the Crown Prince of Camelot to wake up with no memory of the night before, sometimes this is a good thing, but mostly it's not.
Five times Prince Arthur Pendragon Woke Up with No Memory of the Night Before… And One Night He Remembers
I.
Merlin was giggling.
That was the first thing Arthur noticed as he woke up. Somewhere to his immediate right his manservant was standing, giggling at him. Well, that and the fact that someone seemed to have stuffed his mouth with goose down, but that was a mere annoyance when compared to the disrespectful outright treasonous idea of giggling at the future monarch. Such an affront to everything decent in the world could not be allowed to continue.
He opened his eyes, with every intention of glaring at the insolent giggler, but as soon as he opened them, light stabbed in at him, making his head reel and his eyelids clamp shut automatically. When had some inconsiderate person turned the sun up? The after image of his servant’s silhouette stuck to the back of his eyelids.
Merlin, he thought uncharitably (noting that someone had stuffed his brain with goose down too – that was probably Merlin as well, the giggling moron), was the only man he knew who giggled. Some men guffawed, others chuckled, several larger gentlemen of his acquaintance laughed heartily. There had even been a Lord once who sniggered, but Merlin was the only man in Camelot who giggled like a little girl.
“Shut the curtains,” he growled through the thick fuzzy feeling in his tongue, trying to maintain his dignity in the front of Merlin’s amusement (sadly he had a sneaking suspicion that he had lost all dignity in Merlin’s eyes a long time ago, if he had ever had any). He heard the quick passage of Merlin’s footsteps to the window and sighed with relief as the light dimmed.
But Merlin was still giggling.
“What is it Merlin?” he said, warily cracking one eye open in a half-hearted glare. His eyes did not seem to want to glare at his manservant, which was particularly insubordinate of them. He wondered if it were possible to get new eyes, ones that glared when he wanted them to, and didn’t burn so much when he tried to open them. He would have to speak to Gaius about it.
Merlin’s only response to his inquiry was a louder giggle, although he had a hand clamped over his mouth.
“Honestly, Merlin. If you’ve lost all your wits at least have the decency to leave me in peace with mine…” he managed to grind out. Even insulting Merlin was coming to him with greater difficulty today; the world was clearly against him. He turned his head and forced it further into his pillow. Maybe he would just take the day off.
“Sire,” Merlin said. Just as he had managed to gain control of his mind once more, Merlin’s voice set it off tilting again. It was especially bad because Merlin only ever said sire in that tone of voice when he was about to do or say something that Arthur would be perfectly within his rights to have him executed for.
“What, Merlin?” he asked through a mouthful of pillow.
“What is that?” his manservant asked unhelpfully.
“What is what?” Arthur replied. He pushed himself over onto his back. Clearly Merlin had decided that he was not going to get any sleep that morning.
“That…” Merlin said and Arthur knew he was going to have to open his eyes again because the idiot was no doubt pointing to something.
“You’re going to have to be a little more specific,” he told his manservant, blinking blearily and attempting to focus.
“That… at the foot of your bed,” Merlin clarified, pointing towards whatever it was, and Arthur followed the line of his finger downwards to the foot of his bed and then he blinked, and then he blinked again.
“Those appear to be my feet,” he said, keeping as calm as he could under the circumstances. Years of being a Prince – a whole lifetime of being a Prince in fact – had taught him that if you treated something like it was completely normal everyone else would think it was.
Sadly, Merlin was not everyone else, and he seemed to have as much survival instinct as a moth drawn to a candle flame.
“Yes, sire,” Merlin agreed, “But what’s on your feet.”
“I believe those are shoes, Merlin. You have seen them before.” They weren’t very comfortable either, although he was fairly certain that if he told Merlin that then his manservant would just start giggling again.
“Yes… on Morgana,” Merlin said and Arthur shot him a glare that should, by rights, have had him running from the room. Any other servant in the castle would have run by now, but then any other servant in the castle would not have woken him up with their inane giggling.
“The problem being?” he asked, looking back up at Merlin who seemed to be looking at his chest now. “What is it now, Merlin?”
“That…”
“We really need to work on introducing you to the English language, Merlin. That is not a very descriptive word.” He paused, waiting for Merlin to continue. However, the servant appeared unable to string a sentence together so Arthur, rolling his eyes, looked down at his chest.
Ah.
“That would be a dress,” he said, surprising himself by how calm his voice was. He had known that agreeing to that third yard of ale had been a mistake, but Sir Lucan had finished three and he was the Prince so he had had to keep up. Of course, that was where it all got a bit blurry, but he could not, for the life of him think of a reason why he would be dressed in a… dress (one of Morgana’s as well if he looked at it closely, and if she found out he was responsible for its going missing he would no doubt suffer great pains).
“I got that,” Merlin acknowledged. “I was just wondering why you were wearing it.”
“Why not?” Arthur asked, forcing himself to look away from the dark silk that was stretched around his body (and not done up, which would explain the strange things digging into his back. “You know how it is when you get drunk, things happen.”
“Yes, sire,” Merlin said, and Arthur could practically see the wheels turning in his manservant’s head. The look of barely restrained amusement said it all.
“If I find out that you told anyone about this,” he said in his best threatening voice, which was a little more difficult to do when he was suffering from abject humiliation and the world was shifting slightly from side to side, “then I will see that you are thrown in the dungeons for the rest of your sorry little life. Understand, Merlin?”
“But I thought it was perfectly normal, sire,” and Arthur wished that the idiot would stop calling him sire because nothing was quite as insulting as the way Merlin called him sire. It made his head hurt. “People get drunk, things happen.” Arthur could feel himself starting to flush and he forced the reaction down, brutally.
“Yes, well… but no one needs to find out about it.” He swung himself out of bed as quickly as he could, ignoring the horrible lurching feeling that struck his stomach when his feet finally hit the floor. “Now… get these things off me and dress me in my proper clothes. You’ve been standing around there doing nothing for far too long.”
“Yes, Arthur,” Merlin said with a quirk of a smile, which Arthur, in spite of himself, returned. Apparently his body had decided that if he was going to be smiling at Merlin then it would behave. He filed that away for future reference and watched as Merlin peeled the dress off him, biting his lip to stop his giggles.
But they weren’t quite as annoying any more.
II.
The world was strangely fuzzy as Arthur opened his eyes, and his bed was a lot harder than he remembered, with long thin lumps in which were digging in to his spine. His pillow seemed to have disappeared as well.
Merlin must have left the window open, he reasoned as a light breeze drifted over his face. Not that that explained why he still had his boots on. He remembered - what did he remember?
He and Merlin had been in the forest, or had that been last week? Maybe there had been a feast, that would explain the way his head was throbbing and his lack of memory and he seemed to remember food – lots of food.
“You’re awake,” Merlin’s face swam into view above him and Arthur stared at him. He had the feeling that something had happened, and there was a bruise blossoming on Merlin’s jaw, hard and purple against his pale skin. Arthur reached out an arm that felt twice as heavy as usual to trace it. Merlin flinched away, his eyes slipping to the side. “What do you remember?” He looked worried and almost guilty. Maybe he knocked Arthur round the head with a big stick again and this was his way of saying sorry. The idiot probably whacked himself in the jaw with it as he was picking it up.
“Where am I?” Arthur asked. The room on the other side of Merlin’s head was a lot greener than he recalled, with spots of blue and a strange effect, as though the ceiling was glowing.
“You’re in the forest, a day’s ride from Camelot,” Merlin told him. Arthur nodded. That made sense – it explained everything from the greenish light – trees, to the uncomfortable long thin lumps – sticks. Except, that was, for the bruise.
“What happened?” He asked, although he knew that he should know that without asking, the lurid purple of the bruise was mocking him with half-memories. Merlin must have been hit pretty hard. It was lucky that his jaw wasn’t broken.
“You don’t want to know,” Merlin told him, smirking slightly as he pulled Arthur up into a sitting position – which was only more comfortable than lying because less of him was touching the hard, lumpy ground. “Believe me.”
“Why are we out here?” Arthur asked and Merlin gave him a searching look.
“You really don’t remember?” There was an unmistakeable tone of relief in Merlin’s voice and Arthur’s curiosity was peaked. Something quite dreadful must have happened, or maybe Merlin fell over and made a prat of himself, pulling Arthur down with him in the process, and he was just glad that Arthur would not have him put in the stocks.
“I remember… we were riding,” he said, bringing a hand up to rub his head gingerly. The lack of memory was disconcerting. It was not like the memory loss he sometimes got from alcohol, the entire night was an empty black space as though someone had sucked his memories out. It made him shiver slightly in distaste. “Then there’s nothing,” he shook his head and immediately regretted the action, the fuzzy feeling grew as though he wanted to go back to sleep. He just wanted to go to sleep. Arthur felt his eyes drift shut and the soothing sound of the wind through the branches above them seemed to be calling him down into unconsciousness.
But Merlin was shaking him, his fingers grasped the Prince’s shoulders and Arthur found himself being shaken and jerked out of his reverie.
“You’ve got to stay awake, Arthur,” Merlin said, and his voice was almost frantic. He was worried, Arthur realised, and Merlin only let himself sound worried when something had gone horribly wrong – life or death wrong, and usually Arthur’s.
“What really happened?” he asked again, allowing Merlin to pull him to his feet. He curled his hands into balls so that his nails bit into his skin, the pain keeping him awake. Merlin slipped an arm under his shoulders, the Prince wanted to protest that he could stand unaided, but when he raised his head, he could feel himself lurch to the side, the only thing supporting him Merlin’s solid presence at his side.
“Come on, Arthur,” Merlin muttered into his ear, “let’s get you home.”
Arthur looked down at the area around him, trying to work out where they were. The clearing they were in seemed man-made somehow, and the trees around the outside form arches, almost like in Camelot’s grand hall. The canopy over their heads was almost like a ceiling and the ground was strewn with flowers. “Where is this place?” he asked again.
“I told you,” Merlin said, trying to move them forwards, but Arthur stubbornly refused to budge. “We’re a day’s ride from Camelot, so we should be getting back soon or we’ll be arriving in the middle of the night.” He was trying to put Arthur off and distract the Prince from what had happened.
Arthur drew in a deep breath, smelling the sweet scent of the flowers and herbs that covered the floor.
“That’s not what I meant, Merlin, and you know it, what is this place?” He felt Merlin exhale, his shoulders falling downwards as the air rushed out of his lungs.
“I’m not really sure, but I think it might be some kind of… grotto,” He shrugged and Arthur’s whole body moved up and down with the movement.
The scent was overwhelming, it seemed to seep into Arthur’s skin, and every breath made him feel lighter, as though the world were falling away from him. His eyelids felt heavy and the world slowly faded into black.
“Arthur!” Merlin’s voice again, calling him back as it always did. “We’ve got to get you out of here.” Arthur’s head jerked up and he swallowed down the urge to fall back to the ground and rest. “Look, just, whatever you do, don’t go to sleep again. I think I got here in time but…” Merlin was looking into the far corner of the grotto, or whatever it was, and Arthur followed his gaze.
There was a crazy moment as though he was seeing double. There was a figure slumped against the root of a tree, not far from where Arthur had been lying himself and as Arthur looked at it – her – she seemed to change. One second she was the most beautiful creature he had ever seen, delicate and slender with rosy cheeks and a figure that made him go weak at the knees (or maybe that was the atmosphere) the next she was strange and otherworldly, her features harsh and pointed, a cruel sneer across her face.
“Is she…?” Arthur left his sentence hanging and Merlin nodded next to him.
“She’s dead, but there might be more. I got as many as I could,” and suddenly Arthur can see, against more distant trees, more of the curious people lying still on the floor, some crushed by trees, others looking as though they had been thrown by some great force. Many had broken limbs, yet the world around them seemed almost undisturbed. “How?” he asked, in confusion. He did not doubt that there had been some attempt on his life, but he could not fathom how Merlin, on his own, could take out all of those assailants. His manservant could barely hold a sword without hurting himself.
“I got lucky,” Merlin said quickly. “I…uh, managed to trick some of them into hitting each other and then they all sort of got involved.”
“Good strategy,” Arthur said with a weary smile, and he knew without looking that Merlin would be smiling at the praise, but he looked anyway, just to remind himself of what that looked like. “So, are you going to tell me what happened before all that, or not?” Merlin laughed as Arthur allowed him to be led away, leaning heavily on the dark haired young man as they made their way out of the clearing.
“The usual really,” Merlin said, chuckling a little under his breath. “You were hunting, you met a woman. She invited you to eat with her – there was a feast, she offered you a drink from her goblet and then you fell under her enchantment.”
“And where were you while all this carousing was going on?” Arthur inquired wryly. As they made their way further away from the clearing his head became clearer and his limbs less heavy.
“They led me into the forest – I thought I was chasing you, but…”
“But you got back in time,” Arthur said, cutting in.
“You know me,” Merlin said, his voice a mixture of relief and laughter that made Arthur smile. “I’m never on time.”
“A fact which is the bane of my life,” Arthur acknowledged, taking more of his weight own feet, but leaning on Merlin just enough that the other young man would not release him.
“But I always get there in the end,” Merlin insisted and Arthur nodded gratefully.
“So, while we were on this terrible adventure, Merlin,” Arthur began, looking around the curiously.
“Yes?”
“Where did you leave the horses?”
III.
“Arthur?” Merlin’s voice was a little gentler than usual as Arthur pulled himself awake. He was used to unceremonious yelling of his name, particularly when he had drunk himself into a stupor the night before. His head did not feel that bad, though, a fact he was grateful for, and the only indication in his mind that he had done anything last night other than crawl into bed was a gap in his memory between leaving the banquet hall with Merlin supporting him in his drunken lurching and waking up in the morning.
He probably had not missed much though. There was not much that could happen in between the hall and his chambers.
“Yes Merlin?” he said, turning to face his manservant. Merlin was smiling at him, not his customary ear-splitting grin, but a rather more subdued smile that seemed to glow almost. Arthur slid up the bed so that he could sit up properly and inspected his manservant properly. Apparently someone had had a good night last night. His good mood fell as he thought about it. Merlin had probably gone back to the banquet after escorting him to his room, or maybe down to the servants’ quarters. He knew that they often had their own party after events such as that.
No doubt he and Gwen had had a lovely evening, he thought bitterly to himself.
“So, did you enjoy last night?” Arthur asked, with a forced smile. Merlin blinked in confusion for a minute, probably wondering how Arthur knew about his sordid little activities, and then smiled a little shyly.
“Yeah, what about you?” he asked and Arthur shrugged.
“It was okay, I guess,” he said shaking his head. “Same as usual, really.”
“Same…” Merlin repeated slowly, the smile on his face fell and Arthur waited for him to realise that he had forgotten to polish his armour, or get breakfast from the kitchens, but breakfast was sitting on the table and his armour, on the bench by the door looked shiny enough.
“Yes, you know banquets: there are tedious people, there’s a lot of drinking and there’s food. What’s not to like?” He held out his hand for his boots and Merlin handed them to him wordlessly.
“You don’t remember last night, do you?” Merlin asked, his face tightening and all lingering remnants of his smile gone. There was not even a smirk, and Arthur had the feeling that he had said something ridiculously stupid, but he had no idea what.
“Of course I remember last night…” he said, “well, up until you took me back to my room. But I remember all the important parts… Lady Celia was talking my ear off about her eldest daughter, she fancies herself to be the mother of the next queen. And Sir Ector tripped over and accidentally landed on Lady Mildred’s lap.”
“Because those are the most important things that happened last night,” Merlin said in a voice that implied that they were really not.
“What else happened?” Arthur asked and Merlin just shook his head, exhaling in bitter amusement.
“Right, of course… You are such a prat.” Arthur barely had time to glimpse the angry and upset look on Merlin’s face before his shirt hit him in the head and he heard Merlin’s angry footsteps coming towards him and tugging on his shirt just that little bit too hard.
“What’s the matter?” he asked, but Merlin just shrugged. Their eyes met and his manservant’s anger faded. Arthur wondered if he had said something last night to upset the other man. Although the walk back to his chambers was not long, it was more than enough time for them to have had an argument. But Merlin had seemed happy at first, and they had argued before, not to mention that Merlin knew better than to take anything he said when he was drunk seriously. He reminded him of that, but his words just made Merlin sigh heavily, as though he was disappointed.
As soon as he had finished dressing the Prince, Merlin bowed politely.
“May I leave?” he asked.
“Since when did you ask permission?” Arthur asked curiously, and Merlin just shrugged. It seemed that the Prince was not going to get any answers that morning. He reached out and caught Merlin’s arm as his manservant turned to go. “Look, if you want to tell me something, just say it; don’t sulk around like a wounded puppy.”
“Yes, sire,” Merlin said, the soul of politeness, which was so many levels of wrong that Arthur did not want to contemplate it.
“Seriously, Merlin…”
“There’s nothing to tell, sire,” Merlin said before turning on his heel and leaving the room.
Arthur stared at the closed door for a minute before shrugging and heading over to his breakfast. Merlin would come round sooner or later, he always did.
IV.
“Merlin…” Arthur said softly. He knew his manservant was there because he could see the edge of one of his ears and no one had ears quite like Merlin’s. “Merlin,” he hissed again, with more ferocity this time because it was imperative that Merlin wake up right now, this instant and stop drooling and dreaming about whatever it was idiot menservants dreamt about because they were in trouble.
Very slowly, very very slowly, and as quietly as he possibly could (which was even quiet enough that Arthur was impressed with himself, but then Merlin would tell you that Arthur was always impressed with himself, so maybe it was not quite that quietly) the Prince turned himself over to look at Merlin.
He had been right, he was drooling.
He reached out a hand and poked Merlin in the ribs experimentally. The only response he received was a grunt and an ineffectual swat of Merlin’s hand.
“Merlin!” He said, leaning right down so he could whisper in his ear.
“Arthur,” Merlin said, but it was less like a word and more like a breath, as though the air expelled from his lungs had formed itself into a word without him realising. Arthur cast a look at Merlin’s face and saw that his eyes were still shut and behind them his eyeballs twitched with dreams.
“Merlin! Look, you moron; it is vitally important that you wake up now.” He muttered, trying to be as loud as he could to Merlin, while as quiet as he could to the rest of the world.
Slowly, far too slowly for Arthur’s peace of mind, Merlin stirred, blinking sleepily before opening his mouth.
“Arth-” The Prince clamped his hand over Merlin’s mouth as the other young man began to speak in a normal volume. Merlin’s eyes widened in alarm.
“Merlin, I don’t mean to alarm you, but don’t turn round,” he instructed.
“moy?” Merlin asked, and Arthur took that to be a why. Could he not have been blindly obedient for once in his life? Apparently not, because Merlin was trying to shift around and stare behind him and Arthur had to pin him down to the stone ground.
“There’s a dragon,” the blond said, lowering his voice even further so that it was barely audible.
“Mm?” Merlin’s eyebrows scrunched together in confusion and Arthur realised that one of his sleeves was over one of Merlin’s ears and apparently his manservant had been unable to hear him.
“There’s. A. Dragon.” He repeated and Merlin’s eyes widened in understanding. “Don’t panic, and whatever you do don’t do anything stupid… It’s asleep and I think we can get out of here. Don’t talk too loudly, understand?” Merlin nodded, but there was amusement in his eyes and when Arthur removed his hand the dark haired man was smiling. Arthur was half tempted to ask what was so funny about the fact that they had found their way sometime during last night to the Great Dragon’s lair, but he refrained because there was no point wasting words that might very well get him killed. Dragons, he knew from lessons, would fry you alive first and ask questions later, especially, he imagined, if your father had imprisoned them for all eternity.
He turned and saw the exit, sighing with relief, but was confused when he turned back to see Merlin waving at the sleeping lizard.
“Merlin,” he called as loudly as he dared, the cavern was pretty cavernous and there was no way to allow for echo. “What are you doing?” Merlin turned and shrugged.
Arthur had never been down into the dragon’s prison before, and he never wanted to again. When he was young he had begged his father to bring him but the King had always replied that it was too dangerous and as Arthur had grown older he had to agree.
“So dragons sleep then?” Merlin asked his voice barely lower than his usual volume. Arthur glared at him and cast a quick glance at the dragon. It still slept, the tip of its tail twitching backwards and forwards in a strange irregular rhythm.
“Obviously,” he replied, “Now, come on.” Merlin turned and followed him, still grinning idiotically. No doubt his manservant thought that meeting dragons and possibly being burnt to death was fun.
Luckily for them, the way out seemed pretty straight forward and… if Arthur was quick enough he could make it seem as though he had come in from another direction and distract the guards for long enough to let Merlin make a hasty exit.
He had no idea how the pair of them had got down there in the first place, but they were clearly fortunate that the dragon had been asleep the whole time. As they rounded the top of the stairs he heaved a sigh of relief and looked out at the guards. They were paying their usual amount of attention – i.e. not a lot. They seemed to believe that prisoners could guard themselves and for once Arthur was grateful for it.
He was about to stride out and demand that they explain their activities when Merlin caught his arm and pressed a finger to his lips, a small smile on his face.
Merlin had a plan – they were doomed.
Despite Merlin’s horrendous planning abilities they managed to get out of there with all limbs in tact, no one reporting to his father that he had disobeyed the second most important law of Camelot and even with a couple of jugs of ale for their troubles. He must remember to ask Merlin just when exactly he had become such good friends with the prison guards.
At the top of the stairs, once they were out of sight of the guards, Merlin turned to him while Arthur sipped a little of his ale (and really the castle should provide this at the high table because it was good stuff and who really cared if wine was more appropriate for state occasions?).
“What did happen last night?” Merlin asked. Arthur looked at him.
“You mean you don’t know?” Merlin shook his head.
Down in his cavern, the Great dragon cracked an eye open before stretching himself out lazily when he saw that the warlock and the Prince had gone. Really, pretending to sleep took a lot of effort.
V.
The world was still when he woke up, and he knew the hush all too well. It was the sort of silence that exists after periods of intense noise and fervour. It was the unearthly still of a land after war.
It took a few moments for the pain to filter in, a searing line of burning agony down his right side and he could not help but gasp in pain.
“Arthur?” There was a movement next to him and he turned stiffly to see Merlin sitting in the chair next to his bed, dark circles around his eyes as though he had not slept in weeks.
“Merlin…” he grunted back. “What happened?”
“There was an ambush,” Merlin said, his voice low and soothing and Arthur knew he must be at death’s door because Merlin was being nice to him. “A raiding party caught you on your way back from the border.”
“A raiding party from where?” he asked, the politics of the situation flying through his head. A direct attempt on the Crown Prince’s life was a declaration of war and his father would no doubt treat it as such.
“We’re not sure… they,” Merlin broke off, turning to lift a goblet from the table beside him. “They got away.”
“My men should have followed them, it’s essential that we know who sent them,” he tried to sit up, but the movement sent pain coursing through his body and he allowed Merlin to gently push him back down again before tilting his head up and allowing his manservant to trickle water into his mouth. “Why didn’t they? Even if I was injured they should have followed procedure.”
“Arthur,” Merlin began, but the Prince cut him off.
“Don’t defend them Merlin, not everyone can be as useless as you are. Have Sir Pell brought in here at once.”
“Arthur…”
“He was the most senior member of our party, when I was incapacitated he should have taken over.”
“He’s dead, Arthur.” Merlin said as Arthur opened his mouth to speak again, but before he could further his tirade Merlin’s words trickled through.
“And…”
“They’re all dead, Arthur,” Merlin told him again, setting down the goblet and using that as an excuse not to look Arthur in the eye.
“I rode out with twelve men,” the Prince said. The words made sense, but they didn’t and he could not tell how it could possibly be true. He did not remember this; he did not remember any of it. “Surely someone must have…” Merlin shook his head. “Then how come I’m alive?” he asked, “Why didn’t they kill me as well?”
“They thought they had,” Merlin said softly, leaning forward, his eyes lingering on Arthur’s side where the pain was steadily throbbing. “When I found you…”
“You found me?” Arthur asked, because somehow that seemed important. People were dead and he was lying in his chambers being told that he had come close himself, but the fact that Merlin had found him and saved him (again) was important. The dark haired man just nodded solemnly. “How?”
“I knew which way you’d gone,” Merlin told him, still avoiding his eyes. “I followed when you weren’t back when you had said you would be. I found them… the… I found them, and I couldn’t see you,” Merlin’s face was haunted and Arthur knew what it must have looked like, a field of corpses, and Merlin desperately searching for him. “There was so much blood,” his manservant looked down at his hands, as though he could still see Arthur’s blood coating them in thick, glossy red. “You – it didn’t look like you were breathing,” He paused and Arthur tried to move his arm, to rest his hand lightly on Merlin’s arm, or just to show that he was still there, but his entire body ached as he tensed his muscles and he felt the spasms of pain start up again so he was left staring.
“I’m fine,” he said.
“Gaius wasn’t sure you were going to wake up,” Merlin admitted.
“Look at me,” Arthur commanded, but the other young man refused to look away from his hands. “Merlin, that’s an order, you moron.”
“Yes sire,” Merlin said, looking up and Arthur managed to give him a slight smile, sad at the edges.
“Thank you.” He said, and Merlin returned the smile, just as sadly.
“I’ll need to speak to their families,” he said into the silence, turning to stare at the opposite wall. But what words were there for this situation, when he could not even remember that the men had died? He could tell them that they died bravely, but he had no evidence of that. They had been attacked by cowards who hid in bushes and stabbed men in the back. How could he face their families when he knew that the only question they would want answering was ‘why did you come back?’
And he really had no answer for that, except that Merlin had found him, like always.
He supposed he had got lucky, but he did not feel like it.
VI. One Night Arthur Pendragon Remembers
“Here we go,” Arthur said his voice thick with exasperation and amusement. Beside him Merlin giggled again. He supposed he should have realised that if Merlin giggled when he was sober he would definitely giggle when he was drunk. “Back at Gaius’ rooms.”
When he had suggested that Merlin have a goblet of wine himself, he had really not been anticipating quite this reaction. True, he had seen Merlin’s home and he knew that they didn’t have much, but every village he had ever been in had someone who was in charge of making the alcohol, and it was usually far stronger than it was in Camelot. He had seen tankards of foul smelling liquid be brought out where the fumes themselves were enough to make him feel light-headed and a drop seemed to burn a hole in his tongue.
He had assumed that Merlin would have grown up on the stuff, weren’t country boys supposed to be able to drink anyone else under the table? But then in his stereotypical view of the world, country boys also had ridiculously large muscles from years of hard labour and that did not really tally with the skinny, gangly young man who was hanging off him and giggling into his shoulder. He had not factored in the lack of food and the poverty, certainly, but Merlin ate well enough now but he was still skin and bones.
He even had a bony chin, Arthur grumbled in the confines of his mind, and when he laughed it stabbed the Prince again and again until he was tempted to just drop Merlin and leave him to it.
“You’re pretty,” Merlin said and Arthur pulled his head back slightly to gaze at his inebriated manservant. Merlin’s eyes were staring at him innocently, and Arthur forced himself to remember that he was drunk and he was babbling. Merlin babbled: it was what he did. He was a babbling idiot and… Merlin licked his lips unconsciously and Arthur found that he could not drag his eyes away from his mouth. “And you’re warm.”
Arthur had to admit that Merlin was warm too, draped as he was over one side of the Prince’s body, an arm hooked about Arthur’s neck. He was far warmer than a cloak. He was half tempted to add it to Merlin’s list of duties – official Prince-warmer, but that would undoubtedly raise questions and issues that should probably stay unraised.
“And your lips are really soft,” Merlin said, his voice dropping down to a conspiratorial whisper. That made Arthur stop in his tracks.
“How do you know what my lips are like?” he asked, before he could censor the words coming out of his mouth. Merlin had barely had two goblets of wine. Honestly, he shouldn’t be as plastered as he was.
“From when you kissed me,” Merlin told him in a very matter of fact tone, as though Arthur should know immediately what he was talking about. Arthur’s mouth fell open in surprise as one of Merlin’s fingers came up to stroke across his bottom lip playfully. He tried to ignore the heat that coursed through him at the touch. Merlin was drunk and a light-weight and he should really not take advantage of his servants when they were incapacitated. It was unchivalrous and definitely not Princely.
“I’ve never kissed you, Merlin,” he said firmly, reminding himself that the images which were replaying themselves in his head were dreams, not reality.
“Yes you did,” Merlin insisted. “You were drunk and you tasted of wine and apples,” he smiled, leaning further onto Arthur as they made their way across Gaius’ work-room. The Prince tried carefully to guide him to his chamber without knocking anything over or breaking something and it led to some interesting lurching from side to side. “It was after the feast, I was taking you back to your chambers and you pulled me into one of the empty rooms…” Merlin giggled again. “You didn’t remember in the morning, though.”
Arthur froze, a half formed memory of sloppy kisses and fumbling hands in the dark, which he had been sure was just a dream; then a flash of Merlin, standing by his bed looking crestfallen.
“I…” he managed to get out, but Merlin was rambling again.
“It was good… you were so hot, it was like you were burning,” the drunken servant told him, and Arthur thought that he could sympathise because every word Merlin was saying was making his breath come faster and the parts of his body where Merlin was touching him seemed to be on fire. “So good…” He could feel Merlin’s arousal pressing against him as his breath rushed across his throat, making him shiver although he was not cold in the least.
Merlin was drunk, he had to remember that, but apparently there were other things he really should remember that he had forgotten completely. He looked down at Merlin’s face again and wondered whether he was just making this up or whether it was real. Could he have actually forgotten about something like that: something that had fuelled more dreams than he cared to think about?
“Merlin,” he said, and Merlin looked up at him, the hand that had caressed his lips coming up again to rest softly on Arthur’s chest, where Merlin must surely be able to feel his heart pounding.
“You forgot, and it didn’t matter,” Merlin told him, and the smile had faded. “I… don’t tell anyone this,” he said, lowering his voice to a whisper again, “Promise?”
“I promise,” Arthur said, struggling to move them further towards the stairs. “What?”
“I like you,” Merlin told him with another giggle. “I really like you. You’re pretty and you make funny faces, and you kiss well,”
“You mentioned that,” Arthur said, wishing for the life of him that he could remember these kisses clearly.
“And… and we’re destiny.”
“We’re what?”
“Destiny, and we’re a coin, all shiny and round and pretty,” Merlin was babbling again, but his hand was stroking up and down Arthur’s chest in an absentminded sort of way, as though he had no idea what he was doing to the Prince, and Arthur would listen to Merlin babble nonsense all day if he would just keep doing that, and pressing against his body like that, warm and heavy and real.
“You’re drunk, Merlin,” he said, just as much to remind himself, because he should not be considering throwing Merlin down on the steps and grinding against him right here, not least because Gaius might walk in at any time, but mostly because Merlin was definitely not in command of himself at the moment.
“No – you’re drunk,” Merlin retorted, with another giggle as though that were the wittiest remark in the world.
“If you say so, Merlin.”
“I do say so,” Merlin agreed, “because I am a great warlock, and everything I say is true.” Arthur’s heart skipped a beat before he laughed.
“Don’t let my father hear you say that, or he’ll have you executed, whether you’re drunk or not,” he warned and Merlin nodded solemnly.
“Off with my head,” he said with a cheery giggle. “You can’t tell anyone I’m a warlock though,” And Merlin moved his finger from Arthur’s chest to his lips and Arthur almost groaned at the lack of contact. “It’s a secret.”
“Yes, Merlin, you’re an all powerful warlock, who fetches and carries for me and trips over your own feet whenever you have a sword in your hand.” Merlin nodded and giggled again before Arthur sighed. They had managed to make it most of the way up the stairs and suddenly Merlin was pushing him up against the wall and their mouths were pressed together messily.
The world narrowed to the feel of Merlin’s mouth on his, and the burning heat of his body pressing against Arthur, one leg pushing between the Prince’s and forcing them closer together. Arthur knew that he was wrapping himself around the other man, but he could not force himself to stop. The warmth of Merlin’s body was making him lose all sense of self control and all that he could think was that this he had to remember. There was a glorious feeling of freedom as he crushed Merlin as close to him as possible, wondering if the two of them could actually fuse together. His hips were thrusting upwards and it was only when Merlin pulled his shirt up and Arthur’s bare skin touched the cold of the stone wall that he could gain enough control of himself to pull away, and gently push Merlin back to arms-length.
The self-proclaimed warlock made a moan of dismay and pushed back against Arthur’s hands, trying to force their bodies together again.
“Merlin,” Arthur said, his voice hoarse and lower than usual. He swallowed and tried to sound commanding, but he couldn’t focus himself. “You’re drunk.”
“I know,” Merlin told him, and their eyes met.
“We can talk about this in the morning if you want to,” Arthur said, reaching over to push the door to Merlin’s room open. “I still expect you bright and early.”
“You could come in,” Merlin said a smile playing at his lips. Arthur’s eyes shot immediately to the small bed in the middle of Merlin’s room.
“I think I’ll pass,” he forced himself to say, trying to smother the images that were flooding his mind. “My bed’s a lot more comfortable.” Before Merlin cold say anything more, Arthur pushed him into the room and fled back to his chambers, trying to avoid as many people as possible and struggling to disperse his arousal.
-
The morning dawned bright and early and Arthur was lying awake in bed when Merlin made an appearance. He had forgotten to knock again, but there were other things on the Prince’s mind.
It took his manservant a minute to notice that Arthur was staring at him openly and when he did he froze, shifting uncomfortably.
“Sire?” Merlin asked and Arthur groaned at the blank look on his manservant’s face.
“You don’t remember last night, do you?” he asked wearily. Merlin blushed furiously and shook his head. “You only had two goblets of wine!” he exclaimed, rolling out of bed and crossing towards Merlin, looking distinctly unhappy.
“What did I do?” Merlin asked, grimacing. “Stocks?” Arthur didn’t answer, stalking towards him slowly, his eyes glaring into Merlin. “Jail…?” There was still no answer from the Prince and the colour drained from Merlin’s face entirely. “Oh… I didn’t…”
Arthur surveyed his face for a second.
“Well, you did tell me you were a great warlock,” he said with a smirk. Merlin’s eyes grew wider, “and you’re lucky my father wasn’t there for that. It’s not really something you joke about, Merlin.” Merlin nodded and the relief that flooded his face seemed as though it should mean something to Arthur, but he was more concerned with other things. “And then you told me a very interesting story about something that happened one time that I can’t remember.”
“Which time?” Merlin asked automatically.
“Apparently once when I was drunk you took advantage of my state.” Merlin’s mouth fell open.
“Arthur, I…” then he paused, the fear fading from his face and indignation taking its place. “You took advantage of me,” he protested.
“I was drunk,” Arthur said with a smirk, “I was hardly in my right mind.” Merlin’s face hardened and he looked away over the Prince’s shoulder.
“And we were going to have a conversation about certain things this morning,” he said, “now that we’re both sober.”
“Yes, sire,” Merlin said curtly. He turned to go, but Arthur brought his hand down on Merlin’s shoulder, effectively holding him in place.
“The conversation isn’t over yet, Merlin,” he said, taking another step forward so that they were flush against each other. Merlin’s eyes snapped back to his in shock and confusion. “Now, let’s see if you can get this right, this time, shall we?” the Prince said, pulling Merlin to him and pressing their mouths together.
It took a second for Merlin to react, but when he did, he practically threw himself against Arthur, wrapping his arms around the Prince’s neck and making him rock back on his heels.
“You’re not drunk, are you?” Merlin asked into Arthur’s mouth.
“Are you?” the Prince replied and Merlin drew back from him just enough to giggle.
-
