The moment Arthur realizes he's starting to spend more time in a tavern, or at least in one particular tavern, than Gwaine he has a few seconds of panic in the middle of the streets of Cambria. He didn't think much of it at first, after all he never chose to visit the tavern on his own accord. His legs tended to move on their own, telling him that they're only bringing him out for a walk before leading him to the front steps of the little bar. By the time he registers where he is he finds himself inside and seated at the front counter, looking at the smiling face of the warlock and at that point he doesn't have the willpower to leave so he stays to chat. It's not that he didn't enjoy his more than frequent visits to the tavern, quite the contrary actually. He enjoyed them a lot, enjoyed them way more than he should, and yet when the realization hit him in the middle of town he couldn't help but flush with embarrassment. How often had he gone? It must be at least once everyday for the past four days, maybe even twice on some days. He wonders what Merlin must think when he sees the prince appear at the tavern almost everyday to bother him. Merlin must see him as a pest at this point.

Despite these thoughts running through his head, somehow he still manages to find himself outside the door to Merlin's tavern, staring up at the sign that sways back and forth in the wind. A parchment, stuck on the front of the tavern, reads 'away', meaning Merlin's most likely busy today - or perhaps he's trying to keep Arthur out. That's an option as well.

The prince sighs, not knowing what to do now as he walks back the way he came, kicking a few pebbles along the way. Pent up energy bubbles inside him, wanting to burst out from the seams as he starts to fiddle with the sword at his belt. His body has grown so accustomed to training in the morning that he always grows agitated when he doesn't head out to the field after breakfast and today is no exception. These last few days he's managed to nab Merlin as his sparring partner and he had been hoping that today would be no different. Sparring with the warlock has given the prince some of the best few training sessions he's had in a long while because, unlike many of his knights, the warlock is able to put up a good fight, a fight that actually requires him to put in more effort than usual. Unfortunately, with Merlin gone that means he'll have to return to the castle in order to find someone else to train with and he doubts they'll even hold a candle to Merlin's abilities.

With another sigh Arthur trudges on, debating whether or not he should come again later in the day when he spots a certain dark haired warlock coming down the road. Immediately, Arthur finds his mood lifting and he quickly weaves through the crowd. "Merlin!" he calls, a smile on his face as he bounds over to find the boy holding two barrels, likely filled with ale, in his arms, struggling a little under the weight of them both. The warlock jumps a little at his voice, almost tripping over his legs before catching himself. He looks up to find Arthur and a smile spreads across his face as he attempts to wave at the prince.

"Good morning, your highness," he says when Arthur approaches, and as usual the prince is amazed at the boy's abilities to make even 'your highness' sound mocking. "I didn't expect to see you here."

"I didn't expect to see you either," he says with a smile, "here let me help." He takes one of the barrels from Merlin's arms, hoisting it over his shoulder while ignoring the warlock's protest.

It doesn't take long for Merlin to give in with a sigh and turn to lead them down the road back to his tavern, much to the prince's surprise. He had expected more of a fight from the young warlock, perhaps a few teasing insults thrown his way before the boy would finally relent. Yet, here Merlin is walking away without another word, his shoulders slumped a little as he walks along the path. Arthur frowns as he walks behind Merlin, finding the warlock's silence strange. He may have only met the boy four days ago, but during that time he's always known him to be rather talkative, easy going, and hilarious. However, this Merlin here is different. He's quiet, stoic, and Arthur swears he looks nervous, as though someone would pounce on him at any second. That would explain why the warlock jumped when Arthur called out to him earlier.

With a determined look the prince walks up beside Merlin, glancing around for a moment at the passerby's before asking, "Are you alright? You look a little... odd today."

Merlin sends him a quick glance before looking away. "I'm fine," he replies then remains silent.

Again, Arthur frowns. He knows there's something bothering him. That answer was too short, too quick to cut off the conversation and the thought worries the prince to no end. So, instead of asking again Arthur grabs onto Merlin's wrist, stopping him in his tracks in the middle of the busy street making a number of the nearby peasants glare at them in annoyance. At this point Arthur didn't care. He just wants to know what's bothering his friend.

Merlin however, doesn't take the action lightly. He swipes the prince's hand away easily, glaring at Arthur with eyes that could kill and perhaps he was prepared to do so. Yet, strangest of all, the look dies away almost instantly. Merlin's eyes flit about the street, looking at everything around him as though the sheer noise and activity scared him. He seems to see something out of the corner of his eye, something that makes his eyes widen and body freeze. Arthur can see the boy's chest heaving up and down, breathing rapidly as his eyes start to search for a way out. Seeing him in such a state makes Arthur want to reach out, to grab him and hold him close so that nothing can touch him. However, before the prince can even make a move Merlin turns, tugging on the collar of his tunic before walking briskly away, ignoring his calls as he almost runs through the crowd.

All Arthur can do is watch him go, watch him disappear into the mass of people as though he were the moon being chased out of the sky by the rising sun. Arthur's eyes follow the boy as he moves through the crowd, noting how Merlin constantly pulls at his tunic in order to hide the mark along his collar. Again, the prince's mind grows curious at the action, wondering why he tried so desperately to cover it. Mordred had one too, except his had been the mark of a raven rather than a snake. With a quick look over his own shoulder Arthur makes his way towards Merlin's tavern, mind still racing with the dozens of questions in his mind.

------

Arthur sets the barrel down by the doorstep as he peers through the window, wondering whether the warlock is already inside or had taken another, longer, route to get here. When he isn't able to get a clear view he knocks on the door, stepping back to wait as he looks around, still anxious about what could have gotten Merlin so afraid. The prince is snapped back into attention when the bolt behind the door is lifted and the door opens, revealing Merlin standing inside with a small smile on his face, one that Arthur can clearly tell is forced. "Arthur," Merlin says, glancing towards the barrel at the prince's feet, "I... sorry. I'm sorry I made you carry that all the way here."

Arthur returns the smile, "It wasn't a problem. May I come in?" he asks, only moving to enter when he receives a nod from Merlin.

Arthur lifts up the barrel and walks through the door, hearing it click shut behind him almost the moment he enters. Merlin walks past him without another word, merely gesturing towards the corner of the room where the other barrel sits before moving back to the bar and pouring himself a drink. Arthur sets the barrel down, still watching the warlock out of the corner of his eyes as he tries to come up with the best way to bring up the topic.

"Merlin," he says, moving over to the bar while Merlin still keeps his back turned in his direction, "Wh-"

"Do you want to spar?" Merlin asks suddenly, interrupting the prince mid-sentence as he sets the tankard down.

"Oh, um... sure," he replies, looking at Merlin a little quizzically as the warlock smiles and leads him out the back door of the tavern towards the small, grassy field where various benches and tables wait.

With a wave of his hand Merlin pushes the tables and benches aside, clearing a circular area where they can train without destroying anything. Merlin walks over to the weapons rack, taking a blunted sword and handing it to Arthur before grabbing his own and walking over to the field. Merlin doesn't give the prince any chance to ask questions because by the time Arthur stands in position the warlock has already charged at him. Arthur frowns, blocking the blow easily before countering with a thrust of his own. Merlin stumbles back, eyes burning with a fire that the prince can't exactly place. What's wrong? Had he done something to incur the boy's wrath? Before Arthur can question him much further Merlin has regained his footing and is charging at him again. Like last time, Arthur finds the strike easy to sidestep and that makes him even more worried. They've sparred a number of times before and never has Merlin been this careless, this easy to predict. The boy has always been crafty, able to feint or change his tactics at the very last moment to keep a person on their toes. Yet, today he's different. He's charging in blindly. He's leaving too many openings that Arthur can exploit.

The prince, with a quick punch to the stomach, brings Merlin down on the ground coughing as he tries to regain his breath. Arthur stabs his blade into the dirt, hardly tired at all as he walks over to Merlin. Even stranger. He's never beaten Merlin before. Especially not this easily.

"Merlin," he says, crouching down beside the boy as he sits up on the grass with a hand over his chest, "I know something's bothering you. What is it?"

The warlock looks away, not wanting to meet Arthur's eyes as he remains silent.

Arthur, growing frustrated, sits down on the grass beside him. "Merlin," he says again, keeping his eyes locked with the warlock's, "I know I can't beat you this easily. If there's something wrong I want you to tell me."

When Merlin still says nothing Arthur sighs, looking down at the blades of grass between his feet. "Are we not friends?" he asks the question silently, but that seems to grab Merlin's attention.

The warlock turns around to face him, eyes looking tired but not exactly painful which Arthur supposes is a good sign. "We are... friends," Merlin says a little hesitantly. "I..." The boy sighs before continuing, reaching up to tug at his tunic once again to hide the mark. "I suppose that's why I don't want to tell you."

"Whatever it is, it won't make me think any less of you," Arthur replies, eyebrows furrowing as he watches Merlin's movements. "No matter what it is."

Merlin stares off into the distance, stares off towards the arena that looms up and above his tavern. Arthur wonders what he must be thinking whenever he looks up at that structure. "I know," Merlin says as he turns away, gazing back down at the expanse of the small field, "but that doesn't make it any easier."

Arthur glances over to Merlin, noting his slumped shoulders and tired eyes. All signs that something's wrong, that something's bothering him. Regardless of his good intentions, the prince knows he shouldn't pry and so opts to throw an arm around the boy's shoulder, tugging him in close with a smile. "Come on," he says while pulling them both up to their feet, "I'll make us some breakfast. How does that sound?"

Merlin looks at him, a small smile playing on his lips as he chuckles. "You can cook?"

The prince shrugs as he guides them both back into the tavern. "It can't be that hard."

------

It turned out that cooking was a lot harder than Arthur had anticipated if the state of Merlin's kitchen isn't clear about that on its own. Merlin smiles to himself, shaking his head a little as his magic helps him to reorder the kitchen. A broom sweeps the floor all on its own while wet cloths wipe away at the dirty dishes and a spatula scraps the blackened meat off the bottom of the pan. The warlock has his feet propped up on the table, reading a novel as the appliances complete their respective tasks. Arthur had left a short while ago after almost burning down his entire tavern, remembering that he had an appointment with his father before running off with a quick apology and a promise to pay him back later. Merlin wasn't angry at Arthur. Why would he be? He knows the prince had only been trying to cheer him up, and honestly just remembering Arthur's face as the pan lit on fire made the warlock smile. He chuckles to himself, covering his face with the book that he isn't actually reading.

When his fit of giggles finally stops he takes a look at the room around him. The broom and cloth are both lying lifeless on the floor, having finished their task while the spatula continues to scrape the pan, making no progress from what Merlin can tell. With a wave of his hand the spatula drops into a bucket of water, leaving the pan alone so that it can fly into the trash. He can always get another pan later.

Merlin gets to his feet, stretching with arms above his head as he contemplates what to do. He hadn't been planning on opening today, but perhaps he will. A few customers would help keep his mind distracted, would help keep him from thinking about the days to come. As the warlock walks out from the kitchen and towards the front door to flip the sign he notices just how quiet the tavern is without Arthur around to accompany him. It's not like he never had friends come over before the prince. Mordred frequented the joint often, not as often as Arthur, but often enough and Merlin had always enjoyed his company whenever possible. He never used to think of his tavern as lonely, but now that he stares at the empty room with nothing except chairs and tables he can't shake the feeling.

Merlin glances out the window by the door, watching as the people pass by his tavern without much of a care. They go about their business, moving through their day to day tasks without even a second glance in his direction. Yet, despite this he still feels the eyes on him. He feels them pointed in his direction, watching his every move as though he were a spectacle on display. He shrinks away from the window, pressing his back against the wall as he takes a few deep breaths. Perhaps he won't open today after all.

With a sigh Merlin trudges over to the bar, grabbing a mug from the shelf and filling it with ale. He takes a long drink, downing the entire tankard in one gulp before pouring himself another cup. It's only after his third or fourth drink the he realizes that this was the longest he's ever gone without drinking.

------

Merlin doesn't know how long he's out for, but by the time he opens his eyes he finds himself in his bed with Arthur sitting in a chair beside him, fiddling with something in his hands. The warlock groans, rubbing at his head for a moment before sitting up. His head pounds for a few moments before the feeling fades away and he can turn to look at Arthur properly. The prince is already facing him, having heard him stir earlier. The blonde hands him a cup of water, a small smile on his face. "Are you alright?" he asks.

Merlin takes the cup, taking small sips. "I'm fine," he says, "how long have I been out?"

Arthur shrugs, glancing out the window. "I came last night to find you passed out on the bar counter. You woke when I came in, but you were more drunk than Gwaine so I put you to bed."

Merlin rubs the sleep from his eyes, looking down at himself to find his clothes rumpled and wrinkled. He frowns at the sight of the mark along his collar and instinctively he tugs at his tunic, covering it up as best he can. The action catches Arthur's attention, however. The prince reaches out and for a moment Merlin tenses. His mind spins in his head, already running through the various scenarios in his mind. If Arthur moves to pull at his tunic to see the mark he'll throw the prince back with a spell. Or perhaps he'll just grab his arm and twist it, threatening to snap the bone unless he let go.

Despite all the possibilities that run through the warlock's head none had predicted what Arthur moved to do. Merlin feels a smooth cloth brush across his skin, the silky fabric wrapping around his neck before it's tied gently behind him. When Arthur backs away he smiles, looking proud of himself. "Now, you don't have to keep tugging at your tunic," he says, readjusting the front of the cloth so that it rests nicely around his neck and collar.

Merlin looks down, noting the bright red of the cloth as he fingers the fabric, feeling the texture roll across his skin. The cloth almost perfectly hides the mark, obscuring it from the view of most. He looks over to Arthur, seeing the bright smile on his face as those blue eyes stare at him, taking him in, and for some reason the sight of it sends the blood running straight to his cheeks. They flush under the prince's scrutinizing gaze, making the boy avert his gaze back down to the fabric as his tongue fumbles for the right words. For the first time in a long while he doesn't know what to say, doesn't know how to respond. He thinks through a hundred - a thousand different things that he could say, but in the end the only thing that it capable of coming out of his mouth is a simple "thank you."

Arthur doesn't seem to mind, he just gives the warlock that bright smile that Merlin never realized made his heart flutter before. "You're welcome," he says and the words make the warlock's cheeks turn the same shade of red as the new neckerchief around his neck.