Trials | Merlin FanFiction (Merthur)

Chapitre Cinq

"Merlin. Merlin." He blinked and looked up. Snow was thick on the ground, and Arthur was riding beside him, holding his reins, shaking his shoulder.

"I fell asleep?" he said, feeling thick and confused.

"You have to stay awake," Arthur said grimly, and kneed his horse away. "It's too cold to sleep. We have to get to shelter before we can rest."

"Yeah," Merlin said, tucking his hands underneath his arms. He felt cold, straight through to the bone. Funny; he wasn't shivering. "When's that?"

Arthur frowned at him, and Merlin realized he was slurring his words. "Shelter," he managed, forcing his lips to shape the word clearly. He was curled over now, doubled up on the horse's back, without any memory of having moved.

Dimly, from a long way away, he heard Arthur cursing, and then his horse jerked to a stop. Merlin clutched at the saddle with numb fingers, but Arthur was already yanking at his shoulder, pulling off the pack.

"You really are an idiot," Arthur snapped, wrenching it open and rummaging around. He pulled something out, and Merlin blinked at it as it seemed to explode into yards of fabric. Oh, right. A cloak. "Yours," he mumbled, automatically, and blinked at the lethal glare that Arthur leveled at him.

"Put it on," Arthur growled, closing the pack back up and tying it to his saddle. Merlin felt like he might crack in two if he moved, but he managed to get the cloak over his shoulders and the clasp more or less fastened. Then he felt like he was flying, as Arthur dragged him off his horse, manhandling him with brute strength onto the mare in front of him.

"Hold on," Arthur said curtly, and spurred the mare forward, the gelding jogging behind.

Arthur was warm, incredibly warm--even through the layers of fabric and armor, he was like a furnace at Merlin's back. Merlin wrapped himself more tightly in the cloak with clumsy hands, and Arthur's arms were warm bands around him, keeping him safe.

Apparently, shelter for the night was a tiny shack, tucked into a dip in the hillside, overlooking a broad moorland down below. Arthur rode up to it an hour past dawn. "Shepherds," Arthur said briefly, as he dismounted, and then helped Merlin down. Merlin had started to shiver and now couldn't stop, and it make him awkward. He ended up in a heap at Arthur's feet, blinking up at him stupidly.

"Come on," Arthur said gruffly, but his hands were gentle when he got Merlin standing and pushed him towards the hut.

It looked like a hovel from outside, but it turned out to be tightly made, free of snow and wind, and with only a very faint smell of mouse. Merlin collapsed on the floor next to the empty fireplace, and Arthur disappeared for a minute and came back with an armful of wood. Merlin watched him vaguely and wondered if Arthur was doing magic, too.

Arthur knelt, mail jingling, and began to arrange the logs. "Can you start a fire?" he asked without turning around.

Of course he could. "Uh," Merlin said, hand fumbling at his belt pouch involuntarily for a flint. Strange; the belt pouch didn't seem to want to open. Arthur sat back on his heels and gave him a level look.

"I mean, can you start a fire," he said evenly, and Merlin blinked at him. Oh, right. Arthur knew now. Why was that so hard to remember?

He prodded his memory, then stared at the fireplace and hissed, "Baerne." He mangled the pronunciation a bit, but the wood flared like a starburst anyway, flames leaping to fill the small hearth. The wave of heat washed over him like a physical touch.

Merlin looked back at Arthur, a little nervous and a little proud but still mostly just cold and blessedly numb, but the shack was empty. Arthur had already gone back outside. Merlin blinked at the air where Arthur had been standing, wondered if he should worry that he'd apparently missed the sounds of someone in armor walking across a floor and shutting a door, and then gave up the effort and concentrated on getting sensation back into his fingers.

When Arthur returned, he was carrying an enormous armful of wood, and the pack from his saddle. Merlin's fingers would bend now, barely, but they still felt cold and numb. "I put the horses by the lambing shed, up the track," Arthur said curtly, dropping the pack by the door and the wood by the hearth. "If someone comes, I want you to get up there immediately. Don't wait for me, and don't try and stop them, do you understand me?"

Merlin had found that his ability to understand simple instructions had improved immeasurably after sitting in front of a fire for twenty minutes. He nodded dutifully, although he had no intention of ever actually obeying, and then dragged himself up and staggered on painful feet over to Arthur. He grabbed the edge of Arthur's gorget and frowned, trying to make his fingers work at the buckle. They felt stiff and swollen, the knuckles white.

"What are you--Merlin," Arthur said, something in his voice that Merlin couldn't decipher. "What are you doing?"

Merlin frowned harder. He was taking off Arthur's armor. Wasn't it obvious? Surely the cold hadn't numbed his wits that badly. He looked at Arthur, confused.

"Why are you doing this," Arthur said after a minute, his voice thick with emotion.

"You don't want to sleep in it, do you?" Merlin said, baffled.

"As a matter of fact, yes, I do," Arthur said grimly, "at least until we're well away from Camelot. That's not what I meant."

"What did you mean?" Merlin asked, now completely confused. Maybe he was still not warm enough.

"You saved me," Arthur said, almost yelling. He swung his arm out. "You saved me--you always save me--and with magic, apparently, although frankly I can't imagine a more incompetent moron as a sorcerer, and what, you just. Got bored or something? Couldn't find any mother bears with cubs to harass? You had to come into Camelot, didn't you, and be a wizard there--" and now he was really yelling, and Merlin stared at him, because Arthur was pacing the tiny confines of the hut, warm now with cheerful firelight, and his eyes were very bright. Too bright. "I want to know what are you doing here, Merlin," Arthur demanded, swinging around to face him, a finger jabbed at his chest.

There was only one answer, really. "Serving you," Merlin said, subdued, because maybe it was stupid, but it was his reason. He served Arthur with every breath in his body, and the reason he served Arthur was because he could literally imagine no other way.

"Serving me," Arthur repeated, and all the anger had run out of him. He looked exhausted, and a little bit broken in some awful way, so Merlin took a hesitant step forward. He put out a hand, touched Arthur's shoulder, the rough mail warm against his fingers. He slid his hand up a little, around the nape of Arthur's neck, and held on.

"That's what I do," he said, and Arthur shuddered like a horse with a fly, stepping back. "I. Arthur."

"No," Arthur said, and he looked so worn-out. "Merlin, I. I can't."

Merlin reached for him, hesitantly, and this time Arthur didn't move away.

"You can trust me," he whispered. He put his hand on Arthur's forearm, felt the cold steel under his palm. He hung on, willing Arthur to understand that it didn't matter. Whatever Uther said or did, it didn't matter. He was Arthur's.

Arthur heaved a sigh. "Yes," he said after a while, and his gloved hand came up to cover Merlin's. "I suppose I can."