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Leon thumped his pillow, trying to coax it into a more comfortable shape. It didn’t accomplish much—just moved the lumps to a new place. Sighing, he settled back down and stared at the blank stone wall of his chamber.
He had been lying here for four days already, and Gaius felt he needed another two at least. When Leon had tried to protest, Gaius had fixed him in a stern, uncompromising gaze.
“Your shoulder was dislocated, your left arm burned severely, and you had a mild concussion,” Gaius stated, twisting the cork stopper back into the bottle with a bit more force than necessary. “And your ankle is still quite swollen from that sprain. I did not patch you up simply to let you fall down the nearest flight of stairs.”
Leon had grumbled, but couldn’t deny the truth of Gaius’s words. Just getting up and hobbling over to use the chamber pot left him dizzy and sweaty. Still, it was damnably boring, lying in bed all day. The other knights visited occasionally—those that weren’t also confined to their beds with various injuries, accumulated during the long nights when the dragon was attacking Camelot or during that wild, triumphant evening when they had faced the beast, Arthur leading them to victory.
Not that Leon had felt particularly triumphant at the time. He had been certain they were all going to die, his prince included. It had made him feel reckless, and as they were preparing to ride out he had almost given in to the sudden desire to push Arthur up against the wall of the stables and kiss him—hard and thoroughly. The others had been equally jittery, liable to rush heedlessly at the dragon the second it appeared.
Arthur had sensed their mood. And he had quelled it, held them steady. This is our duty, his eyes had said as he swept the men with his gaze. We do this not for ourselves, but for Camelot. You will obey my commands. You will be strong. He had given his orders in the same, calm voice that he used during training. The fear had not gone away, but it had faded into the background. They had waited, a strong wall of shields and spears, tethered to Arthur’s courage.
Leon remembered little of the actual attack. He had come to hours later to find himself in a wagon, jolting back over the road to Camelot. Then Gaius had been there with potions and salves. Leon had been groggy from the pain, slipping in and out of consciousness. But he remembered Arthur’s face clearly. The frown of concern as he bent over Leon, told him that the dragon was gone, that all would be well now.
Leon sighed. All would be well if he could just get out of this cursed bed. He was sure Arthur was rushing about, seeing to the wounded, starting the rebuilding, even though the prince had been hurt as well. He doubted even Gaius could force Arthur to stay abed long.
Three more days dragged by. Leon could put weight on his ankle now and move his arm without gritting his teeth against the pain. He was sitting up, trying to ease his foot into his boot when there was a knock on the door, and Arthur walked in.
“Sire,” Leon said, starting to get up, but Arthur motioned for him to remain seated.
“How are you?” Arthur asked, sitting next to him. “Gaius said you were doing well, but I don’t want you to push it, Leon.”
“No, my lord.” Leon cast a sidelong glance at Arthur. The bruise on Arthur’s face had faded, but he still looked tired.
“I was thinking that perhaps you might like to go visit your family,” Arthur said. “Word of the dragon’s attacks has spread through the kingdom. I’m sure your parents would like to know that you’re safe.” He glanced at Leon and gave him a quick smile. “Two younger sisters, didn’t you say? And a brother? They’d like to see you, too, I’m sure.”
Leon couldn’t help smiling back—first because Arthur had remembered the details about his family and second at the thought of seeing them again. He had managed a quick visit the spring before last but that was over a year ago now. “I should like that very much, my lord, thank you.” Leon looked at the tired shadows in Arthur’s eyes again. “But perhaps I should stay here. I know there is much to do, and I did send my mother a letter, telling her that I was all right.”
“Nonsense.” Arthur clapped him on the shoulder. “You deserve this, Leon. Besides, rebuilding the castle will take months—there will still be plenty to do when you return.” Arthur ran a critical gaze over Leon, frowning at his bandaged arm. “Give it a few more weeks, though. Until you’re fully healed.”
They discussed the knights and the guardsmen for a few minutes—Arthur was having to put anyone not injured on double duty because so many were recuperating. The usual proliferation of bandits and vagabonds that always came with the warm summer weather meant that merchants were clamoring for protection, too, and there were hardly any guards to spare.
Arthur sighed and then laughed. “No magical beasts, though. I’ve given Merlin strict instructions not to let any into the kingdom—and it’s a sad day for Camelot when we must rely on my manservant for protection.” Leon knew, of course, exactly how much trust Arthur did put in Merlin. Merlin had faced the dragon with them, too, after all. Still, it was good to hear Arthur laugh and joke a little.
Arthur left shortly thereafter, and Leon immediately wrote another letter to his mother, telling her that he would be coming for a visit. He pictured the manor—ivy green and thick on the walls, the ducks swimming lazily in the pond by the mill, dogs and stable boys alike seeking out shady patches under trees. He would take Cedany out for a row on the pond, and tease Margaret about her latest suitor, and spar with Rowan in the yard.
Leon was finally able to limp about the castle, and one day eased his chainmail on and took a few swings at the practice dummy with his sword. He couldn’t manage a shield yet, and his stance was awkward, but it was a relief to have a sword in his hand once again, finally banishing the memory of those dark hours after the battle when he had first awoken and wondered if he would ever wield a sword again.
Arthur summoned him to his chambers that evening. When Leon entered, Arthur was sitting in his chair at the table, and Merlin was pulling clothes out of Arthur’s wardrobe, scowling.
“I did wash these, Arthur. I remember this blue one clearly and—”
“You washed them months ago, Merlin,” Arthur retorted. “They’ve gotten musty.”
“It’s not my fault you have more clothes than you can wear in a year,” Merlin muttered, savagely stuffing the offending tunics into a basket. “You should give them away. Then they wouldn’t get musty and I wouldn’t have to wash them.”
Leon hid a smile. “You asked for me, my lord?”
“Yes. Have a seat,” Arthur told him. “Merlin, you’re dismissed for the evening.”
“I’ll just take all these perfectly clean clothes and be going then, sire,” Merlin said to Arthur in an aggrieved tone, although he flashed a grin at Leon as he went by.
The door closed behind Merlin and silence settled over the room. Arthur wasn’t looking at Leon, staring down at the table instead and running his thumb over the smooth wood. This—hesitation—was rare for Arthur. If he’d had an order for Leon, he’d have gotten to it straight away. Perhaps—Leon swallowed, fighting down a surge of arousal—perhaps Arthur wanted him to take the lead, as he had those other times. He could kneel next to Arthur’s chair, gently tug his prince into a kiss.
“Are you still planning on going home next week?” Arthur asked abruptly.
“Uh, yes,” Leon managed, his mind still caught in the memory of Arthur’s kisses. “I was going to stay for a week or two. That is, unless I’m needed here—”
“No,” Arthur said quickly, and then he took a deep breath. “I thought—I thought perhaps I might come with you.”
Leon gaped at him for a moment and then gathered his wits. “That would be—I mean, my family would be honored to have you visit, my lord.”
Instantly, he could tell he had said the wrong thing. Arthur’s jaw tightened, and the vulnerability of a moment before vanished. “Yes. Well, it would be a good opportunity for me to inspect our eastern holdings. My father has not been that way for years, and I’m sure many of the barons—”
“I should like you to come,” Leon said quietly, cutting Arthur off.
Arthur looked at him then. “You would?” His voice was soft, hopeful.
“Yes.” Leon smiled. “We’ll go hunting, of course. We can take old Eliot, my dog. He’s a bit long in the tooth now and mostly likes sleeping in the sun, but he can still track a rabbit. We’ll go swimming in the pond, too, and perhaps a bit of an archery contest. Some of the village boys are damn good shots with a bow.”
“Yes?” Arthur asked, a smile lightening his face. “All of that?”
“All of that,” Leon promised. I would give you anything in my power, my prince, if it would make you happy. “Of course, my father will insist on giving a feast in your honor, and my sisters will probably try to flirt with you. And the gods know, my mother will probably fuss over you like a child, despite the fact that you’re her liege lord.”
“That’s all right.” Arthur laughed. “I shall tell my father immediately. It won’t be hard to convince him to let me go. Good policy for the crown prince to visit our vassals, after all.”
Arthur smiled at him a moment more, and Leon thought he might get up and come over, lean down and press a gentle kiss to his mouth. But Arthur just waved a hand and bid him good night. Sighing, Leon bowed and left. He was sure he had caught a hint of desire in Arthur’s eyes but apparently Arthur was not going to act on it. And Leon couldn’t approach him. It was one thing to do so when Arthur was hurting, needing comfort and love. Another when the prince was smiling at him, his eyes clear and open.
***
On the occasions when the crown prince wasn’t traveling to hunt down sorcerers or monsters (and those times seemed to be occurring with great frequency these days) an entire retinue accompanied him. Leon knew that Arthur would have been happy with just Merlin and a few knights but because he was ostensibly going on an official state visit a whole host of subsidiary personnel was brought along. Cooks and musicians and squires; guards marching by the wagons with knights riding ahead; what seemed like half the castle’s contingent of servants.
Arthur requested that Leon ride with him at the head of the party to lead the way, although in truth one only had to follow the road to the east. Arthur kept his remarks pleasant and inconsequential, spending most of his time ordering Merlin back to the wagons to fetch things for him, which put Merlin in an ill humor. Merlin grew more cheerful that evening, though, when they stopped to camp and he realized that for once he wouldn’t be the one fetching wood, carrying water, and cooking dinner.
Arthur had a tent to himself, of course, while Leon was sharing with Kay and Robert. As they sat hunched around the fire, he kept feeling Arthur’s gaze on him. But every time he looked over, Arthur would glance away again.
What with all the wagons and people, it took them two days longer to reach the small village of Onley than if Leon had been riding alone. The villagers clustered around the road, staring at the approaching party—the red and gold banners flapping in the breeze, the knights with their bright armor, and of course, Arthur himself, riding tall and proud at the front. Out of the corner of his eye, Leon caught a young boy setting off for the manor at a dead run to warn them that the prince was about to arrive. Arthur halted at the edge of the village and dismounted, gesturing for Leon to join him.
“Who would be a good man to speak to here?” Arthur asked, and Leon scanned the crowd. He spotted John Thatcher, who usually acted as an intermediary between his father and the village. Leon beckoned for John to come forward.
“This is John Thatcher, my lord,” he said, and John bowed deeply. “He speaks for the village in matters of import.”
Arthur nodded gravely and began asking questions—how were the year’s crops getting along, had there been any trouble with bandits, did John have any concerns he wished to bring to the prince’s attention?
“No, your highness,” John answered, stammering a little. “Lord Leofrick does right well by us, always sees to our needs.”
Arthur nodded again and, raising his voice, said that he was proud the people were part of Camelot, could tell just by the look of the village that they were industrious and resolute. There was a good deal of bowing, a few cheers for the prince, and most of the girls—and women—blushed and curtsied when Arthur looked at them. Leon bit back a groan, imaging what his sisters were going to be like around Arthur.
They mounted their horses again and set off once more. Leon knew every twist in the road now, every rock and tree. They rounded a curve and there was the manor, atop a slight hill, looking just as he had remembered it. He couldn’t help urging his horse forward. Arthur chuckled and when Leon looked at him, Arthur waved a hand. “Go on, then. We’ll catch up.”
Leon blushed—he was acting like a child, away from home for the first time—but he kicked his horse into a gallop anyway. A minute later, he was clattering into the yard, and as soon as he dismounted his family surrounded him, hugging him tightly and chattering excitedly.
“Let me look at you, Leon,” his mother exclaimed, holding him at arm’s length for a moment and then pulling him into another hug. “I was so worried about you! Fighting a dragon, of all things! But you look fine, although a bit thin. Are you eating enough?”
“Of course he is, Maerwynn,” Leon’s father boomed, clapping Leon on the shoulder. “Looks like he could wrestle a bear, by the gods—what’s that next to a dragon, after all?”
“You grew a beard!” Cedany exclaimed, giggling. “What’s the prince like, Leon? Is he really coming?”
Margaret jumped on her tiptoes to give Leon a kiss on the cheek. “What are the ladies of the court like, Leon? Is the Lady Morgana really so beautiful? And where is the prince?”
“Will he watch me tilt, Leon, do you think?” Rowan demanded. He had grown at least four inches since Leon had seen him last. “I’ve gotten ever so much better. And wait till you see the new sword father got me. I bet I can beat you now!”
“We’ll see about that,” Leon said, finally able to get a word in. “And I’m fine, mother. But I really didn’t do much against the dragon. I just—”
“There he is!” Cedany squealed, cutting Leon off, and they turned to see Arthur riding in the gate. A stable boy darted forward to hold Arthur’s horse as he dismounted, and everyone bowed.
“Welcome to our home, your highness,” Leon’s father said. “We are honored by your presence.”
“It is I who am honored,” Arthur replied, “to have your son amongst my knights. He is one of Camelot’s finest.”
Leon’s father’s chest swelled with pride and his mother beamed at him. Leon shot Arthur a grateful look.
“May I present my wife, Maerwynn,” Leon’s father continued. “My second son, Rowan. And my two daughters, Cedany and Margaret.”
Arthur kissed the girls’ hands, and they both blushed. “I have heard so much about Camelot,” Margaret said, a touch breathlessly. “It sounds like such a marvelous place.”
“You should come visit the court,” Arthur replied, “and find out for yourself. We should be delighted to have your charming company.”
The girls eagerly began saying how much they would love to, when Maerwynn broke in. “That is very kind of you, my lord. My daughters would enjoy such a visit very much—when they are old enough.” Leon’s mother gave Cedany and Margaret a stern look, and they subsided. “Now, I am sure you are weary after your journey. Would you care to rest in your rooms for a time, your highness? Or perhaps take a stroll in the gardens?”
“A walk would be most agreeable after riding all day,” Arthur said. “Leon can show me about.”
Rowan tagged after them, and Merlin followed, too, until Arthur spotted him. “What are you doing, Merlin? Take my things up to my rooms and lay out my clothes for the banquet. And see about a bath!”
“Yes, Arthur,” Merlin muttered and started back to the manor, although Leon caught him looking back over his shoulder a few times. Leon caught his eye and tried to silently convey that Arthur would be safe with him in the unlikely event that a sorcerer or a griffon popped out of the shrubbery.
“What was it like fighting the dragon, Leon?” Rowan asked as they walked along.
Leon glanced at his brother. Rowan kept tripping over tree roots because his eyes were fixed on Arthur.
“It was terrifying,” Leon replied. “And I didn’t do much fighting. It’s hard to fight something immune to your arrows, particularly when it’s breathing fire at you.” He rolled up his sleeve and showed Rowan the scars on his arm.
Rowan swallowed, his eyes widening. “But you killed it, didn’t you? The knights of Camelot killed it.”
“Prince Arthur killed it,” Leon replied. He looked over at Arthur, knowing that he wore practically the same expression his brother did.
Arthur stopped suddenly and put his hand on Leon’s arm. “I may have killed it, but you defended Camelot. Every night when I was searching for the Dragonlord—you were there, protecting our people.” Arthur’s voice was quiet as he added, “Thank you.”
Leon blushed and stammered something about only doing his duty.
“A Dragonlord?” Rowan repeated, voice full of curiosity.
Arthur held Leon’s eyes a moment longer and then turned to Rowan, smiling. “Yes. My manservant, Merlin, and I set out from Camelot to find him…”
Arthur continued, telling the story, but now and then he shot a quick glance at Leon—a look of shared amusement at Rowan’s eagerness but there was something else to it as well—Leon couldn’t quite interpret it, but it sent shivers of heat coursing through him.
*
A welcome feast was held that evening in the hall. Food covered the tables, a band of minstrels played in the corner, and servants bustled around, refilling the rapidly emptying cups of wine.
“You must try some of the quail, my lord,” Leon’s mother urged, heaping another portion onto Arthur’s plate. “You’ve hardly eaten anything. And you, too, Leon,” she added. “I don’t like you looking so thin.”
“I’m hardly thin, mother,” Leon tried to protest, but his mother would have none of it and soon another full plate was placed in front of Leon.
“And some of the boar, too,” Maerwynn continued, pushing a platter towards Arthur.
“I really think I should like to dance for a bit,” Arthur said quickly, rising from his chair. “Lady Cedany, would you do me the honor?”
Cedany was more than happy to dance with the prince, of course, and Leon watched, smiling, as Arthur whirled first Cedany and then Margaret about the room.
His mother cleared her throat. “Lady Alice is looking quite lovely tonight, is she not, Leon?”
With a start, Leon realized that quite a few of the women were watching him with looks of interest on their face. Leon had never cared much for dancing and usually managed to avoid it in Camelot, but there was no getting out of it here. Feeling too tall and clumsy, Leon asked Alice if she would like to dance. And then there was Isabel after her, and then Juliana, who was smaller than the others. Leon spent the whole dance worried he was going to crush her foot. Thankfully, Peter—who had been one of Leon’s closest friends growing up—rescued him, and he was soon ensconced in a corner with a mug of ale, telling a rapt audience tales of being a knight in Camelot, with Kay and Robert chiming in now and again.
Arthur excused himself after a few dances, leaving the hall with Merlin. Leon finally managed to get away some time later, the ale and wine combining to make him weave unsteadily through the halls as he made his way to his old room. He shared it with Rowan, who was already in bed, although Leon could tell he was still awake. Leon was just splashing some water on his face when there was a knock on the door. It was Merlin.
“The prince requests that you see him in his chambers,” Merlin said.
“Oh. Right, I’ll come along straight away,” Leon replied and practically fell over as he tugged his boots back on.
Merlin grabbed him. “Steady there.”
“Too much ale,” Leon muttered and then hiccupped.
“Arthur wouldn’t let me near it,” Merlin said, sighing. “And I only managed to nick a little bit of his wine. Do you think there’s some left over?”
“Go down to the kitchens,” Leon told him. “Just tell them you’re the prince’s manservant, and they’ll give you anything you want.”
“Hoping I’ll tell stories about Arthur?” Merlin grimaced.
“Hoping, yes. But they won’t make you. They understand loyalty.”
Merlin nodded slowly, and then grinned. “I think I’d best make sure you arrive at Arthur’s chambers safely first. Gaius would never forgive me if I let you hurt yourself.”
Leon waved him away. “I’ll be fine. I grew up here, after all—I know every stone and crack in the floor.” It was true, but he also didn’t want Merlin there when he got to Arthur. Of course, he couldn’t be sure why the prince was asking for him—it might be some mundane detail or other—but perhaps…
Leon got his answer as soon as he opened the door to Arthur’s room. In a second, Arthur had him pressed up against the wall, his mouth firm and rough against Leon’s.
“I’ve wanted this—every night—could hardly wait,” Arthur murmured, pulling insistently at Leon’s tunic.
“Arthur,” Leon gasped, taken aback by the prince’s ardor. Arthur had always been so reserved, looking to Leon to take control. This—this was completely different.
Leon’s tunic was off, the cool air a shock to his skin, and Arthur was drawing off his own shirt. He tossed it away and suddenly stopped, looking intently at Leon. Leon could only stare back, still feeling overwhelmed and off balance. Arthur lifted his hand and drew his fingers through Leon’s hair. Leon raised his own hand and caught Arthur’s, holding it tightly. Arthur smiled, and then he was kissing Leon again.
“Come—come to bed with me,” Arthur said, and Leon nodded, pushed them in that direction, feeling eager, dizzy with the wine and lust.
“Do you—” Leon started to ask, but Arthur shook his head, tilted his hips so that their erections brushed together, and moaned, “No—I want you—gods, Leon—I need to feel you in me, filling me. Please, please.”
Before, Leon had always held back slightly, hadn’t wanted to hurt Arthur, but this time when he pushed into Arthur’s oil-slick arse, he couldn’t stop a hard, fast pace from developing. Urged on by Arthur’s cries of pleasure, he fucked him roughly. He felt his thighs pounding against Arthur’s buttocks , listened to the sound of his prick sliding in and out, watched Arthur’s muscles tense as he pushed back, meeting Leon’s thrusts. Couldn’t hold it for long, and he came with a deep groan, cock pulsing in Arthur’s tight channel.
When he pulled out, Arthur slid limply onto the blankets and started to reach for his own cock, hard and erect between his legs. Leon stopped him, catching his hands, and Arthur’s eyes flew open, puzzled.
Leon smiled. “Let me do this,” he whispered and bent down to put his mouth around Arthur’s length.
Arthur gave a strangled whimper, one of his hands gripping the blanket, the other tight on Leon’s shoulder. “Oh—yes—m-more—Leon—Leon, do that, yes, yes.”
Leon sucked harder. He loved how Arthur was being so vocal, calling out his name. He couldn’t imagine Arthur doing so if they were back in Camelot, back in Arthur’s chambers. But here—here it could be different.
After Arthur came, Leon crawled up and kissed the prince, letting Arthur taste his own seed on Leon’s tongue. Arthur moaned again and started kissing Leon’s chest, sucking on his nipples a little. Leon gasped at that, and Arthur raised his head, grinning. “Feels good?”
Leon could only nod and daringly pressed a little on Arthur’s neck, wanting him to keep it up. Arthur laughed and did it some more, swirling his tongue around, his fingers lightly rubbing. Then he kissed Leon on the mouth again and settled down, his arm wrapped around Leon’s shoulders, head resting by Leon’s on the pillow. “My knight,” Arthur murmured, sounding sleepy now. “Leon—that’s who you are, isn’t it? My brave knight.”
“Yes,” he whispered back. “Yes. I’ll always be yours.”
Arthur dozed off, and Leon lay quietly beside him, one hand resting lightly on Arthur’s soft hair. He wished they could stay like this all night, wished he could wake up next to Arthur. Instead he finally drew slowly away. Arthur made an unhappy sound and clutched at him, waking up a little.
“I can’t stay,” Leon told him. “Rowan will wonder why I don’t come back. People will talk. I can’t stay.”
Arthur sighed but didn’t say anything. He rolled over onto his stomach, sprawled among the blankets, watching as Leon got dressed. Leon had to turn away or he would have given in to the impulse to climb right back on the bed. Arthur seemed to realize this, for he was giving Leon a slightly wicked grin when Leon turned back around. “Sleep well, my lord” Leon managed, and then escaped into the corridor, struggling to get his breathing under control before he reached his own room.
“What did the prince want?” Rowan asked as Leon climbed into bed.
“Oh, nothing much. Just a few thoughts about improving Camelot’s defenses,” Leon answered and rolled onto his side, letting thoughts of Arthur’s sweaty skin and the way he had said Leon’s name follow him into sleep.
*
Leon woke late the next morning. Yawning, he shuffled down the stairs and found Rowan already out in the yard, sword in hand, battering at a practice dummy. Leon watched him silently for a few moments, and then walked quietly up behind him and grabbed him round the shoulders. Rowan let out a startled squawk and struggled, trying to bring the sword up, but Leon kept his arms pinned.
“First lesson in survival,” Leon told him, “always be aware of your surroundings.” He let Rowan go, and Rowan staggered away, scowling.
“No one’s going to attack me here!” Rowan protested.
“You can never be sure of that,” Leon replied. “Anyway, you have to practice all the time—you should always strive to be alert, ready for anything.”
“You weren’t ready for anything when you were drinking all that wine last night,” Rowan muttered.
Leon opened his mouth, realized Rowan was right, and shut it again. “All right—strive to be alert most of the time.”
Rowan grinned. “Bet I can beat you now.”
“Yes, you said that yesterday.” Leon sighed, taking in his brother’s eager expression. He rubbed his shoulder. His arm was still a little sore, but he should be able to manage. “Fine—I’ll get my armor—meet you back here.”
A few minutes later, he and Rowan were facing each other, swords at the ready. The muddy smell of the earth, still wet from last night’s rain, the slant of light as it spilled across the ground—all of it was so familiar. It brought back the memories of all the mornings he had spent out here, learning the feel of the sword, the mace, the bow, dreaming of the day when he would go to Camelot.
Rowan was better—and he was fast; his slighter build gave him a quickness Leon couldn’t hope to match. But Leon was stronger than him and more experienced. Still, it was a good fight, and Leon soon fell into the rhythm of it as they struck and parried across the yard. The sunlight was already hot, and sweat started to drip down Leon’s temple.
“Is that all you ever do?” Margaret’s voice, sounding exasperated. “You’re not even home one full day, Leon, and already you’re out there clobbering Rowan.”
“He’s not—unh—clobbering me!” Rowan shouted back, barely blocking Leon’s blow.
“Well, don’t let mother catch you, Leon. She was going on yesterday about how you should still be abed, resting.”
“I’m fine!” Leon snapped, crouching to swing his sword low, but Rowan leaped out of the way. Cursing, Leon drew in a deep breath. In truth, his arm was aching, and he was feeling a little dizzy, but it had been so long—
“You practically died, Leon,” Margaret replied, her tone communicating exactly how idiotic she thought Leon was being. “You shouldn’t be running around in the hot sun in all that armor.”
“I might say the same thing,” a new voice said.
Guiltily, Leon turned to face the prince, taking off his helmet. “My lord. I was just—”
Arthur was standing on the steps, dressed in his own armor, Merlin doing up the last ties on the vambraces. “I won’t have you making yourself ill, Leon.” He drew his sword. “Always know your limits, Rowan.”
“Yes, my lord,” Rowan gasped, pulling off his own helmet. Leon had a moment’s satisfaction in knowing he had at least winded his little brother, but then his legs buckled, and Arthur and Merlin were suddenly both there, holding him up.
“Merlin, get this idiot into the shade,” Arthur commanded, and for a moment, Leon felt the soft brush of soothing fingers against his neck before Arthur was turning away to face Rowan. “Think you have what it takes to be a knight of Camelot, do you?”
Rowan swallowed. “Yes, your highness.”
“Well, let’s see just how good you are, then.” Arthur tugged on his helmet and drew his sword.
“As though he should be out fighting,” Merlin muttered as he helped Leon over to the stairs. “If anyone doesn’t know their limits, it’s him. All it takes is the sound of a swordfight, and Arthur’s practically falling over himself to get down here.” He surrendered Leon to Margaret’s care and leaned against the wall, watching Arthur and scowling. Margaret began fussing over Leon, calling for a passing servant to fetch some cold water and a cloth.
With his armor removed and a damp cloth on his forehead, Leon felt better and was able to turn his attention back to the fight. He could tell Arthur was going easy on Rowan, but Rowan wasn’t doing too badly, either. Leon felt a rush of pride, picturing the day that Rowan would be kneeling in front of Uther—or perhaps even Arthur—swearing his allegiance to Camelot.
Arthur finally disarmed Rowan with a clever flick of his sword. He kept the point leveled at Rowan’s chest and gestured for him to remove his helmet. Rowan’s hair was matted with sweat, and he was breathing hard, looking a little pale and uncertain.
“You’re a worthy opponent, Rowan of Onley,” Arthur said gravely. “I look forward to the day that you come join us in Camelot.”
Rowan broke out in a brilliant smile. Little did he know that Arthur usually made the new knights spend their first few weeks mucking out the stables and doing other menial chores—but Rowan would bear it with good grace. Better than Leon had, probably.
Leon reached over and ruffled Rowan’s hair when he came over.
“Sorry,” Rowan said softly. “I didn’t know you weren’t feeling well, or I wouldn’t have—”
Leon waved a hand. “I’m all right. And I would have beaten you.”
Rowan scoffed at that and ducked away before Leon could cuff him on the ear.
*
The three of them went hunting that afternoon. Rowan practically fell over himself offering to carry the extra arrows and any game they caught. Merlin looked absolutely delighted at not having to crawl about in the underbrush and dashed off before Arthur could find something else for him to do.
Leon had gone to find Eliot in the stables yesterday evening, and the old dog had known him, tail thumping, leaping up on his chest to lick Leon’s face. He trotted next to them now, nosing at the bushes. They didn’t have much luck, but Leon thought that was due more to Arthur’s indifference than any lack of game. Arthur seemed relaxed, strolling through the woods, humming snatches of a song the minstrels had been playing the night before. Leon was too busy watching Arthur to care about rabbits.
They had brought along some bread and cheese which they ate in the shade of some large oak trees. Rowan had finally plucked up the nerve to talk to Arthur again, and the prince was telling him about when a griffon had attacked Camelot. Leon had not been there either, at the time, and he listened with interest. Eliot panted next to him, hopefully eyeing the cheese in Leon’s hand.
“And you killed the beast?” Rowan asked.
“No. Another knight did—a knight called Lancelot. The best swordsman I’ve ever known,” Arthur added after a moment. Leon frowned. He could not recall any man by the name of Lancelot among the knights of Camelot. Perhaps he had been killed?
“Didn’t you say something about a pond?” Arthur asked abruptly. “I could do with a swim. It is hot today.”
The pond wasn’t far off, but as they started to walk again, Arthur held Leon back. “I thought, perhaps, it could just be the two of us,” he said quietly, and he skimmed his fingers along the open collar of Leon’s tunic.
Leon’s thoughts stuttered to a halt at that, but he managed a nod. “An excellent idea.”
Arthur smiled. “Of course it is. I am the prince, you know,” he added in a lofty tone.
Leon smiled back and then hurried to catch up with Rowan. “Would you mind keeping watch—a little ways down the path from the lake? It’s just, the prince so rarely gets moments to himself, and I wouldn’t put it past some people to follow us up here.”
Rowan nodded quickly. “Of course. I’ll make sure he’s not disturbed.”
The pond wasn’t large—the water only came up to Leon’s shoulders at the deepest point—but it was cool and refreshing. Arthur ducked down and came up spluttering, laughing and shaking water out of his hair. Leon didn’t think he had ever seen the prince so happy.
“What?” Arthur asked, his smile turning slightly puzzled.
Leon didn’t reply, just ducked down under the water himself. He surfaced and suddenly found his arms full of Arthur, who flung his own around Leon’s shoulders. He kissed Leon gently at first, then more firmly, silently demanding more. Leon chuckled and reached down to find Arthur already hard. He stroked him, and Arthur sighed, pushing into Leon’s hand. Arthur’s mouth followed a water droplet down Leon’s neck and across his chest, and Leon shuddered, pressing against Arthur’s thigh.
It didn’t take long for them to come, although Leon wanted to make it last. He liked moving his hand over Arthur’s skin, feeling how hot his shoulders and chest were from the sun and then sliding down his thigh, cold and damp, and then back up again to brush the water across Arthur’s nipples and watch them harden. Arthur arched and gasped, pulsing in Leon’s hand.
They swam a bit more, lazily, and then crawled onto the bank, lying in the sun to dry off. Eliot flopped down next to them, panting. At first Arthur stared at the clouds, but then he turned onto his side and smiled at Leon.
Leon was feeling drowsy, his limbs heavy and languorous. But he managed to reach up a hand and rubbed it along Arthur’s arm. “My prince,” he murmured, “my sweet Arthur. It’s good—good to see you like this.”
“Like what?” Arthur asked, catching Leon’s hand in his.
“Happy,” Leon answered softly. “Content.”
Arthur bent his head and sighed. He was still for a moment, and then released Leon’s hand, rolling over onto his back. “Your brother is quite determined to become a knight.”
Leon chuckled. “Yes. I was the same way at his age.”
“I think…” Arthur trailed off but a second later he said quickly, “I think everyone should have that chance.”
“Everyone does,” Leon said, puzzled. “Any nobleman’s son is welcome to come to Camelot.”
Arthur shook his head. “Do you remember that story I told to Rowan earlier? About Lancelot?” Leon nodded, and Arthur continued. “He was a commoner. And commoners can’t become knights. According to my father’s laws.” Arthur’s voice was flat, bitter. “He was the best fighter—the best knight—I have ever known. He encompassed everything, Leon—skill with weapons, courtesy, gallantry, bravery. Being a knight was his dream, just like it is Rowan’s now.”
“What happened?” Leon reached out to rub Arthur’s shoulder again, soothing this time.
“My father found out. I begged him to bend the laws, to allow Lancelot to stay. He had just killed a griffon, by the gods! And Lancelot,” Arthur sighed. “Lancelot said no. He had stained his honor by lying, he said, and would not begin his life as a knight in such a way. And he had no wish to cause strife between myself and my father.”
“So you think that anyone—a blacksmith’s son, a farmer, a kitchen boy—should be allowed to become a knight?” Leon asked slowly, trying to wrap his mind around the concept.
“If they have the qualities—the true qualities, not just wealth and position—then they should have the chance.”
Leon thought of a world where he hadn’t been born as the son of a noble. What if he had grown up in a village, toiling in the fields every day, watching as knights rode by on errantry, knowing that he would never be allowed to join them? “You’re right,” he said aloud. “Of course you’re right. A knight is defined by his actions, not how much land and money his father possesses.”
“When I am king—” Arthur stopped and drew in a shuddering breath. “When I am king, I shall change the laws. And you must help me, Leon.” He turned to face Leon, and Leon found himself caught in the vibrant intensity of the prince’s gaze. “You must lead by example, treat the new knights the same as all the others, show them that they are equally worthy. Will you do that for me?”
“Yes,” Leon breathed. “Yes, of course I will.”
“Thank you.” Arthur smiled then and looked back up at the sky.
*
They could not spend every day hunting or lazing about in the woods, of course. Arthur visited nearby villages, spent long hours with Leon’s father discussing taxes and a host of other issues, and entertained numerous visitors who came to pay their respects to the prince. But every night, Arthur would send for Leon.
Leon feared that Merlin was beginning to suspect something, judging by the smirk Merlin wore and the wry tone of his voice when he came to tell Leon that Arthur wanted to “play chess” or “discuss their plans for tomorrow.”
“Merlin,” Leon began hesitantly one evening, stopping Merlin before he could hurry off. “Arthur and I—that is to say, I would never think to use—to use this as a way to seek favors. And Arthur—”
Merlin stopped him, blushing and shifting from one foot to another. “I know—of course I know that.” He cleared his throat. “Anyway, Arthur’s happy. And when Arthur’s happy, he’s less inclined to yell at me or throw boots in my general direction. So I certainly don’t mind.”
“Right.” Leon squeezed Merlin’s shoulder. “Thank you.”
Later, when he was holding Arthur in his arms, Leon quietly suggested that perhaps Arthur didn’t need to insult Merlin quite so much. “He isn’t really an idiot, you know,” Leon pointed out. “I mean, he can be sometimes, but not always.”
Arthur laughed. “Merlin would probably think I was ill if I didn’t question his intelligence every day. Besides, it gives him the chance to call me a variety of unflattering names.”
“Why?” Leon asked, fingering the soft hair along Arthur’s nape. “Why do you allow him to address you like that?”
Arthur shrugged and laughed again. “He’s Merlin. I can’t imagine him any other way. Besides, it’s strangely comforting to know that Merlin will always tell me if he thinks I’m being an arrogant fool.” Arthur’s voice turned wistful, and he slowly stroked Leon’s chest. “Even you don’t do that.”
Leon couldn’t imagine calling Arthur a fool. Arthur was his prince, his commander—he could never think of Arthur like that. But he felt inexplicably guilty, as though he had failed Arthur in some way. “I’m sorry.”
Arthur propped himself up on an elbow and kissed Leon. “Don’t be. I like the way you look at me, the way you speak to me, too,” he said quietly and then looked away, as he always did in those rare moments when he spoke openly of his thoughts and feelings.
Leon pulled Arthur back down to rest against him.
*
They held an impromptu archery contest the next day. Rowan rounded up a few men and boys from the village, and they set up targets in a meadow. Arthur agreed to put up a purse for the winner, and soon most of the manor had trooped down to watch. The cook even got into the spirit of the moment and sent down flagons of ale and meat pies.
Arthur wasn’t a bad shot, but he wasn’t a great one, either. Everyone held their breath when his arrow missed its mark, fully prepared to agree that the sun had been at the wrong angle or an unusually strong wind had come up suddenly. But Arthur kept his good humor, laughing, and retiring to the side of the field to watch. After that, the local villagers became more intent on the contest. There were some fine marksmen among them, and Leon could see Arthur’s eyes narrowing as he watched, taking in their technique. He wouldn’t be surprised if Arthur tried to recruit a few of them.
Leon could also feel Arthur’s intent stare himself. It was hot out in the field with the sun streaming down, and Leon had stripped down to just a thin tunic, sleeves rolled up and laces undone. Arthur caught his eye and raised an eyebrow, and Leon blushed, fidgeting. Arthur smirked and gestured for Merlin to bring him another cup of ale.
A winner finally was decided, with much clapping and cheering. Arthur presented the winnings and his congratulations, then announced his intention to retire to his room for a few hours to rest before supper. He gave Leon a meaningful look as he walked by, and Leon hurried after him. Arthur walked quickly, and soon they had left the others behind, most still milling about, reluctant to return to their duties.
They made it as far as the stables, and then Arthur clamped his hand on Leon’s arm and dragged him into the dim interior, smelling strongly of hay and horses. No one was in sight, but it wouldn’t be long before people began returning. “My lord,” Leon began. “Are you sure—”
Arthur jerked him down into a kiss, and they stumbled into a far corner. “Can’t wait,” Arthur panted, pulling at Leon’s tunic so hard that it started to rip.
Leon grabbed Arthur’s hands in his own, holding tightly to his wrists. “Your highness,” he started to say, “I really don’t think—” And then he became aware that he was restraining the prince—was firmly keeping hold of Arthur even as he tugged, trying to get loose. And that Arthur’s eyes were wide, and his breathing had speeded up.
On one level, Leon knew he was taller than Arthur, knew that he was physically bigger and more imposing than his prince. But the fact rarely registered because Arthur always carried himself with such confidence and grace. Plus he usually wore his sword and could easily beat Leon in a fight. Today, though, he didn’t have his sword. And they weren’t in Camelot, and Arthur had been so different, so free and relaxed, and now he was looking at Leon—looking at him as though to say don’t stop.
Leon swallowed against a dry throat. “If we—if we do this—will you keep quiet?”
Arthur shivered and closed his eyes. He nodded.
Leon pulled Arthur closer, kissed him, pressed his hardness against Arthur’s leg. Arthur moaned and pressed back.
“Quiet,” Leon murmured. “Otherwise someone will hear.”
Arthur nodded again, rubbing himself slowly along Leon’s thigh. They stayed like that for a few moments. Leon couldn’t seem to pry his hands off Arthur’s shoulders, too uncertain to say anything else.
Arthur finally spoke. “Tell me what to do,” he whispered. “Tell me what you want.”
Leon bit back his own groan, fingers digging into Arthur’s skin. “Get on the floor.”
Arthur immediately dropped down to his knees, then his hands. He waited on all fours, trembling slightly. Leon sank down behind him and ran his hands over Arthur’s back. “That’s it.” He fumbled with the ties of Arthur’s breeches, eased them down to bare Arthur’s arse.
People were walking past the stables, the sound of their voices muffled by the walls. Leon felt a surge of adrenaline that only made him harder. Anyone could walk in… He took his cock out, already leaking. A little spit on his fingers. He slid one into Arthur, who jerked and moaned again.
“Have to be quiet,” Leon told him, feeling his voice rasp in his throat. He spread Arthur’s arse with one hand and guided his cock with the other, pushing in. Arthur wasn’t open enough for a hard fuck, so he settled for shallow thrusts, slowly working his way deeper.
Arthur pushed back against him. “Oh gods, I need—Leon—Leon, please!”
Leon surged forward and clapped his hand over Arthur’s mouth. “Quiet,” he hissed.
Arthur stiffened and at Leon’s next thrust, he came, his cry stifled in Leon’s sweaty palm. Leon’s orgasm hit him a second later, and then they collapsed onto the hard ground, bits of hay scratchy and sharp against their bare skin.
What did I just do? Arthur—the prince—I just— Leon drew in a sharp breath as Arthur rolled around to face him.
Arthur just looked at him, though, and Leon reached up to brush some hay out of Arthur’s hair. “All right?” he asked softly.
Arthur sighed and pressed his face into Leon’s chest, clutching tightly. “Yes.” One word, but it was fragile with fear and embarrassment.
Did he think that Leon wouldn’t respect him anymore? That he had somehow made himself less by surrendering, by wanting someone else to be in control? Leon petted Arthur’s hair, gently kissed his forehead. He finally got Arthur to look at him again, and tried to convey the deep, abiding love he had for his prince.
Arthur must have seen something that reassured him, for he smiled and curled up next to Leon, waiting for the last voices to fade away.
*
“I plan to return to Camelot tomorrow,” Arthur announced at supper that evening, and already he was more somber, the untroubled demeanor that was so rare for the prince slipping back below the surface. He did not call for Leon that night.
But the next day brought cloudy skies and a steady rain that turned the roads into quagmires, and Arthur decided to stay and wait for the storm to pass. “I’m afraid you must put up with me for another day, Lady Maerwynn,” he said to Leon’s mother, who fussed about straightening Arthur’s collar and said that the rain was really a blessing, for they hated to see Arthur leave. Arthur smiled and replied that she was too kind while his eyes drifted over to Leon.
There were more people about, kept inside by the weather, so Leon led the way to a secluded corner of the manor. They climbed a short flight of stairs and found an old door at the top, the wood warped and grey with age.
“I’d forgotten this room was even here,” Leon said, wrenching the door open. It led to a small chamber, empty except for a round table, listing slightly, and a few chairs, covered in a thick layer of dust. He managed to open the shutters on the window and a fresh gust of air, sweet with rain, swept through the room.
Arthur trailed his fingers through the dust on the table, his expression pensive, withdrawn. “Do you remember the joust last year?” he asked abruptly.
Considering that he had spent most of the time combing Camelot trying to find the assassin that had been after Arthur, Leon thought it would be difficult to forget. “Of course. That Sir William of Daera won.”
The corner of Arthur’s mouth twisted into a smile. “That was me.”
“What?” Leon frowned. “What do you mean?”
“The man introduced to you as Sir William was a peasant, playing the part. I was the one jousting.”
“You…” Leon trailed off, remembering Arthur shouting at him, insisting that he did not deserve special treatment, demanding to know if Leon had let him win. Gods, of course Arthur would do something like that—trying to prove himself. A thought struck him, and he gripped Arthur’s arm. “I could have killed you!”
Arthur snorted. “Not likely. I did beat you, after all.”
“But—but why didn’t you reveal yourself?”
Arthur flushed. “I didn’t need glory or praise. It was for myself—I needed to know—” He stopped and took a breath. “When you look at me—you and the other knights—I needed to know if I really am the man that I see reflected in your eyes. The prince you admire so much.”
“Well, you needn’t put your life in danger to prove that,” Leon said gruffly. “Buying us a round in the tavern would have proved the point!”
Arthur laughed, but then turned serious once more. “Look at the table, Leon,” he said softly. “If we were sitting at it right now, there would be nothing to differentiate us—nothing to say that I am somehow better than you.”
Leon wanted to protest that Arthur was better than him, but Arthur continued speaking, circling the table as he talked. “It’s as we decided the other day—that everyone should have the chance to become a knight. Well you should all be able to sit with me as equals, too.”
“But, my lord, you’re the prince. You will become our king.”
“Only because I was born to it.” Another gust of wind clattered the shutters against the wall and tugged at Arthur’s hair. “My actions must prove that I have the right to that position. And if a knight is honorable, courageous, merciful—if he behaves in the same manner that I strive to achieve, why should he not be able to join me, why should he not have a voice equal to my own?”
It was hard to imagine—impossible with Uther as king. But Arthur—yes, Leon could see it. “I would be honored to sit by your side, my lord.”
Arthur inclined his head. “One day, Leon. One day.” He went to stand by the window. Leon came up behind him and wrapped his arms around Arthur.
“My brave knight,” Arthur murmured, leaning back and resting against Leon’s chest.
I will always be here for you, Leon thought and let the steady pounding of his heart, the strength of his arms, and the whisper of his breath convey the message to his prince.
*
The weather cleared the next day, and they rode out under a sky strewn with puffy white clouds. Leon’s family crowded around him, wishing him well, bestowing last hugs and kisses. “We’ll come visit you,” Margaret told him. “Prince Arthur said we would be welcome in Camelot.”
“And I’ll be joining you soon,” Rowan added. “Save a few of those dragons and griffons for me!”
“I’ve packed some thick woolen tunics for you,” his mother said, smiling, although tears filled her eyes. “Winter will be coming soon, and I don’t want you catching a chill.” She kissed his cheek. “And do be careful.”
Leon assured her that he would, gave Cedany and Margaret one last hug, told Rowan not to get too cocky, and then mounted his horse. The rest of the party was already riding down the road, and he hastened after them, twisting in his saddle to wave one last time at his family.
When he caught up to Arthur, he was telling Merlin about his idea. “It will be a round table, no place for a king at its head.”
“Are you sure your ego can handle that?” Merlin asked, putting on an air of fake concern. But after Arthur had cuffed him on the head, and was staring off to the side of the road, muttering about obnoxious servants, Merlin allowed a soft smile to cross his face, and the pride and affection were clear in his eyes when he looked at Arthur.
Leon smiled, too, thinking ahead to the future that awaited them, and spurred his horse to follow Arthur’s.
Note:
The title comes from Tennyson’s “Idylls of the King”:
And Arthur and his knighthood for a space
Were all one will, and through that strength the King
Drew in the petty princedoms under him,
Fought, and in twelve great battles overcame
The heathen hordes, and made a realm and reigned.