Rating: PG-13
Pairing/s: Arthur/Merlin
Character/s: Arthur/Merlin
Summary: Arthur finds out that Merlin has been hiding something from him.
Word Count: 781

Author's Note: this was originally posted in my Merlin ficlets but I'm expanding it to a full story so I'm reposting it.

Arthur was never really curious about Merlin's body. After all, royalty didn't consort with peasants, well, except for maybe a tumble or two and Uther frowned on such liaisons anyway. His father always said that those kind of trysts tended to lead to expectations. Best to stick with the whores. At least they knew their place.

Not that Arthur would tumble anyone, noble or peasant, without their consent. It was dishonourable. And the thought of using someone for money made his skin crawl.

But Merlin was an altogether different kettle of fish.

Odd, unsettling, annoying in a must-get-the-upper-hand kind of way and he was always covered up, shirts and those awful neck cloths that only allowed the slightest hint of pale skin when he made Arthur's bed or poured the wine at dinner or cleaned up the ashes in the fireplace. Not that Arthur noticed, of course, not at all.

It was only to watch him, to make sure he did his chores properly and if Arthur saw something he oughtn't, then who was to know. Besides, Merlin saw him naked all the time, even implied he was fat once or twice and turnabout was fair play.

So when Arthur came back from a council meeting early, and clumsy as ever, Merlin was sputtering, cursing at an overturned bucket and him soaked to the skin, it only made sense that Merlin take off the shirt and let it dry by the fire. Otherwise he might get his death of cold and where would Arthur be? Servant-less.

And really, Merlin had nothing to hide.

Except he did.

Backing up, shaking his head at Arthur's suggestion, claiming it would be better for him to get another shirt and he didn't want Arthur to be inopportuned – and when did that ever stop Merlin? – he was still prattling on when Arthur started to get suspicious.

What did Merlin have to hide? And if he was hiding something, then Arthur had a right to know about it. After all, he was the prince and if someone under him was keeping secrets, that just wouldn't do, even if it was Merlin.

Especially if it was Merlin.

So when the idiot headed for the door, Arthur grabbed him by his disgustingly soggy shirt and pulled.

Who would have thought that cloth could tear so easily? Or that Merlin would sputter and jerk away and gather the remnants of his shirt around his chest? Or look absolutely frantic about it?

But as Arthur was about to mock him, call him a girl for being so shy about showing a bit of skin, he looked again.

Merlin's chest, what Arthur could see of it, was covered in scars. The grotty neckerchief askew, he could see a large ropy burn extended from Merlin's collarbone to one half-twisted nipple; there was welts there, too, likely from knives or swords and a disfiguring knot of mutilation at his ribs. No clean pale skin that Arthur dreamed of at night, no unblemished canvas to scatter kisses upon.

Just a map of pain and more pain.

What the hell had Merlin been doing?

Sending Arthur a glare that would have killed a lesser man, Merlin reached into the laundry, and pulling out one of Arthur's dirty shirts, shoved it on. As he did, Arthur could see even more scars across his back. Some of them took his breath away.

But there wasn't time to confront Merlin about them. Stomping out, he slammed the door so hard that Arthur was surprised the wood didn't shatter. Behind him, one of his decorative wall shields fell with a noisy thud and there was a crash of glass, too, goblets or perhaps a vase but it didn't matter.

Merlin had scars. Merlin had secrets.

And he hadn't told Arthur about them.

He knew he could confront Merlin but he would only deny it or start an argument – he was good at that, well, almost as good as making up stupid insults - to make Arthur forget what they'd been talking about. No, Arthur would be sneaky about it, ignore the evidence for now, pretend that he hadn't seen what he'd seen, and watch Merlin more closely.

It was for Merlin's own good. He obviously needed protection. And when he finally found out who had hurt Merlin, Arthur would be there to make things right.

Then maybe Merlin would trust him enough to let him in, to let Arthur erase the memory of pain with gentle hands and stolen kisses, to let him fill Merlin up with so much love that he'd forget that there were ever scars to discover.

Maybe then there would be no more secrets between them.

The end