We Are All Stories in the end...

Arthur blinked. He didn’t know what to say to that.

(The truth was he did know exactly what to say to that, but he was having trouble convincing himself to actually, you know, say it.)

“I believe that’s called a nightmare, Merlin,” Arthur said dryly, which was not the thing he wanted to say. Merlin scoffed and rolled his eyes.

“Thank you for your infinite wisdom, o great Prince Arthur.”

“I get them too, you arse,” Arthur shot back. “About you.”

Merlin’s expression softened, though there was still something unreadable about it. “I suppose we’re in good company, then,” he said after a moment.

“Indeed.” Arthur was not going to do the uncomfortable silence thing again, so he continued. “Well, I’m going to try to sleep now. You’re welcome to sit there and watch me like some bizarre bird of prey or something, if it will give you peace.”

Merlin gave a tired laugh, and, to Arthur’s surprise, settled further into the chair like he might actually do it. “It might bore me to sleep, sure.”

Arthur snorted. “I should certainly hope watching me sleep is boring, else I might believe you a pervert.”

He crawled back into bed, wrapping the blankets tightly around his shoulders. Even with a fire in the hearth, it was bloody freezing.

“Will you at least offer your guard dog a blanket, your Royal Pratness?”

“I am not moving,” Arthur replied, voice muffled by his pillow. It wasn’t like Merlin didn’t know where the spare blankets were anyhow. In fact— “While you’re over there, grab me an extra. Tonight is bizarrely cold.”

His bed dipped with far more weight than that of an extra blanket, and he rolled over in surprise. Merlin was sitting there, glowering at him, and threw the blanket in his face.

“Hey!” Arthur cried, now muffled by Merlin’s paltry attempt at suffocation. He fought the blanket off and poked his head out of the thick fur, returning Merlin’s look. “Rude.”

Merlin rolled his eyes again, giving a hint of a smile as he moved to stand up. Arthur snagged him by the sleeve, letting his intrusive thoughts win with absolutely no hesitation. He blamed it on the sleepiness.

“You’re already here,” he said, and Merlin’s eyes widened slightly in surprise. “Might as well. It’s nothing we haven’t done while traveling.”

“Those are distinctly separate and unpleasant cots that give me back pain. This is your bed.”

“Which, as you’ve pointed out, is big enough for a herd of small horses.” 

Merlin barked out a surprised laugh. “I don’t think I’ve ever said that.”

“You definitely have. Anyways, goodnight,” Arthur announced, rolling back over and away from Merlin. His dignity had finally caught up to him, and he was beyond mortified.

A few moments later, Merlin shocked him by actually sliding under the heap of blankets next to him, giving a soft sigh of contentment that did something to Arthur’s insides. “Good lord. This is like sleeping on a fucking cloud.”

Arthur chuckled. Their backs touched.

“Now you understand why I’m so loath to wake up in the mornings.”

“No, that’s because you’re lazy and annoying and refuse to listen to anything I have to say.”

Arthur reached an arm over to swat Merlin’s shoulder, which just earned him a laugh in response.

“Okay, okay. Night, Arthur.”

Arthur tried to sleep then, he really did. But, like Merlin, he’d been awake in the first place because he kept dreaming about a gory end to Merlin’s life that he was unable to stop. He knew that people knew he cared for Merlin, and it had been used against him more than once. The thought that someone someday might actually succeed scared him to fucking death. 

It was with that spike of fear and adrenaline that Arthur made the truly insane decision to roll over so he was facing Merlin again, watching his chest rise and fall in the firelight. Merlin hummed inquisitively.

“The guard dog thing only works if one of us is actually looking at the other,” Arthur murmured in response. Merlin huffed, and then, being the horrible little shit he was, inched backwards until Arthur had no choice but to put one arm around him and spoon him.

“Brat,” he muttered. Merlin huffed again. 

“You invited me,” he retorted, voice thick with sleep. 

Several moments passed, no longer in the awkward silence Arthur had hated but in something close to peace. He found his eyes could actually slip closed without a spike of panic, spurred onward by the warmth emanating from where Merlin was pressed against him. 

“We can’t talk about this come morning,” Merlin whispered. 

“No,” Arthur agreed, and was sad to do it. “But perhaps another night.”

“Yes. Another night.”

"Lancelot is a very good tracker," Arthur says, in the tone of voice that indicates it explains everything Merlin needs to know. "Although he got a little too close following that business with the Sluagh. I told him to make sure you were well, not press his face into the windows."

"The wards," Merlin says faintly. He felt them thrum a couple weeks prior, indicating that someone had approached his cottage, although Merlin was unable to discover who.

His magic gave him no such warning for Arthur's arrival, the bastard.

"You've known where I've been ever since you sent me away," Merlin says slowly, trying to make his mind understand. Arthur is still looking at him with the expression he has whenever he thinks Merlin is being particularly slow about something. "And you didn't… mind? Say something?" Scream at me to leave? Show up with a company of Camelot's knights to dole out the law?

Arthur looks cross. "Well, you could have chosen someplace further than a day's ride out from Camelot," he says, and Merlin winces. Arthur then suddenly looks apologetic, and Merlin doesn't know why. "But it's for the best that you didn't. It would have been too hard for me to reach you had I need of you."

"Need of me," Merlin echoes faintly.

Arthur's apologetic expression melts into one of guilt. "I— I made sure I wasn't followed," Arthur says, and it is as he is instinctively flexing his hand that Merlin notices the bruises on his knuckles. "But I should have been more careful. My father, well—" A pained expression crosses his face. "Out of the two options, I was betting that he wouldn't choose exile. The other, I could handle."

Oh. So that's what this is about. Arthur has done something to irritate Uther, and he has turned to Merlin to fix it. He is desperate enough to decide he has need of Merlin again to seek him out. Merlin supposes it shouldn't be surprising that Arthur knows where he is, since it doesn't matter where he lives, as long as it is away from Arthur. Or maybe Arthur just wants the security of knowing Merlin can't run if Arthur decides to renege on his mercy.

If Merlin were his own friend, he would advise himself to have more self-respect. As it stands, at least there is no one else in the cottage to witness how pathetic he is. "What do you need?" Merlin says quietly.

Arthur shoots him a look. "Well, a fire would be nice, for starters. And I wasn't kidding about needing a meal—"

"With Uther," Merlin says exasperatedly. "Surely you must have some idea of how to calm his anger. I could conjure a kelpie and make sure there are witnesses to you heroically slaying it—"

"I've got my father under control," Arthur says. "Sure, it does make things a bit harder having to conduct a base of operations from this…." He looks around, and decides on a word that won't spark Merlin's ire, "abode, but my knights and I have been using coded communication for months now. The council was losing faith in him even before he chose to exile the crown prince. I give it less than a month before he brings Camelot to the brink of crisis, and then I'm sure the guards will be more than happy to allow me to return."

Merlin blinks. Perhaps this really is an imposter that has entered his home wearing Arthur's skin, or maybe he has finally gone utterly mad. He would have thought it would take more than half a year of broken-hearted solitude to get to that point. "Arthur, what are you talking about—"

"Oh, right. I'm sorry, I considered sending Lancelot with a message, but I didn't want him to be caught with anything on him were he found. I couldn't—" His thumb brushes over his lip, and Merlin sees a scab there. "I couldn't risk anything pointing to your location. Hence why I told my father I wouldn't give up that information, even under torture."

"What?!"

"Don't ruffle your petticoat, I'm fine," Arthur says quickly, as if Merlin had not just felt his magic jumping under his skin with all the fury of a dragon guarding its treasure. "I was expecting him to take me up on the offer, and then I wouldn't have to bother you. But it seems my father decided it more appropriate to strip me of my rank and title until I told him where you've been hiding."

Merlin stares at Arthur dumbly. There's no doubt about it, he has gone mad.

At least one of them, anyway.

"Why wouldn't you just tell your father where I am?"

"Very funny. Should I have offered to lead the knights to capture you myself, then?"

Merlin keeps his face blank to conceal the pain. "I suppose."

Arthur gives him a queer look. "You're acting odd. Did your brain wither away from having a forest respite for a few months?"

"Forest respite," Merlin sputters, and he may be pathetic but he still has enough dignity to grow angry. "I don't know what you want, and I'll help you with whatever you need, but might I remind you that you were the one that exiled me!"

Arthur rolls his eyes, and Merlin's hands curl into fists. "You're being dramatic."

It's so casual, so thoughtlessly cruel, that Merlin's magic lashes out before he can stop it. It doesn't hurt Arthur—he never would, never could—but Arthur's mouth falls open as he is shoved into a chair and held in place with invisible hands. For a second, fear flashes across his face, but even that is not enough to quell the anger inside Merlin. Like the first crack of ice across a frozen lake, it only splinters under further pressure.

"I did everything for you," Merlin rasps. "I bled, I killed, I would do it again without hesitation, and I know I lied to you, I know I hurt you, but— but you can't just turn up again like nothing has happened, when you sent me away—"

"—Merlin—"

"It's not fair, it's not fair to take me up one day and cast me away the next, so after this," Merlin's voice trembles, but he juts his chin upwards, he is stronger than this, damn it, "if you no longer wish to see me, then respect your own wishes and leave me be—"

"Merlin!" Arthur is still straining against the weight of the magic holding him in place. But he doesn't look angry, more confused and irritated. And sweaty. "When did I exile you?"

"Oh, I don't know," Merlin snaps. "Maybe this will refresh your recollection: 'Leave here now and don't come back.'"

He knows his voice is a harsh imitation of Arthur's exact words, as they have been ringing in his head since the moment he first heard them. They had barely sunk in, leaving their impression in the grove of his mind—a permanent scar that would never fade—when Arthur barked, "Now," his expression utterly furious. And Merlin had listened.

He breathes out harshly, trying to get a rein on his anger. And Arthur looks—

—well. He doesn't have a word to describe how Arthur looks, exactly.

"Merlin. You did magic in front of my father and his entire court." Arthur is speaking very clearly and slowly. "It was all I could do to buy you enough time so you wouldn't be caught while you fled."

Merlin blinks. He hasn't focused on that part of the situation, truly. He has been more concerned with the hurt in Arthur's eyes, the way his expression turned cold and commanding within a second. All of it, targeted at Merlin. "You were angry."

"I was frightened." Something shudders across Arthur's face before he can conceal its honesty. "I always knew you were a reckless idiot, with how little you cared for doing magic in plain sight, but I knew even I couldn't save you from that display—"

"You." Merlin feels dizzy. He sinks heavily into one of his chairs, and he hears Arthur take a deep breath as his magic releases his hold on him. "You knew. About my magic."

"Of course I knew; I'm not blind," Arthur says, aghast. "I just figured you were pretending otherwise so we wouldn't have to talk about it. Did you really not—" And then his mouth closes. He blinks. Merlin can almost see the coals inside of Arthur's head producing steam. When he speaks again, his voice is small. "I see now. How things might have occurred differently to you."

Part of Merlin wants to cry, part of him wants to scream, part of him wants to laugh hysterically, and he very bravely and wisely does not do any of that. "So you weren't sending me away. Forever, that is."

"No." There is a similar edge of hysteria to Arthur's voice. "Just until I could make it safe for you again. Until I could bring you back to Camelot."

"You kept track of where I was," Merlin says distantly. "You—" He shakes his head quickly. "Arthur, you didn't— please tell me you didn't tell Uther to torture you rather than reveal where I was— I'm not worth it, why did you, why—"

He stops when he finally catches Arthur's eye. Arthur is looking at him in a way Merlin had only caught in glimpses before, like a beam piercing through the clouds, but now the full force of the sun is shining upon him. "How is it obvious to everyone other than you?" Arthur asks.

Merlin's face shatters, and Arthur is out of his chair, making his way over with apologies, and Merlin hears him saying something about how he assumed, he was wrong, he didn't mean to, and that nothing needs to change. He puts his hand on Merlin's shoulder, and Merlin realizes they are both great idiots, and it is probably better to speak with their actions, rather than words. So he does exactly that.

It is only when Arthur has his breeches half undone that he pauses to speak, as he hikes Arthur's tunic up for better access to his chest. "I do love you too, by the way."