It's not quite early, nor quite late. Arthur suspects that makes it a normal time for settling into bed, but he can't get his mind to turn off. King Odin and a fair number of his court are in Camelot to discuss trade agreements, and the push and pull of negotiating still rings in his head.

It doesn't help that he has barely seen Merlin all day. After all, when guests are in the citadel the state of his chambers drastically drops in priority. Public areas and guest quarters get the most attention. All the staff have been working extra hours for days.

He supposes that means Merlin's still awake. It's not becoming, knocking on Merlin's door at this time of night for nothing other than a chat, but that's what he wants and he's the prince so that's what he'll get. Even if Merlin won't participate in the conversation, the act of speaking his thoughts aloud has always helped Arthur come to decisions. Though to hear Merlin talk, Arthur simply likes someone there to acknowledge his intelligence.

Now that the idea is in his head, talk to Merlin, Arthur can't let it go. He slips his feet into his boots, double checks that he is wearing trousers, and heads towards the tower where Merlin and Gaius reside.

He's right. Merlin is awake. Gaius too, judging by the light pouring out under the door. It's not fully closed either, so Arthur is okay with walking into the workroom when a hiss hits his ears. There's a patient, and Arthur can admit that, again, Merlin's attention should be on someone other than Arthur. The prince prepares to trudge back to his chambers when he catches Gaius's sentence.

"It's been a while since you let someone hurt you like this, Merlin. Are you getting slow?"

"Haha. No. He came right at me."

"What did he hit you with? I want to say a chair leg."

"Close-" Merlin hisses again in pain. "Fire poker. Is it broken?"

"Your rib? No, thankfully. But it's fractured. Stay there. I'll grab a poultice and something to wrap your ribs with."

There is the sound of Gaius moving around. Arthur debates about entering. The fact that Merlin is injured is upsetting. Arthur has just raised his hand to knock when Gaius speaks again.

"I supposed you've done to him what you've done to the other lords?"

"Put them to bed and tucked the covers around them?"

"Merlin. I'm serious. I want to make sure you didn't do anything that will get you caught and killed."

Merlin sighs. "Why do you think I took the blow to my side? He could see my face when he swung. It's hard for me to put them to sleep if my back isn't to them."

"Please tell me you only took the one blow."

"Of course. Dropped like a stone and then cast the spell while I bowed my head. It was a pain dragging him into the bed."

"Merlin! What is he going to think when he wakes up in the morning? A lord just doesn't fall asleep while beating a servant."

"Gaius, I've been defending myself with magic for a year now. I know how to cover my tracks. I tucked Lord Ragdall into bed, made him drink two cups of wine, spilled a little on his clothes. He'll wake up thinking he either passed out from the drink last night or it made him forget how he got to bed."

Gaius clucks. "You'll want me to send him a tonic tomorrow morning then."

"If you don't mind."

"I'm almost out, do you have time to gather supplies for me tomorrow?"

"Sorry," Merlin says. "I don't think I'll have the time until Odin's court leaves. You'll have to buy some in the market."

Gaius snorts. "And pay Oscar five pence for wormwood? I'll check some of the overgrown gardens first. Now that you're here, I should ask Uther to give me one for growing herbs. I used to, when younger, but now you can do it."

Merlin groans. "I have enough work as it-" His breath hitches and Gaius utters an apology.

Arthur found himself shaking. He didn't know where to start – Merlin having magic, Merlin using it against guests of Camelot, Merlin having to defend himself from such guests, the fact he was injured now?

Regardless, he storms into Gaius's chambers, pushing the door so hard it slams into the far wall as it opens.

Merlin, who is sitting on a bench, wrenchs his torso around to see who has come in. The action pulls at his ribs no doubt, for the teen folds in half with a groan of pain. Gaius, who is standing with one hand holding the bandages, stills. Arthur doesn't miss the way he slides to the left. It allows Gaius to partly shield Merlin.

"Did you need something, sire? A tonic to help you sleep perhaps? I'm afraid Merlin can't come-"

"I'll wait. Finish wrapping his ribs."

Gaius nods, presses on Merlin's shoulder to get him to sit upright, and returns to the task.

It is, Arthur thinks, the first time he's seen Merlin without a shirt. And while the bandage has made several passes around his ribs, Arthur can see the pale marks of scared skin. Except for the one on Merlin's chest. That one is a dark pink. It's also large enough for Arthur to see it extends beyond the three circles of fabric Gaius has made.

Arthur has never imagined Merlin without a shirt, that would be weird, but if he had it never would have involved so many traces of injury. Even if so many were faint.

He can't help himself. Arthur closes the door and steps closer. Gaius doesn't look up from his work, but Merlin gives him a furtive glance. Arthur imagines the manservant is wondering just how much he has heard.

And that's a question to ask himself. How much should he let them believe he heard? Except, he's not sure he can hide his new knowledge. He wants answers about everything.

Arthur crosses his arms and focuses on the thing that bothers, the thing that angers, him the most.

"How many of your scars are courtesy of visiting nobles?"

Merlin flinches. "Not many."

Arthur wants to ask how Merlin got every single one, but that's for later.

"How many of them have hurt you?"

Merlin looks to Gaius, but the old man is in physician mode. He's listening, but will not involve himself in the conversation. He will also not repeat it. Gaius protects his patients in many ways. But despite his relationship to Merlin, his guardianship and protectiveness, it's obvious Gaius is deferring to the teen.

It's Merlin's choice to say what he wants. Truth, lies, or, as Arthur is beginning to believe is the default, something in between.

"I can't tell you a number. But over that past year or so, at least one from every visiting party."

Arthur clenches his fist. "And they all crack your ribs? Leave bruises?" For there is a horrendous bruise on Merlin's left arm. It looks like a handprint. Arthur has a wrong, fascinated desire to see if it matches his own grip.

This has been going on for a while, and he never noticed. He might have caused pain himself. And Merlin had never complained, he worked through the aches, the pains, the fractures.

"Mainly bruises." Merlin shrugs the answer. Like it's okay this happens.

"Why didn't you say anything?"

"You'd believe me, but your father? My word against theirs? When many nobles don't even think its wrong to mistreat servants?"

Arthur keeps his face passive and he recognizes mace marks on Merlin's shoulder. He has a sneaking suspension they're Arthur's own handiwork.

Merlin shakes his head. "Its less of a hassle if I just take a hit or two."

"Even if it's a fire poker and not a fist."

"I know I don't look like much, but I can protect myself."

Yesterday, Arthur would have snorted at the statement. He would have chuckled at it over dinner a few hours ago even. But now he knows just what made Merlin so tough. What allowed him to complete an impossible list of chores that had originally been meant to overtax the teen and force him to quit, but didn't.

Magic.

"You defend yourself with spells."

The room went still and silent. Gaius pauses as he tucks in the edge of the bandages. Merlin's eyes go wide, a spooked horse, and Arthur could see it. Finally see it.

Terror.

Merlin hides it well, he's had years of practice. He smiles and laughs, and Arthur doesn't doubt that those expressions are true. But with the threat of fire constantly hanging over him, Merlin has learned to cling to the good and revel in the moment. To do what is right and good and pleasant. To be happy, because it may very well be his last chance to be.

Arthur is silent as he takes this in. As he realizes the type of life Merlin has been living and never noticed.

Never, never noticed even as Merlin already knows his favorite foods, reads his posture, and anticipates the day's training based on how Arthur rolled out of bed.

This is the boy with whom he has swapped a life debt, and Arthur never noticed.

Merlin starts to panic. "I don't hurt anyone! I make sure they miss, make them sleepy or outright put them to sleep. I don't strike back, I promise, Arthur! I don't even use a shield! I just make sure I don't get hurt too bad and stop them-"

"Don't get hurt too bad?" Arthur repeats as he sits on the bench next to Merlin, a hand on the teen's chest. "You have a cracked rib. And that looks like a burn from someone pouring scalding water on you."

Merlin freezes at the touch. Quietly, he says, "The burn is not from a lord. And this is the first serious injury I've gotten since winter."

It doesn't matter. What matters is that Merlin is hurt at all. That and how.

It's more important than knowing Merlin has magic. Because that talent already terrifies Merlin. And if he meant to use it for harm, Arthur probably wouldn't be here. And if Merlin wanted to harm Camelot, there was no reason to drink the poison six months ago.

"I don't like the idea of you getting hurt. Let me know if someone hurts you again."

Merlin swallows and Arthur gets up to leave.

When his hand is on the door, Merlin speaks again. "Sire? Arthur...that's it?"

"What's it?" He turns to answer.

"My," Merlin looks down at his hands and then with the effort to lift a mountain looks up at Arthur. "My magic. I have it and now that you know-"

Merlin chokes on the words and there is dread in his eyes. He's petrified of Arthur and that has the prince spring back around the table to take Merlin's face in his hands.

"I – well saying I don't care would be a lie. But I care more about you getting hurt. I don't – I don't like that." One corner of his lips turns up. "Knowing you have magic actually makes me feel a little better about bringing you on hunts. Though I have a feeling you've always used it when we're in the woods."

Merlin returns the smile. "Only when we're attacked. And I do my work, well most of it, without magic."

"Of course you would."

"You're not going to send me to the pyre?" Merlin whispers. It's so broken and hopeful Arthur knows he will never, never be able to not protect this boy. His friend.

"Not today. Not ever."

He ignores the tears coming from Merlin's eyes and allows him to rest his forehead on Arthur's shoulder. There's a shuffle and Arthur sees Gaius smiling as he disappears into Merlin's room to give them privacy.

When Merlin pulls away, Arthur stands. He's ready for bed. "You will tell me if someone else hurts you? And do better to avoid any bruises?"

"I'll tell you if anyone else strikes me, but like I said," Merlin shrugs, "often taking the hit is the best way."

"I don't like that."

"It's part of being a servant. There's…nobles often take advantage of their position. Let off steam, exert power. Someone will always want to hit a servant, and I can defend myself better than the others. I'm told to serve the visitors with a reputation and when someone else is having a problem I take over their chores. Even if it means I get knocked around, I won't stop doing it."

Arthur stares at Merlin. This bright, caring, brave boy that Arthur finds himself just now beginning to properly know. His life is, quite literally, in Arthur's hands. He lives or dies by Arthur's goodwill. That responsibility to Merlin feels heavier than the one Arthur has to the people of Camelot. It's more important too.

"Let me know," Arthur repeats, "and when Odin is gone and we can go for a ride I want you to answer all of my questions."

"As you wish, sire."

Arthur closes the door and returns to his room. He crawls under the blankets and smirks at the image of how he imagines Merlin left Lord Ragnall.