book 30

"Your challenge is to last until the sandglass is half done, and achieve ten points. Land a blow, that's two points. If you last until the end of the sandglass, that's three points. And if you disarm me, that's ten points on its own—but it's only happened once, so don't be too disappointed if you don't manage it. You're only human, unlike Lancelot here."

A chuckle ripples through the young men as Arthur claps Lancelot on the back in passing. Merlin grins as Lancelot stares at the ground, neck going pink at the praise.

"Lancelot got you flat on your back," Merlin calls out. "How many points is that?"

"Have you been at the ale again, Merlin?" Arthur shoots back. "No-one is going to do that. You're getting their hopes up for nothing."

"Oh, is that so?" Merlin's mouth runs on without him, and leaves his brain in the dust. "Bet you I could do it."

Now Lancelot is staring at him, face sounding his alarm as loud and clear as a cowhorn. Arthur, the prick, laughs—loud, obnoxious, head thrown back—and for a moment he reminds Merlin so strongly of that boy in the marketplace, so many years ago. He grins, despite himself.

"Go on, then," Arthur calls out, arms spread wide as he moves into the centre. "Show them how it's done, Merlin."

Merlin hesitates. For a moment, his brain wrestles for control.

Then he puts the sword down, and gets to his feet.

Arthur's eyes don't leave him. "Weapon of choice?"

"Hand to hand combat," Merlin answers, coming to stand in front of him. "If you're game."

"If I'm—" Arthur scoffs, breaking off. "Merlin, you idiot."

"What?" Merlin asks, brows raised. "Too scared?"

"Scared I'll snap you like a twig, maybe."

Merlin dips his head to the side, holds eye contact as he pushes his sleeves up his arms. His heart is trying to beat its way out of his chest, but he also feels strangely calm. The time has come. "Sure. Are you ready?"

"Yes, I'm ready," Arthur says, rolling his eyes. "Come on, then."

The men around them are starting to laugh already. Even Leon grins as he turns the sandglass over.

There's a long, tense, unmoving moment, where the two of them just watch each other. Arthur's lips are parted, the smile not quite gone but not quite there, either.

Then he moves—and he's fast, of course, strong and agile and all that wank.

But Merlin, without moving, has him on his back in the blink of an eye.

Arthur gasps, staring up at him, wild eyed and pinned to the ground, as the laughter among the men dies a sudden, swift death, replaced with the harsh metallic rasp of a dozen swords being drawn.

"Stop!" Arthur shouts, as some of the men move forward—Merlin sees Lancelot step forward at the same time. "Lower your weapons." And when none of them do: "Now."

Leon sheathes his sword. The young men, hesitantly, do so as well.

"Let me up, Merlin," Arthur says, voice tight.

Merlin instantly drops the spell. He feels sick. He feels relieved. He feels naked, and raw.

"Told you," he says, voice almost steady. He holds out a hand, less steadily.

Arthur stares at him for a long moment, and Merlin's heart begins to rip—but then he's reaching up, clasping his arm, and Merlin hauls him up to his feet, breathing out shakily.

Arthur holds onto his wrist for a long moment, holds his gaze too, before letting go of both. Then he turns, to face the tense onlookers.

"Change of plans," he says, roughly. "Lancelot and Leon will take you through the training. Merlin, you'll come with me."

"Going to execute me in private?" Merlin half jokes, following on numb legs as Arthur strides towards the castle. It's starting to catch up with him just how stupid that had been. Gaius is going to kill him, if Arthur doesn't.

"I'm tempted," Arthur says, and there is a bitter note there, in his voice. Merlin's put it there. He hates himself a bit, even though he wouldn't mind yelling at Arthur that he had no choice, he'd have had his head cut off for revealing himself when Uther was still alive.

But then Arthur sighs. "No, I need your help."

"What? Digging my own grave?" Merlin can't seem to stop himself, as he follows him down the corridor, the air far cooler inside the castle than out.

"Are you always this morbid?" Arthur snaps exasperatedly, twisting to face him. "No, you idiot, apparently there are some laws that need revising, immediately."

Merlin gapes at him. "What, just like that?"

"Yes, just like that!" Arthur yells. "What, do you want me to throw you in the dungeons? I'll do it. Happily!"

"Arthur."

"Or shall I send the order for the pyre to be built? So I can watch my—so I can watch you burn until you're screaming, is that it? Is that what you think I'd do?"

"Arthur." Merlin walks him backwards, keeps going until they're tucked into an alcove that's really not built for two grown men. Arthur is breathing hard, eyes wet and angry. "I wanted to tell you, for so long. Since the very beginning."

He reaches out, slowly, and feels Arthur shudder as he runs a hand carefully up the side of his neck, to cup his face, thumb stroking back and forth along Arthur's jaw.

"I was scared," Merlin whispers, swallowing hard at the truth of it, "to lose you."

Arthur chokes out a rough, wet noise, as Merlin leans in to run his nose along the ridge of Arthur's. "You're stupider than you look, then."

Merlin laughs, and kisses him, just like that. "Yeah."

And he kisses him again.

Again.

Again.