Merlin stood over Arthur's sleeping figure. The Prince hadn't stirred since they'd switched watch around midnight. It was now morning, the horses had been fed, and breakfast had been made.
Very gently, Merlin nudged Arthur with his foot.
The Prince continued to snore.
"Arthur?"
No response.
Merlin nudged him again.
Nothing.
Merlin kicked him in the side.
Arthur seemed to jump awake and draw his sword all at once, swinging the blade out towards Merlin and stopping short of his throat. "What the hell," Arthur breathed, "do you think you're doing?"
"My job."
"I could've had your head."
Merlin snorted. "Unlikely. Also," he added, turning away, "you should get up unless you want to be late to meet your Uncle."
Reluctantly, Arthur lowered his sword and dragged himself to his feet.
~~~
Despite Merlin's worries, the pair had managed to arrive in the designated clearing over an hour before they were due. It was a quiet, unassuming spot, with a small stream running down the west side, continuing for several miles until it emerged from the shaded woods in to the meadow valley below.
Arthur dismounted and stretched. "We wait here until they arrive."
"What if they're late? Do we leave then?"
Arthur shot him a glare, but his look softened as Merlin began to wander towards the stream. "Just make sure you stick to the edge of the clearing, alright? You stand in the open and you're an easy target."
"Relax," Merlin grinned, "when am I ever not careful?"
Arthur laughed.
It had been days since that had last happened. Since he'd genuinely laughed at something. It came almost as a surprise. It shouldn't have, though. Merlin could always make him laugh. And yet, lately, Arthur had been doing all he could to push him away. And he hated it. As idiotic as his manservant was, Arthur hated being appart from him.
But it was necessary.
He had to be objective about this. He didn't have a choice. If what he suspected was true, then he had to find proof. It was his duty as the Crown Prince. His loyalty to Camelot had to come above all else. It had to. Even if it meant—
"What are you doing?"
Arthur sighed. "I was thinking, Merlin. I know it must be something of an alien concept to you."
"Right, well when you're finished thinking, I thought you might want to know that Lord Agravaine is approaching."
Sure enough, three figures had entered the far side of the clearing and were slowly riding towards them. Lord Agravaine was in the centre, and had a servant either side.
"Next time," Arthur whispered, attempting to compose himself, "lead with that."
Merlin pulled a face.
Arthur hit him lightly across the arm.
"I hope your Uncle saw that."
"Shut up, Merlin."
~~~
The formalities of greeting had been carried out properly, if not a little awkwardly. Arthur had bowed on his Uncle's approach, and Lord Agravaine had dismounted, given his own, slightly smaller bow, and then brought Arthur into a hug that involved far too much back clapping to have been comfortable.
After that, they'd started back in the direction of Camelot.
Naturally, Arthur and Agravaine rode in front, side by side, with Merlin and the other servants behind. Twice, Merlin had tried to speak to them, but neither seemed to want a conversation. He'd shrugged it off. He didn't mind the quiet, nor did he mind listening in to Arthur's conversation instead. For the most part, it was incredibly boring: politics, land, family ties.
Arthur had once told him that there was an art to conversing with royalty and nobles. He'd said it to tease, Merlin remembered, like it was an achievement Merlin would never be able to obtain.
"Is it fun, though?" Merlin had asked.
Arthur had paused for a moment. "No," he'd decided, "I don't suppose it is. I'd much rather talk to you."
Merlin smiled to himself, wondering if Arthur was remembering the same thing, or if he was too focused on the delicacies of his current conversation to think of anything else. Aware that he'd started to fall out of earshot, Merlin spurred his horse forward.
It was a grave mistake.
Something descended swiftly from the trees; the horse reared in terror and threw Merlin to the ground. Pain shot up his side as he landed, and black spots crept across his eyes and obscured his vision.
Then there was the sound of swords.
Arthur had turned in time to see Merlin thrown, and had drawn his sword just as a second, and then third, bandit fell from the trees and immediately began cutting bags loose from the horses. Arthur launched himself down from his horse, using his height to knock the nearest bandit backwards. Behind him, he could hear his Uncle doing the same.
The fallen bandit twisted away from Arthur's grip and stabbed forward with a dagger. Arthur narrowly avoided it. Turning, he kicked the man's legs from under him, and brought the sword down swiftly until it was pressing into his throat. He could sense the man's fear. Hauling him up by the shirt, Arthur chucked him onto the path with a growl that sounded very much like "get the hell out of my sight."
And that's when he heard it: a low, frightened yelp.
Merlin.
Arthur turned to see his manservant, still on the floor, scurrying backwards away from a bandit. He stopped as his back hit a tree.
The bandit, however, kept advancing. And he was holding a blade.
And then something else happened.
For a fraction of a second, Merlin's eyes glowed gold: their usual blue had disappeared entirely. Merlin's eyes were the colour of a golden sunset. They were the colour of burning sparks flying from flames. They were the colour of magic.
Arthur froze. The yell that he had been about to let out died on his lips. He watched silently as a branch broke from the tree and collided with the bandit's head: knocking him out cold.
"What happened?" Agravaine was staring at Arthur, his sword coated in a sheen of fresh blood. "Yours get away?"
Arthur's throat had gone dry.
"Not to worry," Agravaine smiled, "two out of three isn't so bad. Looks like your Merlin got very lucky with that branch."
"Yeah," he mumbled, "lucky."
"We ready to carry on then? We'll be needing to make camp soon."
Without a word, Arthur climbed back onto his horse. He didn't care that Merlin was still on the ground. He didn't care that he was probably hurt. Because there was no way to deny what he had just seen. Merlin had magic. He was a sorcerer. He was a liar. Merlin had lied to him for two years.
The King would have to be informed. There would have to be consequences.
He felt like he was resisting the urge to scream. To yell. To do something. Arthur tried to steady his breathing and calm the anger brewing inside him. There was no need, he reasoned, to say anything just yet. It would only cause panic. Merlin would have to return to Camelot, but he was doing that already. For now, Arthur would be justified in keeping quiet.
For now, his silence did not amount to treason.
~~~
Merlin had only been a little bit offended that Arthur hadn't asked if he was alright. He should hardly be surprised, given that Arthur had been ignoring him lately. And Agravaine hadn't asked after his servants either, so maybe it was only proper that the Prince followed his Uncle's example.
Still, Merlin thought, it would have been nice for Arthur to at least glance in his direction. He had been thrown from a horse after all. And it had hurt.
But no. Arthur had refused to speak to Merlin for the rest of the day's journey. He'd refused to look at him. And then, as they'd made camp, he'd refused to even be near him: placing his bedroll as far away from Merlin as possible.
Merlin sighed. The only upside was that he had — narrowly — avoided getting stabbed. Appart from that, the day had been pretty awful, and he was glad to forget it as he fell into the soothing arms of sleep.