Archive of Our Own

Hunith dies on a late spring morning with a warm breeze carrying the scent of honeysuckle through the open window. Merlin is there, holding her frail hand in his own, and watches her chest rise and fall for the last time.

Then he is alone.

He keeps sitting there all through the day, listening to the birds chirping outside, and studies his mother's face, quiet now and still. He can't comprehend how small she looks once her fierce spirit is gone.

When the sun starts its decent in the west he goes out, up the hill behind the farmhouse, and starts digging her grave until dusk has fallen. There is no one else but him to bury her. Merlin's father died before he was even born, and Will has left months ago for California to find his luck in the form of a gold nugget or two.

Merlin sits down for his supper at the scratched wooden table where he and his mother have shared every meal and every joy and sorrow. Now there's only him, and life has fallen silent.

He goes on, getting up at sunrise and seeing to the farm. His limbs and his heart feel numb, but he doesn't know what else to do, and the days stretch on endlessly only to end in the blink of an eye.

The men show up a week later and walk right into the house without even bothering to knock.

''Who are you? What do you want?'' Merlin demands, but all that earns him is a smug smile from the man who appears to be their leader and dirty sniggers from the rest.

''Why, I could ask the same of you, boy,'' the man drawls. ''My name is Kanen. And this farm belongs to us now.''

''I beg your pardon? This farm belonged to my father, and my grandfather and great-grandfather before him. Now that my mother is gone, it's mine.''

''Your father, huh?''

''Yes. Balinor Emrys.''

''You're quite sure he's your father? Because, I can tell you, around here people aren't so convinced. Sure, old Hunith always said she'd married him but who wouldn't say that with a swollen belly such as hers? And it's not like dear Balinor was still around to deny it. You sure don't look much like him.''

''Don't you dare talk about my mother like that!''

''I talk any way I want, boy, and you know what I think? I think you're a little bastard child, your mother was a whore, if a clever one, and Balinor was a poor fool who got no say from the grave.''

It's like a scab has been pulled from Merlin's emotions, leaving them raw and bleeding all of a sudden. His temper snaps like a twig, and he lunges at Kanen, throwing wild punches. But there are five of them, and they have Merlin on the floor in no time with his hands pinned behind his back and Kanen's dirty boot grinding down on his cheek.

''Your mother owed me money, you little fuck. A lot of money. So this farm's now mine. And if you know what's good for you, you'll scram as quick as you can.''

''The hell I will!'' Merlin growls, wriggling in their grasp, trying to get free.

This is his home. He was born in this house, and it's filled with the memories of his childhood and his mother. Hunith, with a streak of flour grazing her cheek, kneading bread dough with strong and sure hands; sitting by the fire with her head bowed over her needlework, and always, always, smiling at Merlin with love and pride and joy.

''You have no right--''

Merlin's head snaps back when he is kicked in the face, and he tastes blood from where he has bitten his own tongue.

''I think this one needs a lesson, boys. Teach him, will you?''

Merlin struggles, but it proves useless as he is dragged out his own front door to the sound of raucous laughter.   

*

The old oak tree behind the barn has been one of Merlin's favorite places all through his childhood. Its canopy is vast and thick, lending shade and shelter and the comfort of an old friend, steady and familiar. It has been a good place to hide away, and Merlin has many an evening gone out there to climb up into its thick branches and sit with the rough bark against his back while the sun went down far over the creek in the west, dreaming of all the things he would do once he was older and free to do as he pleased.

Over the years, a slight boy turned into a gangly adolescent and finally into a lean but strong young man, and Merlin came to understand that growing up just brought more responsibility and harder work. He accepted that his life would always be that of a farmer, following the rhythm of the seasons and the course of the sun. His mother taught him to see the honor of working the land with respect and loyalty, with your hands buried deeply into its soil. It might not be as exciting as Merlin had once dreamed, but it is a good life nevertheless.

What Merlin could never have imagined, though, is that he would end up hanging by his wrists from one of the same sturdy branches he has once been perched on, deprived of his home, his birthright and his very name.

They string him up under that old oak. They beat him; fists and boots flying at him from all directions while the sun and sky spin above him like a dizzying carousel. They aren't picky either, unperturbed whether they hit him in the ribs or the kidneys, and he feels his lip split from a particularly brutal backhand.

They make a game of it, guffawing and jeering at their own antics that have Merlin swinging helplessly between them. There is no escape, no way to fight back, not when the toes of his boots are barely brushing the ground.

When he can't even keep his head up anymore, they leave him. It's midday by now and the heat is sweltering. His throat feels parched, and he longs for nothing more than a cup of water, but no one bothers to come looking for him. Once more, Merlin is alone, with the only sound to be heard the buzzing of the insects and the wind gently stroking through the tree branches.

He must pass out at some point because, next he knows, he pries his eyes open to see that dusk has settled around him. Everything hurts, and he can barely feel his hands anymore. When he starts struggling again, pain shoots like fire down his arms. They must have been nearly pulled out of their sockets by now.

Through the haze of pain he notices that the rope has become slick, probably with his own sweat and blood. With a desperate sort of determination Merlin begins to tug and twist, all the while blinking back the traitorous tears. He's not going to die like this. He's not.

The pain is excruciating but Merlin grits his teeth and keeps at it until he manages to pull free and falls to his knees with a muffled sob. He stays crouched in the dirt, taking in deep, ragged breaths while he tries to find the strength to get back up. He can't stay here. If he stays, they will kill him.

Keeping to the shadows, he slowly makes his way back towards the farmhouse and the barn, stumbling and crawling, heart hammering in his chest. There's light coming from the house and Merlin can hear voices and laughter. Dark fury wells up inside of him and he has to clamp down on it, has to force himself to think. As much as he wants to storm into the house and kick those bastards out of his home, right now it's an effort to even stay on his feet. He doesn't want to run away like a coward in the night and abandon everything his parents have worked for, but he knows he stands no chance against Kanen and his goons. Not on his own, not in his current condition. The best he can hope for is to escape with his life and come back to fight another day.

He sneaks into the stable and saddles his stallion, all the while listening for any sign of someone approaching. His stiff fingers fumble with the bridle and by the time he manages to drag himself up on the palomino's back Merlin's whole body has started to shake like a leaf from exhaustion and nerves. He allows himself one more look at his childhood home, then he spurs the horse forwards and flees into the night.

He rides. Forces himself to go on until he can't feel his legs anymore, his fingers numb around the reins. Only then does he stop, ties the horse to a tree and curls up on the rough earth beside it.

The cold creeps into his aching body and the hopelessness sits heavy in his chest, threatening to choke him and pushing bitter tears to his eyes. He stares sightless into the darkness, trying to comprehend how he has come to this point, alone and lost, and wondering if there is anyone left in the world, anyone who cares. In the end, exhaustion makes his eyelids droop and he slips into a restless sleep, haunted by fragmented dreams.

He is woken by a sharp kick in the ribs, and when he manages to pry his eyes open, blinking against the rising sun, there's a man on a horse and the barrel of a rifle directed at his face in a single black point of focus.

Before he has a chance to get his bearing, hands grab him by his hair and shirt, dragging him upwards, kicking and struggling. His arms are wrestled and tied behind his back with a strap of leather that's digging painfully into his already chafed skin, making it bleed anew. Then his head is pulled up with a jerk and Merlin gets his first good look at the owner of the gun.

It's Kanen, of course. Who else would it be? They must have followed his tracks.

''Well, well, well, here we've got our horse thief,'' Kanen drawls, sprawled on his own mare with a smug grin that's showing off his rotten teeth. ''You've gone and sealed your fate now, boy.''

''I didn't steal nothing!'' Merlin croaks out angrily, which earns him another kick in the back of his legs.

''Ts ts ts... not even a little remorse for his crime.'' Kanen shakes his head. ''What shall we do with you, I wonder?'' He pauses to strike a match against his leg and lights the cigarillo stuck in the corner of his mouth. The other corner lifts in a half-smile, but his eyes are cold like glaciers. ''Well, I guess there's really just one way to deal with a horse thief. And how do we do that, boys?''

''We string'em up, boss.''

''Right.''

He shrugs at Merlin as if he means to convey that it's out of his hands and nods at the men holding him. They drag him to his stallion and push at him until he's sitting astride on the horse's back. Someone throws a rope over one of the tree branches and the noose ends up dangling in front of Merlin's face. He stares at it with his heart beating frantically against his ribs. Everything's moving so fast. He doesn't have time to think, and this can't be it, can it?

''That's a nice horse for sure!'' Kanen calls, casually puffing on his cigar butt. ''I can see why you like it!''

Anger sparks up inside of Merlin again. ''It's mine!''

Kanen laughs. ''I don't think so. You'll find that it's part of my property just like everything else on that farm.'' He shrugs, and now his smile turns cruel. ''I'm not a heartless man, though. If you like that horse so much, I'll let you have a last ride.''

One of the other men pulls Merlin forward, looping the sling around his neck. Merlin raises his chin and straightens his beaten up body, staring them down with all the contempt and helpless rage that he feels. He's scared shitless, but he won't give them the satisfaction of letting it show.

Kanen chuckles. ''Still so proud. But then pride goes before a fall, they say.''

The others are guffawing at the cruel joke, and Merlin takes aim and spits Kanen right into the face. He enjoys a moment of satisfaction as the smug grin of the bastard drops off.

''You won't get away with this!'' Merlin says with a confidence he doesn't actually feel.

Kanen just raises his eyebrows and slowly wipes at his cheek with the back of his glove, then he rides up to Merlin and backhands him viciously, making his head snap to the side and almost unsaddling him right there and then.

“That's where you're wrong, kid,'' he says, his voice low and menacing now. He leans forward with his eyes widened grotesquely for his next words, getting right into Merlin's face. ''I will get away with it. And you know why? Because no one gives a fuck about you.''

Merlin presses his lips together and glares back, silent and defiant, forcing himself to not look away. It's not as if the man is wrong. Merlin has no family left, no friends or neighbors living close by, and the closest representative of the law is at least a three days ride away. Merlin is doomed and he knows it.

''Boss!''

''What?'' Kanen bites out, turning around with an impatient look.

There's a cloud of dust moving quickly in their direction, and for a moment wild hope surges up in Merlin's heart that whoever this might be is coming to his aid. For a few tense minutes no one moves, but then Kanen huffs and rolls his eyes, and that's when Merlin, too, recognizes the shape of the stagecoach.

Merlin immediately knows there's no help to be expected. The stage is going so fast that the driver is not likely to take notice of them, and even if he would, he'd be crazy to stop. He'll probably think it's nothing more than some petty criminal getting what's been coming for him.
 
Kanen seems to have come to the same conclusion, and he must have guessed at Merlin's thoughts because he gives him a mocking look of fake sympathy.

''Well,'' he drawls. ''Let's carry on then. Any last requests?''  

''Fuck you.''

''All right, then...''

Kanen makes to move forward, but his horse breaks away nervously, the drumming of the hoofs from the stage horses loud now as it's getting closer – heading, in fact, directly towards them.

''What the heck...?'' one of the man mumbles and they share surprised and worried looks among each other. Kanen seems unfazed, though, sitting astride his horse and facing the approaching stage with a bored curiosity.

The stagecoach comes to a stop right in front of them and Merlin has to turn away, closing his eyes and holding his breath until the dust has settled. When he opens them again, there's a man climbing down from the passenger compartment – a man, Merlin can't help but notice, who's very handsome, with a strong jaw and gold-spun hair glinting in the sun. He looks somewhat misplaced in his elegant gray suit, complete with a starched white shirt and even a cravat – finer clothes than folks out here put on for Sunday church.

''A good day to you, gentlemen!'' the blond stranger offers his greeting in a jaunty tone.

Kanen cocks his head and looks him up and down with a derisive sneer. ''Something you need?''

The man smiles broadly. ''Well, you see, we were just passing by,'' he gestures at the stage as if they could somehow have missed it, ''and I came to notice the unfortunate predicament our friend here finds himself in. So naturally, I wondered what might be the cause for it?''

He sounds completely unperturbed, as if he was asking for directions or inquiring after the time of day, and Merlin stares at him from the eye that isn't swollen shut, wondering whether the man is insane or just clueless.

''I don't think that's any of your business, do you?'' There's more than a hint of threat in Kanen's tone, but the blond man is either oblivious to it or purposefully ignores it.

''Au contraire, sir. Since I have doubts about the lawfulness of your actions, I'm afraid I must make it my business and ask you for an explanation.''

Kanen looks at the man dubiously, but he recovers quickly.

''Well, you see,'' he says, mocking the stranger's speech, ''this boy stole my horse. And I don't know how you deal with these kind of things were you come from, but out here we handle such business ourselves.''

Merlin has little hope that this stranger will do him any good, but that doesn't mean he will keep his mouth shut at Kanen's wrongful accusations.

''I didn't steal him! He belongs to me! I caught and tamed him myself!''

The blond stranger steps forward with a frown, running a hand over the palomino's flank.

''This horse has a different brand than yours,'' he observes mildly, giving Kanen a questioning look.

Kanen narrows his eyes at him. ''I just got it yesterday.''

''And already lost it? That's what I call bad luck.''

He reaches out to stroke the horse's nose, but the stallion is getting anxious and throws his head up, dancing away.

''Ho, boy, ho. It's fine. Good boy. Ho,'' Merlin mumbles nervously when the rope around his neck is pulled taut. The stranger shoots him an alarmed look, but the horse calms down again, snorting and shaking its head some more.

Apparently Kanen has had enough now because he starts sounding decidedly more hostile.

''I don't much care what you call it,'' he bites out. ''But I think you should get back in that stage and be on your merry way now. At least if you know what's good for you!''

The stranger is either not very bright, or he has more cojones than Merlin anticipated, because he just keeps smiling.

''I would love to. But I feel inclined to believe that this boy is telling the truth, so I'm sure you can see my dilemma.''

Kanen's answering smile has entirely too many teeth. ''Would it help you if I told you we've got plenty of that rope left?''

The man cocks his head. ''Not really, no,'' he replies dryly. ''Would it help you to see things my way if I told you I have one of these?''

Suddenly there's a colt in the man's hand, and Kanen blinks, taken aback. Merlin can't fault him, he didn't really see the man pull either.

One of Kanen's cronies reaches for his hip, but the man shoots him an admonishing look.

''Nah ah!'' he calls. ''I really wouldn't!''

Kanen glares at his over-eager companion before he turns back to the blond. ''What, you're going to shoot me now?'' he asks, eying him warily.

The man looks at him surprised. ''Oh, no! I don't intend to shoot anyone. I'm not sure I even know how to handle one of these!''

Merlin's eyes widen in disbelief. That settles it, the man is obviously not right in the head. Kanen's smile immediately turns gloating again.

''But, you know,'' the man meanwhile continues conversationally, ''I might accidentally do something like this.''

A shot goes off with a bang and Kanen's hat flies off his head, landing a few yards behind him. Kanen gapes at the stranger, who pulls a face, looking apologetic.

''See?'' he says. ''That could have easily been your head! So I think it would be better if we came to an understanding here. We really wouldn't want anyone to get hurt, would we?''

''And what kind of understanding might that be?'' Kanen asks through gritted teeth.

''Oh pretty much just that you leave the boy alone and... how did you phrase it? Be on your merry way!''

For a moment it looks as if Kanen will oppose the stranger, maybe even reach for his own gun, but then he spits on the ground and signals his men to get on their horses.

''This ain't over,'' he says darkly, shooting Merlin a meaningful look.

''Of course not,'' the man replies in his stead. His smile is gone now, and he stands, tall and unmoving, until the bandits and their horses are nothing more than blurry shapes in the distance. Only then does he holster his gun.

He turns around and gives Merlin a scrutinizing once over. ''Are you all right?''

''I think I'll live,'' Merlin says, looking down at the man with raised eyebrows. ''I'm more worried about you, to be honest.''

''Really?'' The man asks with a frown. ''And why is that?''

''Because I'm pretty sure you must have some sort of mental affliction the way you just challenged those four armed assholes!''

The man's eyebrows climb up his forehead.

''Maybe I thought saving your sorry hide was worth it,'' he says, and there's nothing snide in his words, just the simple, honest statement of fact.

Merlin is so taken aback he doesn't know what to say, then he shrugs awkwardly.

''Well, thank you then, I guess.''

The man smiles crookedly. ''You're welcome.''

They look at each other for a long moment, until Merlin finally rolls his eyes and turns around, wriggling his fingers.

''Could you?'' he asks, shooting the man an exasperated look over his shoulder.

''Oh. Of course.'' The man pulls out a knife and steps forward, cutting through the binds.

''What are you then?'' Merlin asks, rubbing his wrists, and gives the blond a suspicious look. ''A gunslinger?''

That startles a laugh out of the stranger. ''A gunslinger? Dear Lord, no! What makes you think that?''

''The way you dress, for one thing, and that shot was pretty sweet.''

''I said that was an accident.''

''Yes. That's what you said.''

The man's smile turns broad and beautiful and Merlin inexplicably notices that his eyes are the color of the sky on a brilliant spring morning. Merlin shouldn't pay so much attention to that.

''Is that horse really yours?'' the man asks after a moment.

''Yes.''

''What happened?''

He gestures to Merlin's face, where undoubtedly an impressive assortment of bruises is blooming.

Merlin shrugs, feeling embarrassed suddenly. ''It's a long story.''

His savior nods but doesn't pry any further. ''Well then, I'm afraid my carriage is waiting.''

Merlin looks at the stagecoach with a frown, mumbling, ''I didn't think the driver would stop.''

That causes the man's expression to darken. ''He wouldn't. I insisted.''

''Then you must indeed be crazy, sir.''

The man laughs softly and mumbles, almost to quiet to hear, ''Maybe I am.''

He holds out his hand. ''Well, good luck then Mr. --'' He looks at Merlin questioningly.

''Merlin. Merlin Emrys.''

''Arthur Pendragon.''

His palm is warm and dry and his handshake is firm.

''I'd say it's been a pleasure but...''

He trails off and Merlin lets out a surprised laugh. The answering smile is open and a little mischievous, and Merlin thinks what a completely inappropriate moment this is to fall in love.

On the day his father plans to announce Arthur's engagement to a girl he hardly knows, Arthur receives the letter that changes his life.

The cream of Boston society is expected to be in attendance that evening, and the preparations for the party are in full swing, with the servants rushing about to get everything ready. Arthur can't help but feel superfluous.The whole event is mainly an opportunity for Uther Pendragon to forge and foster his business connections, and Arthur's opinion on that is of as little interest as it has been on the matter of his future marriage.

The whole thing is a complete farce that Arthur can't seem to find a way out of, and so he's relieved to get a chance to escape the hustle and bustle for a few moments when Geoffrey, the butler, announces that there's a gentleman at the door. Geoffrey's expression heavily implies that the word 'gentleman' is a stretch as far as he is concerned, and when Arthur goes to greet their visitor, he has to admit that the man looks very much out of place in the polished entrance hall of the Pendragon's townhouse.

There's something intriguing about the man, though, a directness in his gaze, and that only increases when he hands Arthur an envelope, made from heavy paper and official looking in an outdated way. When Arthur opens it, he finds a letter informing him of an inheritance, due to an uncle he has not even known existed, of a property that has once belonged by half to his mother.

Arthur's mother died when he was a child, leaving him with nothing but a few cherished memories and endless questions. It therefore comes as a complete surprise to Arthur when he finds out that the property, which so unexpectedly came into his ownership, is located far out in the western territories, in a small town called Tintagel.

Arthur knows that this is a chance he can't pass up, but when he tells his father of his plans to travel to this place so that he can see what the inheritance is all about, Uther Pendragon outright forbids it.

It's a turning point Arthur hasn't seen coming. All his life, he has tried to gain his father's love and approval the only way he knew how: by doing exactly what was expected of him. Now he can see that this has been a hopeless endeavor – Uther Pendragon's ability to show affection has died with his wife – and it gives Arthur the courage and determination to finally say no.

He stiffly informs his father that he's a grown man and while he values Uther's counsel he doesn't have to abide by his rules any longer.

''I intend to find my own answers, shape my own destiny. I intend to find out who I am.''

''You're my son!'' Uther shouts, his face an alarming shade of red and a thick vein pulsing at his temple.

''I'm sorry, father,'' Arthur replies, quiet but firm. ''But I'm afraid that's no longer enough for me.''

Uther doesn't forgive him and they don't talk again. Arthur leaves the following day with a single suitcase and wishes his father an awkward farewell that goes as much ignored as Arthur's presence did most of his life.  

*

Arthur doesn't know what to expect, really. He has heard stories of the West, of course – stories of wild beast and savages, of hardship and desolation – but what he finds is very different and much more stunning than any tales can possibly convey. The further Arthur travels, leaving the safety of civilization behind, the more this raw and untamed land takes his breath away. The light is different, the sun brighter, painting Arthur's vision in shades of rust and ocher with the endless stretching sky a contrast of brilliant, impossible blue.

There is a challenge in the harsh beauty of this land, a demand for the kind of uncompromising honesty Arthur has secretly been longing for but now isn't sure he can give. He feels lost in the face of the vast emptiness of endless plains and imposing rock formations, small and insignificant. His old life has been like a familiar but too heavy cloak and now that it has been stripped away, he doesn't quite know what's left of him under all the masks and layers. It's as frightening as it is freeing.

The sight of a group of men and their horses is just a welcome distraction at first, something to break the monotony of the last hours riding in the stagecoach all by himself, but then his blood freezes in his veins. This is no innocent gathering, he realizes, because that boy on the palomino is about to be lynched.

Arthur doesn't give a thought to the risk or consequences when he shouts at the driver to stop. He has no strategy, no plan of action, only the instinctive need to do what's right, his moral compass the only tool left to point the way.

Arthur certainly doesn't think of himself as a hero - his confidence is mostly faked - but he knows how to pretend, knows how the game of intimidation is played and that he has the arrogance of a Pendragon to see him through. His voice remains calm. His hands do not shake. And when he takes a shot, it's with cold precision.

He can still hardly believe it when it's over and he and the boy have come out of the situation mostly unscathed. Maybe the boy is right. Maybe Arthur is crazy. But, damn, if it didn't feel good.

He contemplates the encounter for the rest of his journey, and his thoughts keep turning back to the strange boy – well, young man really, not that much younger than Arthur surely. He, too, seemed so unlike anyone Arthur has ever met, rude but also honest and quite brave. It was obvious that he was scared, and yet there was a stubborn tilt to his chin and a fierce pride hiding the vulnerability in his eyes. He didn't back down even with a noose around his neck. Arthur can't help but wonder whether this is the kind of people he is going to meet in the West or if it's something unique to Merlin Emrys. The man was such a study of contradictions, Arthur is inclined to believe the latter.

In the end, Arthur forces himself to push the thoughts of Merlin Emrys away. It's stupid to obsess about the man. After all, Arthur will never see him again.

*

The town of Tintagel turns out to be not much more than a few dozen houses, strung along a tramped down dirt road in the middle of nowhere. Most of the buildings are made of wood, bleached from the sun like bones in the desert and with windows covered in a coat of dust and grime. The air is shimmering in the afternoon heat, blurring the sharper lines and softening the rough edges, but Arthur can't help but think it's a deceptive picture.  

The stagecoach comes to a stop, and Arthur climbs down from the passenger compartment. His clothes are sticking to him uncomfortably by now and the driver drops his luggage in the dirt in front of him without further comment. It seems like he didn't appreciate the extra stopover Arthur forced him to make.

Picking up his suitcase with a sigh, Arthur takes a look around. The contrast to the paved streets of Boston with their elegant buildings, carriages and pedestrians couldn't be any greater. Here, there isn't much more than the bare necessities.

On the way in, he has spotted a general store, a smithy and the post office, and right in front of him is a shabby looking hotel advertising free rooms. On the porch of the barber shop next door, there are a few older men sitting and watching Arthur with blank expressions on their rough faces. Arthur lifts his hat and nods in silent greeting, but doesn't get a reaction.

So much for a warm welcome.

He turns around to the other side of the street, and there it is. It's easily the biggest building of the town. Two stories high with a set of wooden steps leading up to the broad porch and the swinging door. There's a fading sign with yellow letters on a red background that reads “Avalon Saloon”.

Arthur has reached the end of his journey. Almost, at least. He walks the last steps with growing apprehension, aware of the stares at his back, but he keeps going and finally pushes through the door.

His eyes need a moment to adjust to the gloom after the bright sunshine outside, and he takes in the large room, furnished in dark wood, with round tables and a long bar at one side, a set of stairs next to it leading up to the upper-level gallery. The place smells of whiskey, leather and sweat.

It's also mostly deserted; only one of the tables in the far corner is occupied by three men playing a game of cards. Behind the bar a scruffy looking man is polishing a glass with a  dirty rag, murmuring to a beautiful woman in the most outrageous dress Arthur has ever seen.

When Arthur enters, the conversations stop as every pair of eyes turns towards him. For a moment he falters, but then he straightens his shoulders, pulling off his hat and dusting it off against his thigh. He makes his way over to the bar, where the barman is watching him with expectation and mild curiosity.

''What can I get you, my friend?'' he asks, putting the glass he has been holding down on the bar in front of Arthur.

Arthur studies him for a moment. ''My name is Arthur Pendragon,'' he begins and the man's smile falls away, his expression turning into a frown.

The woman beside Arthur makes a derisive sound at the back of her throat, and Arthur shoots her a questioning look, but when she just haughtily raises her perfectly done eyebrows at him, he turns back to the barman.

''I'd like to talk to the manager, if that's possible?''

''The manager?'' the man asks, amused. ''Not rightly sure we have one of those.''

''We haven't,'' the beautiful woman butts in, looking Arthur up and down with an expression that conveys how very much she's not impressed. ''We've managed the business quite well ourselves so far.''

''And you are?'' Arthur turns to face her fully and takes a closer look.

He has to admit, she has a certain grace – tall, with pale skin, and hair the color of the night – but she's made up like a harlot. Her face is painted, her dress slit halfway up her thigh and coming off her shoulders, and when she straightens, Arthur worries for a moment that her breasts will spill free from the tight bodice. It would be easy to dismiss her as mere decoration, but Arthur isn't fooled. There's a scowl on her face that speaks of stubbornness, and her hard, blue eyes give the impression of a bird of prey, watching and waiting, but ready to strike.  

She doesn't hold out her hand to Arthur, but just cocks her head instead.

''I'm Morgana Le Fay,'' she says, her gaze cool and assessing. ''I look after the girls of the house.''

''Girls?'' Arthur frowns. ''What girls?''

Her lips curl mockingly. ''The entertaining kind.''

Arthur grimaces. ''You mean whores.''

That earns him a fierce glare. ''I mean girls who provide company and comfort when a man feels a little lonely,'' she snaps waspishly. ''And the men out here feel that way quite often.''

Well, that's a euphemism if Arthur ever heard one. But now that he is taking charge of the business, he won't tolerate her taking advantage of some girls' poor choices under his roof. He gives her a hard look.

''You can call it whatever you like, but know that I won't allow this establishment to be used for such dishonorable business. My late mother would have been horrified, had she known.''

Miss Le Fay scoffs. ''Oh sweetheart, believe me when I say, Ygraine Duboise was not the delicate flower you might imagine.''

For a moment Arthur is so taken aback, he doesn't know what to say. Finally he settles on, ''How would you know anything about my mother?''

The smile she gives him is marginally less glacial and she nods to the back of the bar where a framed and slightly faded photograph is perched. When he takes a closer look, Arthur sees that it's showing a blond girl in a barely decent costume. Her hair is made up and her painted lips are curled into a coy, yet sweet smile.

''Is this... This is my mother,'' he mumbles, stunned and uncomprehending, and with a lot more vulnerability in his voice than he's comfortable with.

At least Miss Le Fay doesn't mock him. She just gives him a long, searching look before she nods.

''She was a singer before her marriage. Didn't you know? A quite famous one. Of course then she fell for a rich guy and left all this behind for the small-minded wealth of the east coast.''

Arthur doesn't rise to the taunt. He's much too shocked by this newest revelation. It seems there are more secrets in regard to his mother than he initially expected, and he doesn't know how to deal with this, not here and now, in front of a bunch of complete strangers.  

He clears his throat. ''Be that as it may,'' he says stiffly. ''I'm sure she wouldn't approve of prostitution. I don't approve of prostitution. And since I will be running this saloon from now on, you can expect there to be some changes.''

Miss Le Fay rolls her eyes. ''God, don't tell me you're one of those uptight idiots with a stick up their ass!'' she scoffs, eradicating any doubt there was about her being a lady, even though her posture could match a queen in terms of confident arrogance. ''I saw you look at my chest, you know?''                                                                            

Arthur raises his eyebrows at her. ''It's rather difficult to avoid it,'' he says dryly. ''But rest assured that I have no interest in getting any closer acquainted.''

''Really?'' She sidles up to him and slides her hand along his arm in a lazy fashion, leaning into his space. Her voice turns into a seductive whisper. ''I think that is a big, fat lie, Mr. Pendragon. I think you are just like any other man, you're just too much of a hypocrite to admit it.''

She walks away while Arthur's rebuttal is still stuck somewhere in his throat, and he turns to the barman with a glare – an unvoiced challenge - but the man just shrugs at him and pours him a drink.

''Women,'' he says, as if that's all there is to it.

Arthur throws back the whiskey, trying do wash down his anger and embarrassment. The alcohol burn his throat and he has to suppress the urge to cough.

The barman grins. ''Our best rotgut.''

''If that's your best, I don't want to taste your worst.''

The man shrugs. ''Folks around here don't care much about the taste, as long as it does its job.''

''And what job is that?''

''To make you forget about whatever miserable reason dragged you in here in the first place.''

Great. Apparently his bar is the place to come for drunkards, whores and probably gamblers. He can't say that this is what he had in mind when he announced that he wanted to shape his own destiny.

Arthur waves off the offered refill and goes to explore the rest of the building. Downstairs, he finds a storage room behind the bar and a small kitchen. Apart from that there's the upper level, which has six rooms, three out front and three in the back.

The latter are occupied by Miss Le Fay's girls, and when Arthur knocks to introduce himself he meets Sophia, Freya and Gwen, all of whom are not quite what he'd expected from knowing their profession. They are pretty girls all right, but they seem strong willed and self-sufficient as well.

Freya is a slip of a girl but with a mischievous glint in her eyes. Gwen is very polite, if somewhat tense, and with an underlying strength in her dark gaze, but Arthur is a little surprised to find a young, colored girl in a place like this. He can't help but wonder what her story is. Sophia is the only one who flirts with him outrageously, and seems almost offended when Arthur shows no interest in taking her up on her offer. He tells her that it's because it would be indecent and dishonorable to take advantage of a woman like that, which makes her scoff but still seems to mollify her, at least a little.

There's truth in that, of course, but deep down Arthur knows it's also a convenient lie.

When he settles down in the only free room above the saloon that night, in a monstrosity of a bed that for all he knows once belonged to his mother, Arthur tries to just close his eyes and force himself to sleep. It doesn't work; he's much too tense and the events of the day keep playing in his mind, assaulting him with images and memories.

Miss Le Fay is right to call him a hypocrite, Arthur thinks when he finally gives in, almost reluctantly pressing his palm against his half-hard cock. In all honesty, his mind is hardly a place of chaste innocence. It might not be the voluptuous curves of Morgana Le Fay's girls that Arthur craves, but that doesn't mean that his urges are any more proper.

He usually manages to hold the fantasies at bay by concentrating on the physical sensations alone, but tonight, in the darkness of a foreign room, far away from everything he knows, he for once indulges himself. He doesn't have to think about it, his mind is quick to provide the tapestry of his desire. He strokes himself slowly, recalling high cheekbones and vivid blue eyes. He thinks of a slender frame and coltish legs, of hands bound by leather, and when he spills into his own hand and over his stomach, biting his lip to muffle the moans, it's to the image of Merlin Emrys' perfect, sinful lips wrapped around his cock, aching and hard.

*

Over the next few days, Arthur settles in, slowly getting to know the town and its small population. But he also has to realize that it's not an easy task to pick up the reins at Avalon Saloon. He knows how to run a business, knows how to balance accounts, handle the logistics of purchase and how to treat employees. Only none of this knowledge apparently holds true out here. His uncle didn't even do any official book-keeping. If there are any contracts with suppliers, they are based on nothing more than trust and a handshake, and as far as his employees go... Well, there's Gwaine, the barman who is rumored to have a bounty on his head in three states, and a boy called Mordred who helps with the cleaning but has yet to speak a single word and keeps staring at Arthur with a scowl on his face.    

In addition to that, his uncle has apparently turned a blind eye to the fact that Miss Le Fay is running a brothel in the rooms she has rented, but Arthur absolutely does not intend to stand for such an arrangement.

''So what... you're throwing us out?'' Miss Le Fay asks, when he inform her of this, obviously struggling to hold on to her temper.

''Of course not. You are welcome to stay as my tenants as long as you adhere to the rules of the house.''

Miss Le Fay narrows her eyes at him. ''And what kind of rules would those be?''

''Well...'' Arthur falters slightly, not wanting to offend her by making any clear accusations. ''Mostly that you all observe the proprieties. So obviously there can't be any men... visiting.''

''Are you serious?''

''Very much. As I'm sure you understand, Miss Le Fay, the success of any business depends on its reputation. And that's not the kind of reputation I'm striving for.''

Miss Le Fay looks at him as if he has just grown a second head. ''Then, Mr. Pendragon,'' she bites out scornfully. ''You probably shouldn't be running a saloon.''

As one week turns into the next, Arthur can't help but wonder if she had been right. Maybe coming to Tintagel was a mistake after all.

Not many of his patrons seem to appreciate the new way Arthur is running things. Most of them come to the saloon to gamble away what little money they earn, drown their sorrows, their anger or simply their boredom at the bottom of the glass and put their hand up the skirt of a pretty girl. That Arthur puts a stop to anything that goes further, doesn't make him any more popular.

The blank stares he received on his first day soon look cordial in contrast to the way people react to him now when he walks through town. There are dark looks shot in his direction, curses mumbled behind his back, and a few men even get right into his face, like Valiant, a rancher's son from out of town who regularly comes in to swagger around and harass the girls.

One evening Arthur cuts off drinks for him and his friends after they have one too many. They have difficulty standing by then, but they still take objection and the whole thing ends in a brawl that destroys half of the furniture. When Arthur tries to call upon the sheriff about the matter, Gwaine laughs in his face and tells him that they haven't had a sheriff since the last one got shot three years ago.

But it isn't just people like Valiant. Even Mr. Dulac from the barber shop, who has a kind smile and a helping hand for everyone, looked at Arthur as if he had kicked his dog or insulted his sister when he went for a shave the other day.

It is quite clear what everybody is thinking: Arthur doesn't belong, and it would be best if he went back to where he has come from.

The problem is, of course, that there is no place for him to return to. He burned all bridges when he refused to marry and left Boston, and as lonely as he is out here in this far away place, he can't regret that decision. He rides out in the morning, on his uncle's horse, to watch the sun rise over the desert and feels a little lighter when he comes back.

*

He's been in town for two weeks when he walks back from the post office one evening, not really in a hurry to join his mostly moody and hostile patrons. He climbs up the steps, but then stops in confusion. There's noise coming from inside and it doesn't sound like a fight. Instead there's clapping and cheering which nearly drowns out the music. Someone has apparently claimed the old piano rotting away in a corner and is putting it to good use with a jaunty tune.

The man at the piano has the crowd in a thrall. Some are dancing, some are just nodding along but the mood is more cheerful than Arthur has ever experienced. No one is paying him much attention when he steps inside, and so he circles around the room towards the bar, raising his eyebrows at Gwaine in silent inquiry. Gwaine is grinning at him broadly.

''I wouldn't have thought you had it in you, Pedragon! Where did you find that guy?''

''That's what I was going to ask you.''

Gwaine looks at him with a frown. ''He just came in an hour ago and then started to play. I thought you had hired him?''

Arthur shakes his head, and turns around again. The old piano has been gathering dust for a long time and is in dire need of a tune, but the dark haired stranger is not deterred by this. And while Arthur can only see the back of the man's head, something about his posture, the long neck and the dark hair curling around his ears, seems rather familiar. Slowly, recognition dawns and Arthur's eyes widen.

''I'll be damned,'' he mumbles and then he is pushing through the crowd towards the man he thought he'd never see again.

He stops just a step behind Merlin Emrys and for a moment simply watches him play. He looks a lot better than he did the last time they've met. The bruises have faded, and it looks like he acquired some new clothes. Even if they are a little threadbare, Arthur takes a moment to appreciate the way the black shirt stretches along surprisingly broad shoulders before his eyes wander down Merlin's back to his slim waist, where a belt holds up his somewhat too large trousers.  

Slowly, Arthur circles around Merlin until he comes to stand beside him, studying him with his hands in his pockets and an amused smile on his face.

Merlin doesn't notice him at first, too concentrated on his play. His teeth are digging into his bottom lip, but there's a smile is tugging at the corners of his mouth, as if he can't quite suppress the joy while his hands dance with graceful strength over the keys.

It takes Arthur a moment to catch his attention that way, but then Merlin looks up and immediately falters, his fingers slipping and disrupting the song with a discordant note. There are some jeers but Merlin just throws a look over his shoulder, cheeky and completely unrepentant, and takes up where he left off.

He plays two more songs, but all the while he is throwing glances in Arthur's direction, his smile almost shy and at the same time completely disarming. Once he has finished, Merlin gets up. He bows towards the room with an exaggerated flourish and waves away the audience's protest.

''Don't worry!'' he calls, grinning, ''I'll be back after a drink or two! And, what's even more important,'' And now he is looking at Arthur, still with that teasing expression on his face that makes something tingle in Arthur's stomach. ''I need to buy my friend here one.''

''Really? How did he manage to earn that?''

Morgana has come up beside them, shooting Arthur her usual look of disdain before she turns to Merlin with an appreciative smile.

''Oh, you wouldn't know from looking at him, but this man is completely insane!''

Arthur widens his eyes indignantly, and even Morgana looks taken aback, before she barks out a laugh and takes Merlin's arm, pulling him closer.

''I've had my suspicions,'' she quips, completely ignoring Arthur's glare.

''No, you don't understand!'' Merlin explains earnestly. ''He saved my life!''

Arthur has the suspicion that Merlin has had quite a few drinks already. His cheeks have taken on a rosy color, and he speaks with an enthusiasm that makes his almost rude honesty strangely endearing.

''Why, don't you come and tell me all about it, sugar?'' Morgana asks just then, and Arthur decides that he really doesn't like her at all.

''First I have to buy Arthur a drink!'' Merlin insists, shooting him a bright smile that isn't helping with Arthur's much discussed sanity. ''The least I owe him is a glass of your best rotgut!''

They have stepped up to the bar, and Gwaine puts down two glasses, pouring what Arthur can see is indeed the better stuff he usually keeps stowed away.

''You might have to content yourself with owing him then,'' his barman tells Merlin with a grin. ''Difficult to buy a man a drink when he owns the establishment.''

Merlin turns to Arthur wide-eyed. ''You own this saloon?'' he asks incredulously.

Arthur can't help to feel just a little bit proud. ''I do.''

''Then why would you let it go to hell like this? Honestly it's a shameful waste!''

Arthur blinks, taken aback, while Gwaine lets out a cackle and Morgana looks entirely too smug. ''I... I beg you pardon?''

Merlin just nods, not swayed in the slightest, waving his hands around. ''Yes! I mean, don't get me wrong, it's a lovely place, or well, it could be. When I came in I thought it was incredibly drab to be honest. It needs some life, some music for the girls to dance to, not to mention someone cleaning those windows out front.''

He knocks his drink back without hesitation and then looks at Arthur expectantly. When Arthur doesn't answer immediately, he starts babbling again, ''Honestly, it would be good for business! People drink more if they're cheerful, and it makes the ladies' business much easier as well, if you get what I mean.'' He winks saucily and Arthur has to swallow hard.

''Well, Mr. Pendragon here isn't interested in making the girls' business any easier,'' Morgana butts in snidely. ''He is a big fan of propriety and public morals.''

''Oh,'' Merlin visibly deflates and Arthur wonders with a painful little jab in his ribs whether he had hoped to take up with one of Morgana's girls.

He clears his throat. ''Yeah, well. That doesn't mean Mr. Pendragon dislikes music. In fact, Mr. Emrys, I'd have you an offer to make.''

*

To Arthur's immense relief Merlin is quick to accept the work, and suddenly things start to go so much more smoothly. With Merlin playing the piano every evening more people from the town come to the saloon whose first interest isn't gambling and getting drunk, but just having a good time and some harmless distraction. Merlin helps out wherever he's needed when he's not playing, and he sees to it that Arthur's rules are followed, but he does it with a wink and a smile, and that seems to make all the difference. People are less hostile, and Arthur can almost make himself believe that they are starting to accept him.

Of course there's also, well, Arthur can't quite bring himself to call it a drawback, but it's definitely a complication. Obviously, Arthur had not expected to see Merlin again, and so it had seemed safe to develop a little fantasy around the boy he met under such outstanding circumstances. In that fantasy, they didn't part quite so soon and Merlin showed Arthur how grateful he was for having rescued him, eagerly, and in the most exciting and filthy fashion.

But now Merlin is always there, eliciting pure joy from a neglected instrument, scrubbing the floorboards on his knees with his pert ass in the air and all the while smiling at Arthur cheekily, which proves... really distracting. Arthur's brain is apparently unable to quit, and he keeps imagining all those lurid acts he envisioned in the darkness of the night, lying alone in his bed and giving in to urges he tries not to think about in the light of day. Now he can't escape them.

It's a few days later that Arthur stops Merlin on his way to the bar, his broader hand wrapping around Merlin's arm without a second thought because it seems Arthur is unable to stop himself from touching Merlin for the most flimsy reasons.

He knows he should, but he doesn't take his hand back, savoring the warmth of Merlin's skin beneath his fingers instead. When Merlin looks at him expectantly, Arthur clears his throat.

''Tell Gwaine to cut Valiant off, will you?'' he grumbles. ''I'm pretty sure he's got more than enough.''

''Oh, don't worry,'' Merlin waves him off. ''I've already taken care of it.''

''You just took him another drink.''

Merlin grins. ''I did. But that one won't get him much drunker.''

''Of course it will--''

''No. Trust me. It won't.''

''And why, pray tell, would Valiant be immune to whiskey all of a sudden?''

Merlin leans in, looking immensely pleased. ''Because,'' he whispers, ''I've been watering down his drinks for the past hour already. There isn't much whiskey in that one anymore.''

Arthur blinks. ''You're watering down our drinks? That's… fraud.''

Merlin rolls his eyes, not chastised at all. ''You're missing the point, Arthur. If you cut someone like Valiant off, he'll just make a stink. And I assumed you'd like to keep the rest of the furniture.''

Arthur frowns. He can't deny that it's a reasonable solution, even if it seems a little dishonorable.

''I wouldn't do it, unless it was necessary. And I'm sure you'll agree in this case it's the best for all parties. You don't invite trouble, and Valiant is kept from making a fool of himself.''

Arthur raises his eyebrows at him, pointedly looking at where the man in question is wrangling an obviously uncomfortable Gwen down on his lap, telling her that she might just get lucky tonight if she's a good girl.

Merlin pulls a face. ''Okay, not much to be done about that I guess.''

Arthur glares at Valiant and when the man catches his eye, he holds up his hands with a broad grin.

''Don't worry, Pendragon. I know your rules,'' he calls, and then leans in to whisper in Gwen's ear. Gwen doesn't look too happy but nods with a stiff smile painted on her face and takes Valiant's hand, letting herself be pulled out the door.

Arthur watches them go, not quite able to quench the bad feeling nestling in his stomach, but the crowd is a boisterous one that night and Arthur soon gets distracted by a heated discussion that breaks out over a game of poker. Guns are pulled, and Arthur has to step in to bring them to their senses or at least scare them into putting their weapons away.

It's probably an hour later that he steps out through the back door to get some air, when he hears noises coming from the barn. There are muffled voices and sounds of a scuffle.

Arthur frowns and slowly moves closer towards the outer building to investigate. When he can hear them better, he realizes it's Gwen and Valiant, and it's immediately clear to Arthur that something is wrong.

''No, don't! You're hurting me!''

''Come on you little bitch, you know you want it!''

''I said no-ngmph!''

Arthur breaks out into a run and pushes the door open with such force that it crashes into the wall with a bang. It's dark in the barn, but Arthur can make out Gwen sprawled on the floor and Valiant towering over her with his pants shoved down to mid-thigh. With his left, he's pulling Gwen's head up by her disheveled hair.

''Let go of her. Right now,'' Arthur presses out, gritting his teeth in fury and disgust.

''Fuck off, Pendragon! I'm not in your saloon, you can't tell me what to do out here!''

''Maybe not, but Gwen can. And she told you 'no'. So let. Her. Go.''

Valiat laughs and pulls Gwen up further. ''She's a whore. They say 'no' but what they really  mean is 'yes'.''

Gwen is sobbing now, little hiccups of 'no no please', weakly pushing against her attacker.

''Stop whining,'' Valiant scoffs and throws her to the floor like so much garbage.

Arthur starts forward, but Valiant intercepts him before he can get to the shaking girl. ''Oh no no no, this one's mine. I have a lesson to teach her. How to thank the man who bought her.''

''The only one in need of a lesson is you,'' Arthur growls and punches Valiant square in the face. The first one gets him right in the nose and the bastard howls in pain as blood bursts out from his nostrils. Arthur takes the opportunity to land a second one on his chin, knocking him over so he's sprawled on the floor. He's groaning and Arthur doesn't take any chances, he pulls him up half way and punches him again, this time knocking him out for good.     

For a moment Arthur stands over his crumbled form, breathing heavily and blinking in the dim light of the moon that falls through the open door. He feels a grim satisfaction at such a vile man lying in the dirt like this, but then a quiet sob draws his attention back to Gwen. He rushes over and crouches down in front of her, gently touching her shoulder.

''Gwen? Are you okay? Are you hurt?''

Gwen has her arms wrapped around her. She shakes her head, not meeting his eyes, but Arthur can see the dark bruise on her tear-stained cheek.

''Better have you checked out,'' he says, taking her by the arm and pulling her up. ''Come on. I'm taking you to Mr. Dulac.''

Lance Dulac is the closest thing the town has to a doctor.

''No. It's fine,'' Gwen whispers. ''I don't have the money to pay him anyway.''

''Don't you worry about that. I'll pay.''

Gwen looks up at him surprised, but there's a hint of bitterness as well. ''That's-''

''The least I can do.''

Finally, Gwen nods. They make their way out of the barn, and when Gwen sways on her feet, Arthur wraps an arm around her waist to steady her. In the moonlit night he spots a small figure, emptying a bucket behind the saloon.

''Mordred!'' he calls, and the boy jumps. ''Tell Gwaine and Merlin that Valiant's in the barn. He's unconscious right now, but he'll wake up soon. Tell them to lock him up in the cell at the sheriff's office!''

Mordred stares at him wide-eyed for a moment, but then he nods quickly.

''Yes, Mr. Pendragon!''

It's only later that Arthur realizes that those were the first words the boy has spoken to him since he came to the town.

They slowly walk down towards the main street and Mr. Dulac's barber shop, Gwen leaning heavily on him. The house lies dark and quiet, and it takes a while until Mr. Dulac answers the door when Arthur knocks. He's in his nightclothes, his hair is sticking up and there's a worried look on his face that turns grave when he catches sight of Gwen.

''Dear god.'' He immediately pulls the door open further, gesturing for them to come inside. ''What happened?''

''Valiant happened.''

Mr. Dulac lets out what sounds like an actual growl and looks more enraged than Arthur has ever seen him.

''Don't worry,'' Arthur reassures him. ''I took care of that bastard. But I think Gwen is hurt. Please. I promise I'm good for the fees.''

Mr. Dulac shoots him a confused look and then shakes his head. ''That won't be necessary. This one's on the house.'' He touches Gwen gently by the shoulder, and starts leading her towards a room in the back, but then hesitates a moment before he turns back to Arthur and says, ''And call me Lance.''

Arthur nods, momentarily stunned, and then takes off his hat, preparing himself to wait. His knuckles are smarting and when he looks down at them, he sees that they are bloodied.

He soon forgets about his discomfort, though, when Morgana Le Fay comes storming into the shop. She goes right for him, her green eyes burning with fury, and slaps him across the face before he can even get out a word of explanation.

''This is all your fucking fault!'' she yells at him and Arthur looks at her with stunned disbelief.

''What? How is this my fault, exactly? I fought that asshole off, if you want to know! And it's not me who's making her do this kind of work in the first place. You are-''

''I'm not making her do anything either, you moron! Gwen is helping her brother pay off a debt by earning money the only way she can! A debt, I should add, that only exists because her brother had to buy her freedom from her 'master' in the first place! I'm trying to help her and you...'' She points a finger at him. ''You're not making this any easier for her or the other girls!''

Lance sticks his head out the door then, looking from one to the other. ''Miss Gwen probably has a concussion and she's resting now. So if you could please keep quiet out here?''

His voice is mild but firm and even Morgana looks chastised, although that doesn't stop her from glaring at Arthur.

Arthur feels a headache coming, and his hand is throbbing rather painfully by now. He decides to make a strategic retreat.

''Will she be all right?'' he asks before he takes his leave and Lance assures him that all Gwen needs is some quiet and comfort.

Certain that he's leaving the girl in good hands, Arthur makes his way back towards the saloon. It's late and Gwaine probably made the last call a while ago. Now everything is dark and deserted. Nights are still cold out here, and Arthur shivers a little, thinking with longing of the woodstove and warm blankets in his room.

He goes around back for no special reason. He's sure Merlin and Gwaine have taken care of Valiant. There's really no need to pass by the barn again, but he still does, and then pauses when he sees a flickering light spill out from under the now closed doors. With a suspicious frown he walks closer, listening for the sound of voices or anything else, but there are none.

He pushes against the door until it stands ajar and quietly peeks inside, wondering whether someone else has appropriated the space for his shady business. But there's only one person, curled up in the hay next to a familiar looking horse. Merlin is asleep, but his rest doesn't look peaceful the way he's shaking and tossing about.

Pushing the door fully open, Arthur steps inside and goes to crouch down next to the other man.

''Merlin.''

He reaches out for his shoulder, shaking him a little.

''Merlin, wake up.''

Merlin is just about to start his last session on the piano for the night, when Mordred bursts into the saloon, runs straight towards him and grabs him by the hand, tugging at it urgently. Gwaine, who is busy behind the bar, just shrugs at him and so Merlin lets himself be dragged out the back door and towards the barn.

For a moment he is worried someone has discovered where he has been spending his nights, but those worries are soon forgotten when he finds Valiant, lying on the floor in a crumbled heap with blood covering his face.

Merlin wants to go and see what's wrong with him, because even if Valiant is a bastard, Merlin plans to sleep in this barn later, and he'd rather not share it with a corpse. But Mordred holds him back.

''Mr. Pendragon,'' he says, his voice earnest and filled with awe and admiration. ''He took Valiant down with a single punch! He said to bring him to the sheriff's office and lock him up!''

''Mr. Pendragon did this?''

Maybe it shouldn't come as such a surprise, seeing how he and Arthur first met, but back then Arthur had been more about clever threats than brutal force. In any case, the idea of him besting an asshole like Valiant in a fistfight really shouldn't make Merlin feel all hot inside. It's not like he enjoys violence, and he's pretty sure Arthur doesn't either. Morgana is not wrong when she accuses him of having a stick up his ass. But while Merlin kind of admires how stupidly honorable and righteous Arthur is, it's also incredibly infuriating and makes Merlin want to sully all that golden perfection.

He knows he shouldn't let himself think about it, but he can't help imagining it sometimes: how thrilling it would be to drag Arthur into a dark corner behind the saloon, to press his firm body up against the wall and sink down on his knees in the dirt before him. He imagines Arthur's strong thighs under his palms, his careful hands in Merlin's hair, pulling him closer, begging for it. And Merlin would comply happily.

It's not like he hasn't done it before. In sweltering summer nights, with Will, behind the stable. Although that was different in many ways. Merlin was curious and Will, at seventeen, was simply looking to get off any way possible. This time it wouldn't be about discovery, this time it would be completely about Arthur.

The idea fills Merlin with a longing so fierce that he sometimes fears he will explode, but he knows he can never act upon it. He's too scared to lose his place here, this little corner he has carved out for himself after he lost everything there was to his name. He can't risk that again.

''Mr. Emrys? What do we do now?''

Mordred's voice pulls Merlin out of his daydreams and it takes him a moment to remember what the boy is talking about. He takes a measuring look at the unconscious Valiant and shakes his head.

''Where did Mr. Pendragon go?''

''He took Gwen to the doc.''

''To Mr. Dulac? Why? What's wrong with her?''

''I think Mr. Valiant hurt her.''

What little sympathy Merlin might have felt for the man dies at Mordred's words and Merlin grits his teeth against the sudden wave of fury. Well, that explains his condition, he thinks with smug satisfaction.

''I can't carry him alone,'' he says grimly. ''Mr. Pendragon was right. We'll need Gwaine for this.''

Gwaine frowns at him when Merlin explains the situation, but then shouts for last order and tells Morgana to keep an eye on things for a bit. Morgana looks surprised, but for once doesn't ask questions.

Together Gwaine and Merlin take Valiant by his arms and legs and half carry, half drag him down the empty street towards the abandoned sheriff's office.

''God, the bastard is heavy!'' Gwaine groans.

''Shouldn't he have woken up by now?''

Merlin can't help but feel a little worried, not so much for Valiant, but however angry Arthur was, he probably didn't want to kill the man. Gwaine shrugs unconcerned.

''Pendragon clocked him good.'' He sounds reluctantly impressed. ''Although by now he's probably just sleeping it off.''

The sheriff's office hasn't been in use for a while and it looks it. But the key to the cell is right there in its lock, and so they dump Valiant on the dusty cot inside of it. Merlin turns the key and then puts it in his pocket.

Leaning against the bars, Gwaine pulls out a smoke and looks at Merlin with raised eyebrows.

''Didn't think Pendragon was the type,'' he remarks, and Merlin tries but fails to keep the strangely proud smile off his face.

''I think he's the type who always tries to do the right thing, even if he doesn't always know what that is.''

Gwaine cocks his head and looks Merlin up and down contemplatively. Merlin tries not to blush, but luckily Gwaine doesn't comment further.  

They part ways in front of the saloon, and Gwaine goes inside to take care of the last stragglers while Merlin makes his way back to the barn. It feels strange to go back to the scene of the fight, to spend his night where Valiant attacked Gwen and drops of the man's blood are still mottling the floor, but it's not like Merlin has anywhere else to stay.

The rooms at the dingy hotel in town are not just disgusting but also over-priced, and Merlin has tried to spend as little as possible of his pay. It might be naïve of him to save up money, hoping to pay off a debt when he doesn't know if it will ever be possibile, but he can't just give up on the farm that meant so much to both his parents. The barn is not exactly warm and cozy, but it's better than sleeping outside.

Pulling the threadbare blanket up to his chin, he wills himself to fall asleep. He dreams of fists and laughter and the spinning blue sky overhead, watches his blood drip slowly onto the sand and run away in rivulets. The sun overhead is white and cold, and he lies in the dirt while the desert watches unaffected.

''Merlin.''

A voice is calling for him, worried and gentle, and Merlin tries to turn towards it, struggling against his binds. Then a hand touches his shoulder, and Merlin wakes with a start. For a moment he doesn't know what's real and what's not, afraid he's back in the desert and about to have a rope put around his neck. His heart is beating like crazy, but when he blinks his eyes open they stare right into the deep blue of Arthur's, who is crouched next to him with a frown on his face.

''Merlin? What are you doing here?''

Fear turns to mortification, when Merlin realizes he has been found out.

He swallows. ''Is Gwen alright?'' he asks, as much to avoid Arthur's question as out of  honest concern.

''She will be. She's with Lance.''

''Oh. That's good. We locked up Valiant, like you said.''

Arthur's expression darkens. ''Good.''

''You did a right number on him. Even Gwaine was impressed and--''

''Merlin.''

''Yeah?''

''What are you doing here?''

Merlin ducks his head. ''What does it look like?'' he mumbles defensively.

''It looks like you were trying to sleep here, but I have no idea why you would do that. Especially when there's a hotel right down the street.''

''Please, Miss Kathrina's rooms are infested with rats and cockroaches. No, thank you.''

''Of course,'' Arthur remarks dryly. ''And you're much too sophisticated to put up with that.''

''You know me. I'm fastidious.''

Arthur laughs and shakes his head a little.

''Come on,'' he says, touching Merlin's shoulder again before he gets up himself, looking down at Merlin expectantly.

''Where are we going?''

''The saloon. You'll freeze out here, and I have more than enough room and blankets for the both of us.''

Merlin wants to object, but it is cold and so he follows Arthur back to the saloon and up the stairs to the gallery.

Arthur's room is deliciously warm due to a woodstove sitting in one corner and spacious enough to fit a dresser, a washstand and a rather large, carved bed that Merlin studiously tries not to look at too closely. Now that he's in such close and private quarters with the man he's been fantasizing about, he feels awkward and nervous all of a sudden.

Arthur's mood is sombre though, his thoughts obviously still on the events of the night.

''From the way Mordred told the story, you were amazing,'' Merlin tries to lighten him up. ''There was some severe hero worship going on, that I can tell you.''

''I'm no hero,'' Arthur says dismissively, his lips pressing into a hard line.

''But you did a good thing tonight.''

''Morgana Le Fay sees that differently. She thinks what happened to Gwen is my fault.''

Merlin doesn't immediately know how to counter that, and he must have remained silent for too long, because Arthur rounds on him with an accusing look in his eyes.

''You think the same!''

''No! I don't. It's just...''

Merlin bites his lip, shifting on his feet nervously. He doesn't quite know how to raise that issue with Arthur.

''Just what, Merlin? Spit it out!''

''Well... I think by now you realize the girls will do their business anyway, whether you allow it in the saloon or not?''

''I'm not an idiot Merlin. But what do you want me to do? You think I should listen to Morgana? To take advantage of these girls under the cloak of making it easier for them? ''

He sounds angry now, agitated even.

''Do you honestly think any one of them would do what they're doing, if they had a better option in life? Isn't it mightily arrogant of you to judge them for that when you inherited this saloon without any effort on your part?''

''I'm not judging them,'' Arthur objects. He's started pacing the length of the room. ''I just don't want any part in it. And I don't want to make it easier for the men who abuse them!''

''Valiant had it pretty easy tonight. And you became part of it the moment you helped Gwen. Do you regret that?''

''Of course not! Anyone would have done that.''

''Actually, a lot of people wouldn't, but that's not my point. My point is that you could help her to not get in a situation like that again by giving her and the others a safe space.''

Arthur doesn't answer immediately. In fact he doesn't answer for a long time, so long that Merlin begins to fear he has finally managed to offend him. But just when Merlin opens his mouth to paddle back, Arthur says, ''I'll have to think about it.''

Merlin blinks, surprised. He didn't really expect that Arthur could be moved on this point, but maybe he's less stubborn than Merlin gave him credit for. What happened with Gwen has visibly upset him.

''That's... all I'd ask.''

Arthur nods and rubs his hands over his face before combing them through his blond hair until it sticks up like a little boy's. He looks tired all of a sudden.

''It's been a long night. Let's go to bed.''

It's ridiculous but, to Merlin's embarrassment, he can't keep himself from blushing. He knows very well that Arthur didn't mean anything by it, but Merlin's brain is quick to conjure all kinds of lascivious images.

''Right... Where can I... I mean...'' He gives Arthur a helpless look.

Arthur clears his throat. He looks a little uncertain when he says, ''Well, the bed is certainly big enough.''

Merlin's heart jumps up to his throat and his cock starts to harden in his trousers.

Staring at Arthur wide-eyed, he stammers, ''Oh, but... I couldn't. I mean... that's... you shouldn't... I can sleep on the floor.''

''The floor? That's hardly comfortable...''

''No, but... I couldn't possibly impose on a... a fine gentleman like you, force you to share your bed...'' with the likes of me, he doesn't say.

Arthur huffs out a laugh, but it sounds plaintive rather than amused.

''Is that what you think of me?'' he asks quietly. His eyes are searching Merlin for an answer  that he doesn't know how to give, and in the end Arthur looks away with a sigh. ''I can assure you, Merlin, that my life hasn't always been lived in comfort and luxury.''

''But... I thought...''

''Yes, my father is a rich man.'' Arthur smiles, bitter and self-deprecating. ''But he wasn't... When I was a young boy he sent me away to school. We were taught things like discipline and humility there, but comfort wasn't a primary objective.'' He looks up at Merlin again, raising his eyebrows. ''So, unless you snore, I don't mind sharing.''

Merlin is torn. That glimpse of vulnerability only makes him want to reach out to Arthur more, but he can't take advantage of him like that. Not when he has no idea of the way Merlin is thinking about him. In fact, his secret could quickly come to light, should Merlin have to lose his trousers.

''You shouldn't have to...'' he starts weakly.

Arthur closes his eyes and hangs his head, shaking it a little.

''Then take as many blankets as you need,'' he says and turns away, starting to unbutton his shirt.

For a moment Merlin stands frozen to the spot, not sure what to do or where to look, but then he quickly grabs some blankets from the bed and drags them over to the woodstove. He kneels down on the floor with his back to Arthur, desperately hoping the soft light from the oil lamp will hide his burning cheeks and neck.

He takes his time making himself a place to sleep, trying to stall, but without much success. When he gets up again, he catches sight of Arthur with his shirt hanging open from his broad shoulders, revealing his chest and defined stomach. Merlin swallows hard. It takes all his willpower to tear his eyes away from the way Arthur's hair and skin glow in the lamp light like gold and brass.

Arthur on the other hand seems oblivious to Merlin's condition, and when he reaches for his belt, Merlin whips around, hastily bending down to take off his boots. He slips under the blankets, and listens to the shuffling of feet and the rustling of clothes, ordering his brain to keep from filling in the visuals, but his brain has never been very obedient.

Finally, he hears Arthur get into bed as well and there's a quiet ''Good night'' before he turns out the light.

In the darkness, listening to Arthur's quiet breaths, Merlin keeps mulling over what the other man just revealed. It has been rather surprising, especially because Arthur has never been very forthcoming about his past until now, and it only makes Merlin want to know more.

''That school of yours, was it far away?'' Merlin finally gives in to his curiosity.

''Yes,'' Arthur hesitantly replies after a moment. ''I only went home between terms.''

''That sounds tough.''

''It was at first. I was only eight when I got send there, and it was a drastic change.''

''You must have felt lonely.''

Arthur makes a non-committal sound and they fall silent once more. Merlin isn't sure if Arthur's still awake, but maybe that's what gives him courage to speak.

''I'd never really left before this,'' he quietly admits. ''Not for anything longer than a half day's journey.''

Again, Arthur takes a moment, but then his voice comes out of the darkness.

''And where was that? Home?''

Merlin swallows hard. He has tried not to think about it too much, about the place he has lost. The place he was happy once. ''Our farm. A two days ride north from here.''

''What made you leave?''

Merlin bites down on his lip hard. He could evade the question, like he did the last time. He said it was a long story then, and in a way it is. A long, painful story. But it's easier to tell here, in the dark. Arthur has seen the end of it already, but he doesn't know how Merlin came to be there, helpless, with a rope around his neck.

''My mother died.''

Arthur audibly sucks in a breath. ''I'm sorry,'' he says, two plain words, but his voice is filled with sincerity and remembered pain.

''A little over a month ago, but she'd been sick for a while. I tried. I took care of her best as I could, but... it's difficult to get medicine out here, to find a decent doctor who knows what he's doing. The one we went to told us there was nothing to be done, and my mother refused to see another. She said it was too expensive and we had to think of the farm. As if that mattered with her life on the line. I mean, why would she--?''

''She wanted you to have a home and a future.''

''And now I don't even have that.'' The bitterness is threatening to choke him.

''What happened?''

''Kanen and his men, they said my mother owed them money.''

''Did they have something official? Like a note of debt?

Merlin huffs out a laugh. ''They had guns. And they implied I was a... a bastard who had no rights anyway.''

''They ran you off your farm.''

There it is, that righteous anger in Arthur's voice, that has become so familiar to Merlin.

''Yes, like a coward in the night.''

''That's not right.''

''What else could I have done? What can one man do against five?''

''No, I meant it's not cowardly to save your own life when you stand no other chance. What you'd need to do is get reinforcements.''

Merlin scoffs. ''Who would want to get in trouble over something that doesn't affect them?''

''I would.''

Merlin smiles into the darkness. ''Yeah, but we already know you're crazy.''

Arthur remains silent for so long, Merlin is half asleep when he hears his next words.

''I'm sorry about your mother.''

Merlin blinks as sudden tears spring up in his eyes. Maybe it's because no one has said these words before, no one has acknowledged Merlin's grief, that Arthur's sympathy undoes him like this.

''Thank you.''

''I... I know how it feels to watch someone you love fade away before your eyes,'' Arthur says, obviously struggling to find the right words.

Of course. ''Your mother.''

''Yes.''

''How old were you when she died?''

''Six.''

''I'm sorry. That must have been hard.''

''Yes.'' Arthur's voice is just a whisper now, as if he was telling a long hidden secret. ''I wasn't allowed to see her much. My father told me she was too weak, that she needed rest and not for an unruly child like me to disturb her.''

He sounds so young and lost that Merlin feels his heart break for him and the little boy he once was.  

''Sometimes I would sneak in,'' Arthur continues. ''And she was always so happy to see me. She would read to me until she became tired, and I didn't understand why it was bad for her. One morning, I slipped into her room and she wasn't there. Father sat at her bed, but it was empty and pristine as if she had never been there at all. Her books, jewelery and clothes... everything was gone. He said, 'Your mother is dead. I hope you're happy now.'''

''Oh my god...''

''He never talked about her again, and no one else was allowed to either.''

''That's... god, Arthur, I'm so sorry. You know it wasn't your fault, right?''

''I have no idea. I hardly know anything about her. I came here to... I don't know, find her, find out who she was, and maybe...''

''Maybe what?''

Arthur hesitates, then he goes on even more quietly. ''I never felt like I belonged back in Boston, and I thought...'' He laughs, a small, self-deprecating sound. ''But it's obvious I don't belong here either.''

''Maybe you should...''

''What Merlin? What is it that I should do?''

Maybe you shouldn't try to change the way these people have been living their life, he thinks. But he understands that the urge to do what he perceives as the right thing is such an integral part of Arthur, it would be useless advice.

Merlin rolls around to his stomach, facing Arthur even though he can't see him. His eyes have adjusted enough to the little light from the moon outside that he can make out the bed and the shape of Arthur's body.

''I think you should get some new clothes,'' Merlin says finally.

''Pardon?'' Arthur splutters, somewhere between amused and outraged. It might be too dark to see, but Merlin can very well imagine his indignant expression. It makes him smile.

''What's wrong with my clothes?''

''Nothing... or everything. I mean they are nice,'' Merlin amends, ''A little too nice, in fact.''

''Too nice...'' Arthur sounds dubious.

''You stick out,'' Merlin explains. ''You don't look  like you belong, or even want to. And that makes people suspicious.''

''And that's all?''

''Well...''

Arthur huffs. ''I'll think about it,'' he grumbles. ''And I think now we should sleep before you come up with any more idiotic ideas. Good night, Merlin.''

Merlin rolls onto his back again with a secret smile. ''Good night, Arthur.''

He falls asleep quickly and no nightmares come to haunt him this time. It's not just the heat from the woodstove; there's a different warmth inside of him, the like he hasn't felt since his mother died.

Arthur lies awake for a long time that night. He listens to the way Merlin's breathing even out and thinks about his words and his advice. He is right, Arthur realizes. As much as he has hoped to find a place where he belonged in Tintagel, he has not been truly prepared to become one of them. Part of him is still trying to live up to the ideas of a man who has effectively turned his back on him. Arthur is not so sure whether changing his clothes will help with that, but changing his attitude might.

It's the break of dawn, the new day nothing more than a hint of soft, bluish light at the horizon, when Arthur finally gives up on sleep and quietly slips out of bed. Merlin is buried under his blanket, snoring softly, and Arthur treads quietly so he won't wake him. As a result, he's barely decent in his shirtsleeves, unkempt and with stubble on his cheeks, as he makes his way over to Morgana Le Fay's room.

Arthur knocks lightly and, when there's no answer, does so again but more forcefully until the door is pulled open by a glaring girl. Her hair is in disarray and her face is bare of the usual paint, which makes her look a lot younger, less fierce and yet somehow prettier in Arthur's eyes. Her scowl remains the same, though, when she crosses her arms over her chest, shivering slightly in her thin nightclothes.

''What the hell do you want?'' she growls, and Arthur almost falters, but then pulls himself straight.

''I wanted to talk to you.''

Her face is a picture of irritation and disbelief. ''In the middle of the damn night?''

Arthur raises his chin, looking down at her with a hard expression. ''You insinuated earlier that Gwen's injuries were my fault. I can't agree with you on that, but I have to admit that the rules I've set up probably didn't help to prevent the attack on her.''

Morgana leans against the door frame with a sneer on her face. ''You don't say?''

''I've therefore come to the conclusion, that they should be abolished.''

''...You what?''

If he wasn't so tired and the matter not so serious, Arthur might have laughed at Morgana's gobsmacked expression.

''I do have a few conditions.''

''Conditions? Of course. Why am I not surprised?''

Arthur ignores her mocking tone. By now he's become used to it.

''I won't accept violence. That one's not debatable. I don't care how much the guy pays, I reserve the right to throw anyone out who gets aggressive or disturbs the business.''

Morgana gives him a wary look. ''I'm fine with that.''

''And you don't coerce or force any of the girls. If one of them wants to quit, they can. And they get their full pay.''

''What do you take me for?'' Morgana grouses, looking offended.

Arthur raises his eyebrows. ''I just want to make sure we're clear about everything.''

''What about your share of the profit then?'' she asks sarcastically. ''How much do you want for lending us protection?''

''You're my tenants. Just pay me the rent when it's due.''

''Are you serious?'' Morgana asks taken aback. ''Your uncle wanted thirty-five percent of the girls' earnings!''

''I'm not my uncle, Miss Le Fay. I just want these girls to be safe.''

Arthur holds out his hand, but Morgana stares at him as if she's never seen him before and can't quite comprehend how he came to be here. When she finally takes Arthur's hand, it's with a surprisingly strong grip.

He bids her goodbye and is halfway around the gallery again when she calls after him.

''Are you gonna pick up the star too, then? It might fit well on that broad chest of yours!''

Arthur turns back to her with a frown. ''What are you talking about?''

Morgana smiles. ''Never mind. Maybe you should ask Merlin about it. And, Mr. Pendragon? Wake me before noon again, and I'll cut off your balls.''

*

The first dusty light of morning filters through the windows when Arthur gets back. Sunrise is still some time away, but Merlin is up, standing in the middle of the room, looking lost. He has taken off his shirt to wash and Arthur stops, breath catching in his throat. He knew Merlin was slender, all long limbs and narrow joints, but it's the first time he gets a glimpse at the taut planes and firm muscle that come with working a farm all your life.  

Arthur can't stop his eyes from wandering along the shadow of Merlin's boney shoulder blades and down his spine to where his trousers hang rather low on his hips. The swell of Merlin's ass is hidden under the baggy cloth, but Arthur has seen enough to imagine the rest.

''Arthur.''

When Merlin turns around, Arthur's gaze is still lost somewhere below his waist, and it takes him too long to drag it back up.

''Where have you been?''

There's color in Merlin's cheeks and a sunny smile on his lips, and Arthur needs a moment to process the question and find an answer.

''Uh... with Morgana,'' he finally stutters.

Merlin's face falls. ''Oh. I didn't know you two were...''

''What?'' Arthur is so distracted he only belatedly realizes what his words implied. His eyes widen. ''No! God, no. I just went to talk to her.''

Merlin gives him a doubtful look, and Arthur quickly tries to explain. ''Because you were right. Last night. About the girls and that it's not my place... that the most important thing is that they're safe. So I went to tell her that I won't any longer oppose... that it's their choice as long as no one gets hurt.''

The smile that blooms on Merlin's face at that might be the most beautiful thing Arthur's ever seen.

''I'm glad,'' Merlin says quietly. ''You're a good man, Arthur Pendragon.''

It's the kind of approval Arthur has always longed for but, knowing he wants so much more from Merlin, he is well aware that he does not deserve it.

''If you really knew me, you wouldn't say that.''

Merlin's forehead creases, and Arthur wants to look away, but he can't. Instead, his eyes drop to Merlin's mouth and then further, down to the naked stretch of his chest and the dusky peeks of his nipples, taut in the cool morning air. He can feel the heat rising up in his face and swallows hard against the lump in his throat.

''Oh,'' Merlin whispers, and Arthur's eyes close in mortification.

''Oh.''

Merlin says it again, a soft, breathless sound, and Arthur can hear him shift closer. His eyes flicker up, heart beating a painful rhythm against his ribs.

Merlin is standing right in front of him now, blue eyes searching his face, and Arthur feels completely naked, certain that Merlin can read his deepest secrets and every shameful desire, written on his skin. There's no place to hide, but Merlin doesn't look shocked or disgusted. Instead, he reaches up and presses the cool palm of his hand against Arthur's burning cheek. It's such a small gesture, but Arthur is completely undone. He can't remember the last time anyone has touched him like this.

Merlin must have found what he was looking for because he slowly leans in, still a little hesitant but with a hopeful smile, and Arthur's breath stops.

As kisses come, this one is almost chaste, an offer and a confirmation, and full of promise.

Merlin's warm breath tickles Arthur's chin, and something breaks inside of him. He grabs Merlin's neck and jaw, pulls at his hair and draws him closer. He kisses Merlin as if he were drowning and Merlin was the very air he needed to keep breathing.

''Didn't know you wanted...'' Merlin gasps between kisses that are hot and wet and becoming more possessive with every taste Arthur takes.

''I did... wanted... all this time...''

Merlin moans into his mouth and pushes against Arthur until his back hits the wall. When he draws back, his eyes are dark and his lips bitten red. Arthur lets out a helpless groan. His cock is painfully hard and throbbing.

''What?'' Merlin asks. ''What did you want all this time? Tell me.”

Arthur licks his lips and swallows. ''I... your mouth,'' he confesses. ''I wanted your mouth.''

Merlin's grin is almost devious. ''Let me see if I can guess what you imagined,'' he whispers and then slides down the front of Arthur's body until his knees hit the floor.

Arthur bites his lip to muffle his moans when Merlin palms his erection through the cotton of his trousers. ''Dear God...'' he chokes out and lets his head fall back against the wood behind him.  ''Merlin, you...''

Words escape him. His hands flutter along Merlin's neck and shoulders and bury into his scalp pulling at it a little. Merlin hums in appreciation and pops open the button of Arthur's trousers.

Things turn hazy from there. Merlin takes hold of Arthur's cock, and the sensation of his rough working man hands against Arthur's sensitive skin nearly lets him come right away. Balling his hands into fists, Arthur will's himself to take deep breaths. This feels too good to be over so soon. He doesn't want it to be like one of the few guilty fumbles in the dark he had back when he was still a schoolboy. Then Merlin's tongue flicks out against his glans, and Arthur stops thinking all together.

He grabs Merlin's hair as his hips buck forwards instinctively, and his cock slides right into the hot cavern of Merlin's mouth. Merlin chokes a little but doesn't falter. Instead, he takes hold of the Arthur's ass with both hands and soon his lips are sliding up and down the shaft of Arthur's cock, while Merlin is sucking enthusiastically.

Arthur can feel the pleasure building up in a crescendo, and thinks, no no no, not yet! He takes hold of Merlin's shoulders and tugs more insistently, until Merlin releases his cock with a wet sound, letting himself be pulled to his feet. He is out of breath and his mouth looks swollen and used, but his eyes are uncertain.

''What? What's wrong? Didn't you like it?''

Arthur chokes on a helpless laugh. ''Afraid I liked it too much. I was getting... but I didn't want to, not yet.''

Merlin frowns, and Arthur adds, almost too quiet to be heard. ''And I want to touch you, too.''

Somehow it must have been the right thing to say because Merlin's smile is as bright as the sun.

''You wonderful, crazy, glorious idiot! Did you think we'd only do it this once? You did, didn't you?'' He leans in again and this time their kiss is almost painfully tender. ''I'm planning many repeat performances,'' Merlin whispers against his lips. ''And you may touch me as much and as long as you want.''

Arthur takes this as permission to explore. His palms glide up Merlin's flanks and stroke over his chest before following the trail of soft, dark hair down to his abdomen. Fingertips dance along Merlin's spine and skim the waistband of his low hanging trousers, causing him to draw in a shuddering breath.

Even Merlin's baggy trousers can't hide his straining erection any longer, but Arthur isn't done yet. He takes his time, making Merlin shiver and bite his lips, muffling his moans with kisses, until Merlin is almost vibrating with tension and lust.

Behind him, the sun comes up over the horizon, and the first golden rays spill into the room, painting Merlin in an ethereal light. Arthur wants to tell him how beautiful he is, but the words seem too much, too intimate even for this moment. So he takes Merlin's hand instead and silently guides him towards the bed.

''Take off your clothes,'' Merlin tells him.

Arthur raises his eyebrows at him. ''Demanding, are we?''

Merlin shakes his head with a laugh. ''I should have known you'd be a stubborn bastard with this, too.''

''I'll take off mine, if you take off yours,'' Arthur says, meaning to tease, but it comes out too hesitant for that. It's not that he feels all that shy about his body, but he's not quite sure what will happen once they are both naked.

Merlin eyes twinkle as he drops his trousers in one go, kicking them off his feet and into a corner. Arthur sucks in a deep breath, staring at Merlin's lithe, naked form and his full cock, rising from a nest of dark curls.

He's much more awkward under Merlin's expectant gaze, fumbling with his buttons and struggling with his small clothes. When he turns back to Merlin fully naked, any hint of teasing has fallen away from his face, leaving just admiration and raw desire.

Somehow with having shed these last layers of social propriety, the remaining inhibitions have been stripped away as well. With their bodies bared, coming together seems easy suddenly. Merlin lies down in the crumpled sheets and the sunshine, stretching his arms above his head and spreading his legs in invitation, completely unashamed.

For a long moment Arthur just stands there, taking him in. Merlin smiles wryly. His hand slowly moves down his torso until he reaches his hard length. He strokes himself while he keeps his gaze on Arthur, his blue eyes like a line and hook pulling him in.

Arthur gets on the bed and settles between Merlin's bent legs. He doesn't touch yet, just looks, drinking in every detail: the scar below his right kneecap and the birthmark on his lower abdomen.

''Please,'' Merlin breathes, his chest rising and falling rapidly. ''Please, Arthur, touch me.''

Instead Arthur bends forward, inhaling Merlin's scent and then breathing hot air over the sensitive head of his cock. Merlin lets out a shuddering gasp, bucking his hips, but Arthur's hands are already there to pin him down. He holds Merlin by the waist and starts carefully kissing and licking at his shaft, while Merlin moans and writhes in his grip. He mouths at Merlin's balls and rubs his stubbled face against the inside of his thighs until Merlin is reduced to a babbling mess.

''Please, please, god, let me, please, just... take me, your mouth, please Arthur, let me fuck your mouth.''

A bolt of lust shoots right to Arthur's cock and he can't help himself, he bites Merlin's thigh, making him yelp and curse and tug at Arthur's hair.

''Fuck, fuck, fuck, come on, get up here,'' Merlin growls, ''Let me touch you, too.''

Arthur complies, settling his knees above Merlin's shoulders before he stretches out over his body and takes the firm cheeks of Merlin's ass in his hands. His fingertips are digging into Merlin's cleft and Merlin's cock is bobbing in front of his face enticingly.

Merlin's hands stroke over Arthur's ass, leaving goosebumps in their wake, and Arthur's heart skips a beat when they run along the inside of his thighs. Kneeling spread-legged and offering the most private parts of his body for Merlin's exploration  leaves him feeling incredibly vulnerable, and yet makes his cock throb with excitement.

Time stretches taut like a string as they touch and taste, discovering new territory. Arthur takes a hold of Merlin's cock and slides it into his mouth, alternating between sucking and licking as he gets used to the girth. At the same time, Merlin's teeth rake against Arthur's flesh, breath ghosting over his balls, and then Merlin slides the tips of his fingers down between Arthur's cheeks and firmly grabs his cock with his other hand.

Arthur nearly chokes around Merlin's length. The rush of sensations, filthy and erotic, makes his head spin, and when Merlin touches Arthur's hole, rubbing the rough pad of his index finger against it, Arthur lets out a muffled shout - half shock, half warning - and comes all over Merlin's chest and belly.

Merlin groans and grips Arthur's ass tighter while he bucks up into his mouth and against the back of his throat. It only takes a few thrusts, though, and then he, too, is coming in long, salty spurts that Arthur swallows without a second thought.

Arthur slumps down to one side, winded and mindless with satisfaction, and for a while they just lay there, catching their breath without speaking.

Merlin is the first to find his speech again. ''So. Was that what you had in mind?'' he asks and Arthur can hear the broad grin that must be gracing his features.

He shakes his head. ''No. That was... dear god, Merlin, I think you broke me.''

''That good, huh?''

He sounds smug now, and Arthur escapes a startled laugh. When Merlin turns and stretches out on his stomach, facing him, Arthur reaches out, gently stroking a wayward strand of hair back from Merlin's forehead. His fingertips linger on Merlin's cheekbones and then drift down to his used-looking mouth.

''Yes,'' he says seriously, wondering at the strange tenderness in his heart.  

Merlin puts his face on his arms, and Arthur tries not to squirm or blush as he's being studied.

''So how did Morgana react to your news?'' Merlin asks curiously after a while.

Arthur pulls a face. He's not so keen to talk about Morgana right now. He props himself up on an elbow and starts to draw lazy pattern on Merlin's skin with the tips of his fingers.

''Surprised,'' he answers finally. ''Though I have to admit, she got over it pretty quickly, and by the end she was right back to her usual threats and insults.''

Merlin chuckles and Arthur shoots him a wry smile.

''She also asked me about picking up a star?''

Merlin blinks. ''A star?''

Arthur hums distractedly. ''Something about it fitting my chest, I have no idea what she was talking about.''

Merlin has gone still all of a sudden, but then he pushes himself up on his elbows, turning to look at Arthur all stunned and excited. ''Oh my god, that's actually a brilliant idea!''

Arthur raises his brows sceptically. ''What is?''

''Making you sheriff!''

''Me? A sheriff?'' Arthur looks at him dubiously, but Merlin's eyes are alight with enthusiasm.

''Yes! We need someone to protect us. Someone who stands up for what's right!''

''And you think that someone could be me.''

''I could think of no one better,'' Merlin claims, and the conviction in his voice warms some dark and lonely place inside of Arthur. ''In the few weeks I've known you, you've been policing anyone from drunkards to petty thieves and even me for watering down your own whiskey!'' He grins at Arthur cheekily, but then turns serious again. ''And you've stepped in to save someone's life and well-being not only once but twice already. At great personal risk and without any advantage whatsoever to yourself. You'd make a brilliant sheriff, Arthur.''

Arthur doesn't know what to say. No one has ever believed in him like that. The way he thinks his mother might have, had she lived. He came to Tintagel to find the missing piece in his life, and he thought understanding who his mother really was would fill that gaping emptiness inside of him. But maybe learning about the past was just the first step, the key to find something even better.

Merlin is still looking at him expectantly, but Arthur hesitates. For Merlin making a decision is incredibly easy, but Arthur is still haunted by doubts and worries. The townspeople hate him, and he's hardly qualified, and yet the idea of making a difference, of really improving people's lives with more than a drink and a place to lose their money is enticing.  

''I'll think about it,'' he says, and Merlin rolls his eyes.

When Merlin walks down from the gallery later that day, he takes a moment to appreciate how his luck has turned. A few weeks ago, he was alone, without a penny to his name and barely holding on by a thread. Now he has a roof over his head again, work he enjoys and even friends. And maybe, with Arthur, he could have something he had never even dared to hope for.

The saloon, too, has changed. Mordred has finally scrubbed the front windows and they let in a warm, milky light that spills over the dark floor boards. It's only early afternoon, but there are more early customers since they have a cheap but hearty lunch on offer thanks to Mrs. Gawant and her niece Elena's cooking. Half the tables are occupied already, and Mordred is wiping the rest of them with a lot more enthusiasm than he has shown previously. He sends Merlin a shy smile and Merlin answers it with one of his own before he turns to the bar.

Gwaine raises his chin in greeting and draws him a beer, putting the glass down in front of Merlin with a broad grin.

''Merlin, my friend,'' he drawls. ''What do I hear about you shacking up with Pendragon?''

Merlin nearly chokes on the first gulp and feels himself blushing to the roots of his hair.

''There isn't any other room left,'' he replies defensively. ''So he lets me sleep on the floor.''

Gwaine raises his eyebrows. ''If a place to sleep was all you were looking for, you could have come to me! I might have even offered you something better than the floor!''

He waggles his eyebrows and Merlin laughs. He doesn't tell him that Arthur offered that as well and that Merlin might even take him up on it in the future.

''That's mighty kind of you. But you snore like a wild boar, so I think I'll stay where I am.''

''Does Pendragon know about those plans of yours?''

Merlin hides his lingering uncertainty, with an easy smile and an eye-roll.

''Let me worry about Arthur Pendragon,'' he says before he takes another hearty swallow. The alcohol has certainly improved as well, since Merlin has talked to their supplier.

He doesn't really believe that Arthur will send him back to the barn. It was him who insisted Merlin couldn't stay there in the first place, after all. And Arthur said he didn't want this to be over already, didn't he?

Gwaine opens his mouth, probably to tease Merlin some more, but then his face pulls into a dark frown. With his lips pressed into a hard line, he stares at a point right over Merlin's shoulder, and it's only now that Merlin realizes that the other conversations in the room have stopped as well. The sudden silence makes his neck prickle, and he turns around warily, to find a man standing with regal arrogance in the middle of the room, as if he owns it. There's something vaguely familiar about him, but Merlin can't place it.

''I'm looking for my son,'' the man says. ''Did any of you see him?''

Merlin has no idea who he is talking about, but Gwaine apparently does, because he's nodding slowly.

''He was in here, drinking all night,'' he says.

''And?'' the man looks at Gwaine impatiently. ''Do you know where he is now?''

''As a matter of fact I do.''

There's a beat of silence, and the man sighs as if they are all testing his patience. ''If you would care to enlighten me then, Gwaine?''

''He's at the old sheriff's office.''

''What in god's name does he want there?'' The man looks puzzled now.

''Oh, he didn't go by himself,'' Gwaine says, leaning back against the cabinet and crossing his arms. ''Nor voluntarily, I should add. We locked him up in the prison cell.''

Merlin frowns. So this is Odin Kingston, Valiant's father. Merlin remembers that he owns the biggest ranch in the area, and he looks it. He has that air of superiority about him that makes Merlin bristle, but he also looks like a man you don't want to cross.

At Gwaine's words his face darkens and there's a thick vein pulsing at his temple. ''And what entitled you to do that?'' he demands in a low, dangerous voice.

Gwaine shrugs, but Merlin can see the underlying tension in the set of his shoulders.

''You'd have to ask Mr. Pendragon about that, I'm afraid. He's the boss, you see, and I wouldn't dare defy him.''

That's so obviously untrue, Merlin nearly laughs, but Mr. Kingston seems to take it at face value.

''Mr. Pendragon, huh?'' He sneers a little. ''Now that's a name I've heard a lot lately. And where may I find this ominous Mr. Pendragon?''

''Right here.''

Arthur's voice comes from the doorway, calm and quiet, and yet carrying a firmness that demands attention.

Merlin whips around, but falters when he almost doesn't recognize the man standing just inside the door. The sun is at his back, but Merlin can see that there's a new, wide-brimmed hat sitting on Arthur's golden hair and a fine moleskin riding coat hanging from his shoulders.

''Mr. Pendragon?'' Kingston turns towards Arthur as well. ''How good to finally meet you. Although I've to admit, the circumstances could be better.''

Arthur inclines his head. ''I agree.''

''Well then, release my son and there's no harm done.''

''I'm afraid I can't do that.''

Kingston takes a step towards Arthur. ''This wasn't a request, Mr. Pendragon,'' he says coldly.

''I'm sorry, maybe you don't understand, but your son is locked up because he has committed a serious crime.''

''And you think that gives you the right to put him in a cell?'' the older man questions, pointing a sharp finger at Arthur. ''No, Mr. Pendragon. I don't think you understand. This isn't how we take care of things out here. If you have a problem with my son, you come to me!''

Arthur smiles, but Merlin can see that it is fake, without any warmth behind it. ''Is that so? I'm glad to hear that because the other week he and his friends wrecked half of my furniture and refused to pay for recompense.''

''That's all?'' Mr. Kingston scoffs. ''By all means, send me the bill. I'm a rich man.''

''I'll make sure to do that then.''

''Well if that is all...'' He looks at Arthur expectantly.

''I'm afraid it's not. There are far worse charges against your son.''

Kingston narrows his eyes. ''And what are those, pray tell?''

''Assault and attempted rape.''

''My son would never--'' He interrupts himself, stepping closer to Arthur, visibly seething. ''Who claims that?''

''Gwen Smith was the injured party and--''

''That little slave girl? Are you kidding me?''

From the corner of his eye, Merlin sees the dark-skinned man who works the smithy raise up from his chair. He looks furious, but his bulky friend holds him back, whispering at him urgently. Mr. Kingston shoots them a derisive look.

''Got anything to say, Elyan?'' he asks snidely. ''Maybe when you'll pay me back the rest of my money?''  

He doesn't wait for a answer, dismissing the man Merlin realizes must be Gwen's brother as he turns back to Arthur.

''You look rather young to me, Mr. Pendragon,'' Kingston drawls with a cruel smile, ''but I'm sure I don't have to explain to you what a whore is.''

''No. You don't.'' Arthur agrees, his voice like ice. ''And I'd rather you wouldn't.''

Mr. Kingston scoffs, it's obvious he thinks Arthur is some sort of wimp, too delicate to hear the rough, unsavory truths.

''Anyway,'' he continues, his tone indicating that he's barely holding on to his patience, ''Since it's her word against my son's, I'm sure you realize it's best for all involved to stop this nonsense now.''  

He smiles with too many teeth, but Arthur doesn't smile back.

''That's where you're mistaken, Mr. Kingston. It's not just her word. There was an eye-witness.''

''Really?'' Kingston shakes his head. ''Unfortunately we don't have a sheriff or anyone else with legal authority to investigate this here in Tintagel-''

''We do have one now.''

Arthur puts his hand on his hip, pulling back the lapel of his leather coat in the process and revealing his chest. Merlin nearly chokes. There's a silver star plastered on his waistcoat.

Mr. Kingston's eyes widen. ''Now isn't that a surprise. I don't think you've any idea what you're getting into, Pendragon.'' He looks furious, but is trying to hide it. ''Remember one thing, boy: You don't want to defy me. I can tell you, anyone who's tried has come to regret it.''

''Thank you for the heads up then, but I think that's a risk I'll have to take.''

Mr. Kingston shoots him a deadly look, and then stalks out without another word.

Arthur steps out of his way but follows him out, Merlin on his heels. They watch him get on his horse and ride away in silence, but when Merlin turns towards Arthur, his expression is thoughtful and his eyes are narrowed.

''What is it?''

''Did you see the brand of his horse?'' Arthur asks, but Merlin shakes his head. Kingston's horse was not something he gave much attention.

''It's curious, but I think it was the same one Kanen and his men had on theirs.''

''You think they've stolen them?'' Merlin asks.

''Maybe. But I got the feeling that Mr. Kingston is not someone people would dare to steal from.''

''Then...'' Merlin hesitates, but there is really only one other explanation. ''You think they work for him.''

Arthur clenches his jaw. ''I do.''

It's like scales falling from Merlin's eyes when he suddenly realizes why Odin Kingston seemed so familiar. ''I think I've seen him before,'' Merlin says uncertainly. ''He came to our farm and made my mother an offer, but the price he wanted to pay was ridiculous, and my mother would never have sold the farm anyway.''

''Would you have?''

Merlin frowns, taken aback. ''I don't know. Not for less than the land's worth, that's for sure.''

''Well, it looks like Kingston had no intention to find out and risk being rejected again.''

''But... what do we do now?'' Merlin asks as hot anger wells up in him. He balls his hands into fists. ''We can't let them get away with that!''

Arthur firmly grabs Merlin's shoulder, looking at him intently. ''We won't. Trust me on that.''

Merlin meets Arthur's serious blue eyes. He does, he realizes, he'd believe anything Arthur said.

When they go back inside, Gwaine is setting out glasses on the bar.

''So, Sheriff Pendragon,'' he drawls, rising his eyebrows at Arthur. ''How did that happen?''

Arthur shrugs, looking almost embarrassed. ''Someone told me that the people of this town need protection. And apparently the mayor thinks the same. I went to talk to him, and before I got more than three sentences out, he had already shoved this at me.'' He tips the silver star on his chest with a finger.

''That's all?'' Gwaine frowns.

''He wished me luck. Said I'd need it.''

''That's an understatement,'' Gwaine mutters and knocks back his drink. ''You're one crazy son of a bitch, Pendragon. If a courageous one.''

Merlin is too proud to pay Gwaine's dark and worried looks much mind. And of course there's one other matter.

''What about the saloon?''

Arthur turns towards him with a wry smile. ''I'll obviously need someone to take care of it.''

''Might be better.'' Merlin coughs. ''I don't think this was ever your true destiny.''

Arthur rolls his eyes. ''Well, would you be willing to accept a promotion then?''

''Me?''

''Who else?''

''I thought maybe Gwaine...''

Merlin looks from Arthur to Gwaine and back, but the barman hold up his hands in a defensive gesture.

Arthur laughs. ''If Gwaine was the one responsible, I'd be broke by next week.''

''Hey!'' Gwaine protests.

''You'd drink half the whiskey, and give away the rest for free.''

It's not exactly true and, from the twinkle in his eyes, Merlin suspects Arthur knows that.  Gwaine might be a scoundrel but he's also strangely honest when it counts.

''I'd only ever take what was my due,'' Gwaine insists, grinning.

''That might be. But our opinions on what that is seem to defer.''

The dark-skinned man Merlin had noticed earlier comes over to them then.

''Sheriff Pendragon?'' he asks and Arthur pulls a weird face at being addressed so formally.

''Yes?''

''My name is Elyan Smith, and I wanted to thank you for what you did for my sister.''

Arthur shakes his hand. ''It's what anyone would have done in my position.''

It's obvious from Elyan's expression that he doesn't agree.

''I hope she's better?'' Arthur asks, and Elyan nods.

''Yes, but she's still staying with Mr. Dulac. He wanted to observe her for a while longer and let her rest. She'll be back tonight.''

''That's good.''

Elyan hesitates, obviously wanting to say more but unsure whether it would be the right decision. ''I just hope you know... my sister. She's not like that, whatever Mr. Kingston might imply. He loaned me the money I needed to pay then man who... It was the only was to get her free, you see? But Odin Kingston is not a patient man.''

''I understand,'' Arthur says, looking grave. ''If there's anything I can do to help...''

''You already did a lot, Mr. Pendragon. If you ever need anything...'' Elyan gives him a meaningful look, ''You know where to find me.''

With that he goes back to join his friend in the corner again, leaving Arthur with a contemplative expression.

Merlin elbows him in the ribs. ''I told you, you'd make a good sheriff,'' he whispers.

Arthur frowns into his drink before he knocks the liquor back.

''That still remains to be seen,'' he says, and there's a foreboding in his voice that makes Merlin shiver.

''What will you do about Valiant then?'' Gwaine butts in again. ''I don't think Kingston will let the matter rest.''

Arthur sighs and rubs his chin. ''I honestly don't know. We don't have a judge or even a magistrate in town, and if I send for one it could take weeks. I can't keep him locked up for that long.''

''You could have him judged by a jury of townspeople,'' Merlin proposes.

''Who probably either owe Kingston money, or will be bought off by him,'' Gwaine comments.

''Not all of them!''

''No, but the one to appoint them would be the mayor, and I got the feeling he doesn't like trouble,'' Arthur says with a frown.

Gwaine nods I agreement. ''Might be better to just keep him in a few days and then let him go with a warning.''

''It will probably come down to that. I'm just worried what he'll do once he's released.''

''He'll probably come after you,'' Gwaine says almost cheerfully. ''Better watch your back, it seems to be a vulnerable spot on sheriffs in this town.''

Arthur gives him a look. ''Thank you, Gwaine. I appreciate your concern.''

''No problem, boss.''

They part then to each go on with their day, but Merlin can hardly concentrate, his thoughts are occupied with Mr. Kingstion and whether he could be behind Kanen's attack. When he plays the piano that night, his heart isn't in it and his neck keeps prickling in anticipation of something happening and his whole world going back to hell.  

As soon as Gwaine has finished shooing out their last customers, Merlin makes his way up to the gallery and to Arthur's room, knocking lightly. The door is pulled open, revealing Arthur already in his shirtsleeves.

''Merlin!''

''Can I come in?''

Arthur holds the door open, looking confused. ''Of course! You don't have to ask.''

Merlin steps inside and carefully closes the door behind him before he turns back to Arthur. ''I wasn't sure... I didn't want to assume I'd be welcome again. In your room or in your bed.''

Arthur frowns. ''Of course you are! Just...'' He hesitates and takes a deep breath before he continues. ''Merlin you know you don't have to, right? You know I don't...''  He rubs the back of his head blushing. ''You're not required to share my bed in order to stay,'' he says quietly.

He looks so endearing like that and something squeezes Merlin's heart. He moves closer with a smile, putting his hand on Arthur's chest. ''But am I allowed to?''

Arthur lets out a shuddering breath. ''Anytime.''

It's amazing how easy kissing Arthur is now. How wonderful it feels when his lips come to meet Merlin's and his hands start wandering without any true aim and direction over Merlin's body. He feels most of the tension and worry he has carried with him all day drop away. They get rid off their clothes and climb into bed together, touching and kissing without any hurry.

Merlin wishes he could just stay that way, with Arthur, and without having to worry about Valiant and his father, about Kanen and the farm. He might not have forever, he thinks, but he can have tonight. And so he firmly pushes those thoughts away and instead concentrates on Arthur's warm skin against his fingertips and the steady beat of his heart under Merlin's palm.

Arthur is drifting in that drowsy state just beyond wakefulness, enjoying the warmth of Merlin's body pressed against his. Merlin's long limbs are sprawled over his chest, the puff of his breath is tickling Arthur's ear, and Arthur marvels at this strange sensation of perfect contentment, when a sudden commotion on the street jerks him out of his lazy dreams.

Arthur sits up with a start, displacing a somehow still sleeping Merlin. There are gunshots ringing outside, mixed with the clatter of hooves and horses neighing. In the blink of an eye, Arthur is wide awake. He scrambles out of bed and grabs his colt and belt from the nightstand before he hurries over to the window. With his heart hammering in his chest, he presses himself against the wall and takes a look outside.

A stray bullet shatters the window, and he hastily pulls back.

''What... what's happening?'' Merlin asks from the bed, alarmed and confused. His hair stands astray and his eyes are wide like saucers.

''Get down, Merlin!'' Arthur hisses, pointing to the floor.

Merlin blinks, still not fully awake. When another bullet breaks the second window, Arthur dives for the bed and grabs Merlin by the wrist, pulling him down on the floor with him.

Merlin huffs in protest and pushes himself up on his knees. ''What's going on?'' he whispers. ''Who are they?''

''I couldn't see properly, but if I'd have to take a guess, I'd say the Kingston's private little army has arrived,'' Arthur answers grimly. There are crashes and more gunshots coming from downstairs now.

''Find a place to hide,'' he tells Merlin before he quickly grabs his boots and trousers and takes another peek out of the window. The street seems empty now.

''What? Where am I going to hide?'' Merlin asks almost indignantly, and Arthur wishes he had the time to shake some sense into him.

''Under the bed for all I care,'' he growls, buckling his gun belt. ''Just stay out of the way of their bullets.''

He pushes up the window, but looks back once more. ''I'll take them from their back,'' he says, trying to sound reassuring. ''If that fails, there's a rifle at the back of the dresser. Can you shoot one?''

Merlin nods.

Arthur swallows. ''Good. Be careful.''

He climbs out on the balcony, taking care to stay in the shadows so he won't be spotted by anyone still lingering outside. Wearing nothing but an undershirt and trousers, he shivers a little in the cool morning air, but there's no time to go back and look for his coat.

He can still hear gunshots and the sound of wood splintering from the bar room, but the rest of the town lies silent, as if it was holding its breath. No one with an ounce of sense is going to step out their door, and it's better that way.

Casting a glance down into the street, Arthur spots five familiar horses in front of the saloon. He curses, but it's not as if he has not suspected it. There's no time to waste, though, and so he swings himself over the railing, landing in a crouch in the dust.

Still unobserved, he sneaks up on the porch and looks in through a shot-out window. The intruders have wrecked havoc downstairs, and Arthur takes a moment to lament having to replace the furniture again. But then he sees Kanen stepping over the debris and moving towards the stairs with his men on his heels. At the sight of the bastards who tried to kill Merlin, a cold rage takes hold of Arthur, and he squares his jaw, aims and brings one of them down with a shot in the thigh.

Taken by surprise, the bandits turn and run for cover. Arthur shoots again, but can't see if he got another hit before Kanen and his men open fire as well, and Arthur jumps back when a bullet flies past him, almost taking off his ear. He presses himself against the wall again, trying to think quickly. He needs to come up with a plan, a way to protect the girls and Merlin, but if he goes in there, they'll shoot him down like a dog.

There has to be some way to lure them from the saloon, though.

''I'm afraid if you're looking for me, you'll have to come out here!'' he calls over his shoulder, scanning the street for a better place to hide.

''Pendragon, is that you?'' Kanen's voice comes from inside. ''Why don't you join us for a little chat? We've got a message for you.''

''I think I've heard it before! I'm not interested!''

''Are you sure? I'd really love to explain it to you in detail.''

Arthur rolls his eyes, and catches movement to his right. He doesn't think, he just shoots. The man goes down, and Arthur makes a run for the porch of the general store next door, diving behind a row of barrels.

''Did you get him?'' Kanen shouts from inside the saloon.

''Not yet,'' the other guy calls back, frustrated. ''Almost.''

''Almost isn't good enough!''

''He got my shoulder!''

There's a string of curses, and Arthur smiles in grim satisfaction. He hastens to reload his gun and peeks over the barrels towards the saloon. There's a shadow in the doorway that must be Kanen, but it's nothing solid Arthur can aim at.

''What do you want, Kanen?'' he shouts over, trying to buy time and distract him into making a mistake, but the outlaw isn't so stupid to leave his cover.

''Like I said, I want to deliver a message! But, to be quite honest, I'm gonna do that by killing you.'' Kanen laughs. ''Nothing personal, but there's just no place for a sheriff in this town. They should have told you that!''

''Did Kingston send you then?''

''Oh, you're a clever one, are you? I like that! But unfortunately there's always someone who's cleverer.''

''And that someone would be you?''

''Who knows.'' There's a pause, and when Kanen speaks again it's slightly muffled, as if he is speaking around one of his cigars now. ''Listen, Pendragon, why don't you make this easier on all of us and come out? You wouldn't want any of the good people of this town to get hurt, would you? After all, you've sworn to protect them!''

''Leave them out of this! You're here for me, aren't you?''

''But you won't come out to play! And I've found me such a lovely little morsel here.''

''Let me go! Take your dirty hands of me!''

It's Sophia's voice and Arthur curses, for a second closing his eyes in despair. That is exactly what he has been afraid of.

''Let her go Kanen!'' he yells. ''This is between you and me! Why don't we settle it like men?''

''A duel?'' Kanen sounds surprised but intrigued. ''If that's what it takes. I don't much care which way I shoot you.''

He disengages from the shadows and steps out on the porch before he slowly makes his way down into the street. He spreads out his arms as if in invitation, knowing very well that Arthur won't risk shooting him while they have Sophia as a hostage.

Glancing towards the saloon, Arthur can see her standing between two of Kanen's men on the porch now, with her dress ripped and her hair hanging loose. One of them is holding a gun to her head. Arthur knows he can't trust them, and this is most likely a trap of some kind, but he has to do something. The time for stalling has run out. He slowly gets up, but keeps his gun pointed at Kanen.

Kanen's eyes widen when he catches sight of him. ''You!'' he shouts, pointing at Arthur, and then he bows over laughing. ''Oh, ain't that sweet? If I had known it was you, I'd have offered to kill you for free!''

''I'm sure Kingston will take a refund if you insist,'' Arthur bites out sarcastically, never taking his eyes of Kanen while he moves further into the street, until they are facing each other at a good twenty paces. ''And I said to let her go!''

Kanen grins. ''Aw, look at you! Still playing the white knight. But isn't it sad that no one is willing to do the same for you? Here you are, about to bite the dust in the middle of the town you made your home, and you're all on your own.''

''He's not, you bastard!'' a voice shouts, and Arthur's eyes jump up to the balcony of the saloon for a split second, seeing Merlin crouched behind the rail, aiming the rifle straight down into the street.

Kanen has turned around, too. ''Now look at that, our little horse thief!'' he calls, puffing on his cigar. ''This is just getting better and better! I can't tell you how much I'll enjoy it when I'll riddle you both with bullets and watch you bleed out in the dirt!''

''You're awfully quick with your predictions,'' a measured voice comes from the barber shop across the street. ''I wouldn't jump the gun, if I were you.''

Arthur can hardly believe his eyes, but Lance Dulac is standing there, aiming a revolver at the men holding Sophia.

Kanen cocks his head. ''Did you get yourself a merry band of lunatics?'' he asks Arthur mockingly. Despite the weapons directed at them, he still seems pretty sure of himself.

A shot rings out behind Arthur then, and he whips around startled, only to see another of Kanen's man sprawled on the street, colt in hand, obviously having been out to shoot Arthur in the back. Arthur looks around for his savior, when Elyan Smith steps out of the shadows of his smithy, rifle in hand.

Elyan gives Arthur a short nod before he calls out to Kanen, ''You can tell Odin Kingston it's over! We're done dancing to his tune!''  

Kanen curses and spits on the ground. ''It's your funeral!'' he shouts. ''Do you really think this guy can save you?'' He points at Arthur, and then growls, ''Lets see if you've learned how to handle that thing you're holding, boy! Settle it like men, like you said!''

Arthur raises his chin. He has never killed a man, but he knows there's no other way to end this. If he lets Kanen go, this will never be over. He'll be back another day, a day they might get less lucky. Lance and Elyan are facing off against the men on the porch now, and Merlin is still aiming at Kanen, but they are all waiting for Arthur, trusting him to make the right move, trusting him to get them out of this.

It's a bleak morning, with the sun still hiding behind a cover of milky clouds, painting the houses in a gray light. This town might be a desert place, full of dust and grime, blazing heat and even deeper shadows, but there's also hope to be found, and a new beginning he will fight for, whatever it takes.

Slowly, Arthur turns to fully face the scowling villain.

Time is stretching on, seconds moving like drops of molasses.

Arthur can feel the trickle of sweat running down his neck. He doesn't blink.

When it comes, it's almost a relief. Arthur draws. Two shots break the silence in the street.

Kanen smiles. Then his eyes drop down to his chest. He looks at Arthur with a shocked expression and opens his mouth as if to say something, but he falls backwards in a quiet bow, taking his last words with him. Sprawled in the yellow dust, Kanen lies unmoving, fingers loose now around the hilt of his revolver.

Arthur lets the hand that's holding his colt drop. It feels like lead now and his fingers shake a little when he holsters his weapon again. For an end, this feels almost too easy. Two men draw, two men shoot, only one remains standing as a life is snuffed out.

For a moment everything is still. Then Sophia tears herself loose from the men holding her, screaming like a banshee as they try to grab her again. Lance takes them down with two well aimed shots, and Arthur holds his hands out to Sophia, who's rushing towards him.

He has hardly time to take a relieved breath, when there's the silver glint of a weapon in her hand all of a sudden. Arthur's too confused to pull his own, and just manages to throws himself to the ground, when she fires at him with wild eyes. A pain like fire rips his arm open, and he rolls through the sand as more shots are fired in rapid succession.

He comes to lie on his stomach in front of the steps to the saloon. He can hear his name being yelled through the ringing in his ears, but all he can see is Sophia, lying only three yards away in a pool of blood.

He crawls towards her, staring at her ruined body uncomprehendingly. ''Why?'' he asks, because somehow that is the only thing he can think of.

''He said he'd take me out of here...'' Her voice is faint, as if it was already coming from her grave. ''You didn't want me... why didn't you want me?''

Her eyes glaze over, staring through him now, and Arthur hangs his head as he reaches out to close them for her.

''Arthur? Arthur, are you alright?'' Merlin drops to the ground next to him, but draws back when he sees Sophia. ''Oh god... oh god, I'm so sorry... I didn't want to... but she... oh god.''

Arthur looks up at him, still not really understanding what happened. ''Merlin. Did you--?''

Merlin nods, looking horrified. ''I'm sorry!'' he repeats, his voice hoarse and his eyes looking red. ''I'm so sorry!''

''Merlin!'' Arthur grabs his hands and pulls him around to face him. ''She was going to shoot me. You saved my life!''

Merlin looks at him with wide blue eyes. ''She was going to shoot you.''

Arthur nods.

''I couldn't let her... I couldn't--''

''I know.''

He doesn't dare kiss Merlin, not in the middle of the street. But he pulls him into a tentative hug and Merlin buries his face against his shoulder mumbling again how Sophia was going to shoot him while Arthur awkwardly pets his back under the knowing eyes of pretty much everyone. Including Gwaine, who has just shown up, herding the remaining bandit in front of him with the barrel of his rifle.

''Look what I found!'' he drawls, pushing the man in the back so that he stumbles another step forwards. ''Unfortunately, I've got some bad news, too. Before I caught him, he managed to break Valiant out.''

''What?'' Arthur gets to his feet, pulling Merlin with him. ''Where is he now?''

He gets his answer with the sound of a gunshot coming from the saloon.

Lance goes pale and makes a run for the door, and Arthur and Merlin follow him on his heels, although Arthur is slowed down by his injury and Merlin seems unwilling to let him out of his sight. When they come stumbling up the steps, the door to Gwen's room is wide open, but Lance is blocking the view, standing just inside, perfectly still.

Arthur's heart sinks to the bottom of his stomach.

''Lance?'' he asks hesitantly, regret and apology already riding on the coattails of his question.

Then Lance turns around, and Arthur can see that it's not as he feared. It's not Gwen lying on the ground, but rather Valiant, and if the amount of blood is anything to go by, he's dead.

Gwen is standing by the window, her expression blank and her posture tense. She's holding a revolver.

''It was me,'' Lance says, which is absurd and revealing in equal measure.

Arthur stares at Valiant's body. He knows what the law is, knows that being sheriff means to see it executed. But that is his father's voice talking. There is another voice, a voice he didn't know he still remembered, a voice that is filled with compassion and love.

''No, it wasn't.''

Arthur sees Lance's face fall, sees Gwen's calm acceptance settle in her features.

''It was me,'' Arthur says.

''What?'' Lance asks, his confusion evident. ''Why?''

''Because Kanen had one thing right. It's my job to protect you.''

*

''Odin will come after you for this,'' Merlin says later, when they have cleared away the worst of the debris and dug five graves to bury the bodies.

''He already did. He already tried to kill me. What more can he do? And he's missing his little army now. Let him try.''

''I was right,'' Merlin says, touching Arthur's cheek and then stroking his hair out from his forehead. ''You're most definitely insane.''

''Is that so?''

''Mhm.'' Merlin kisses him softly. ''I quite like it that way.''

They watch the wagon leave, rumbling down the street and out of the town, watch until it's nothing more than a little black dot in the distance, hardly visible against the sun. It feels a little melancholic, but then farewells always do.

''I'm glad someone will have a home again on the farm,'' Merlin says with conviction as they go back inside the saloon. Though whom he's trying to convince is not entirely clear.

''The farm is still yours. You can always go back if you want,'' Elyan points out.

''I know.'' Merlin nods. ''But I don't want to. I never really wanted to be a farmer in the first place, and I'm sure Gwen and Lance will take good care of it.  I'm just sad to see them go.''

''It's better that way,'' Arthur reminds him. ''They can have a fresh start. Even if no one knows what Gwen did, a lot of people don't like to see a black woman marrying a white man.''

He shoots Elyan an apologetic look, but Gwen's brother nods. ''They'll have it easier that way.''

''Yeah,'' Gwaine drawls around his smoke, pulling out the bottle with the good whiskey and setting it down on the counter between them. ''But while we finally have a sheriff, we're missing a doctor now.''

''That might change soon,'' Morgana comes up beside them. She grabs the bottle and pours herself a drink. ''A friend of mine is thinking of moving out here and opening an office.''

''A friend of yours?'' Arthur asks skeptically, taking the bottle away from her again.

''Yes. Her name is Mithian--''

''A woman?''

''You think a woman can't be a doctor?'' Morgana rounds on him with her hand on her hips. ''Unlike Lance Dulac she has studied at a university!''

''I didn't mean it like that,'' Arthur protests. ''I was just surprised! What will be next,'' he mutters, ''A woman becoming deputy sheriff?''

''Now that you mention it, Freya is actually a great shot.''

''And level-headed.''

''She would be perfect.''

Arthur opens his mouth and faces the expectant stares from his companions. There's the smug look of Morgana. The broad grin of Gwaine. Elyan's quiet amusement. And the unwavering belief in the blue of Merlin's eyes.

Arthur glances at the picture hanging behind the bar. The blond, confident girl seems to smile right at him. Ygraine Pendragon did what she wanted. She became a singer. She gave it all up for love. She had a son even though it weakened her so much it would cost her life in the end. But Arthur knows she had no regrets.

He smiles and knocks back his drink. ''I'll think about it.''