Merlin had noticed a few weird things about Arthur recently. The first of these was that the prince had taken to wearing shirts to bed again, even though spring was dipping a toe into summer and he couldn’t possibly be cold. Merlin very rarely saw Arthur shirtless these days, which Merlin was silently annoyed about but didn’t mention. They hadn’t had a proper conversation since the noogie attack; Merlin wondered if Arthur thought he had overstepped a boundary and become too close with his servant, and coming out with a question like, “How come I never see your bare, manly chest anymore?” was hardly a way to rectify the issue.

The second off thing was the way Arthur looked at him- or, rather, watched him. He seemed to be staring at Merlin’s body, cataloguing his every move, little creases of concentration on his forehead. It was disconcerting to say the least, but, again, Merlin wasn’t sure of how to fix it if Arthur did have a problem with the proximity they had achieved. Merlin had no idea is Arthur felt the same way he did. Sometimes it really would seem like it- some glance, or smile, or confusing spoken word- but suddenly he’d revert to the demanding, spoiled and oblivious Arthur he knew and (begrudgingly) loved. The third strange thing was discovered when Merlin was cleaning out Arthur’s room. It came in the form of a lone, foul smelling boot, stationed by Arthur’s chair leg, which on closer inspection Merlin realised was filled with decaying food. He didn’t understand- where had this food come from, and how long had it been there? He quickly cleaned it with a wave of his hand and a short muttered spell, making a mental note to inquire about it.

Arthur didn’t return until long after his knights. He was muddy and pink-cheeked, and flopped like a ragdoll straight down onto his bed with a groan.

“Where have you been?” Merlin asked, pouring water into Arthur’s goblet and passing it to him. He sat up to gulp it breathlessly.

“Been-training-” he panted.

“For, what, fourteen hours?!”

“Well I ended up going for a ride on my own... stayed in the woods for a while... I climbed some trees which was... amusing.”

“Well, your dinner is on the table.” Merlin informed him

“Oh, I’m not hungry.” Arthur shrugged. At that moment, his stomach rumbled loudly.

“Really?” Merlin smiled. Arthur tried and failed to stop the blush creeping onto his neck and cheeks. He cleared his throat.

“I don’t want it, Merlin. You can have it, or you can take it to Morgana’s quarters for Guinevere. I just don’t feel like eating.”

Merlin pondered. Gaius had been providing some awful muck masquerading as soup recently and Merlin was hungry, not about to turn down the offer of some food fit for a prince. Arthur lay back down on the bed as Merlin ate, half-sitting up to look across at the table occasionally.

“How do you do it, Merlin?” he asked suddenly. Merlin looked at Arthur, who had gathered himself up into a cross-legged sitting position and was peering at Merlin interestedly.

“Do... what?” Merlin asked, confused. Arthur rolled his eyes, as though it should be obvious.

“Stay so-” he waved a hand at him, “-thin.”

Merlin blinked, thrown by the nature of the question.

“Er...” he started, “Well, the servants’ meals here are a bit pathetic most of the time... and this job is really wearing- just about the only time I’m not on my feet is when I’m sleeping.”

Arthur’s eyes lingered on him for a moment before he threw his gaze away across the room, muttering,

“Right.”

“I’ve always been skinny,” Merlin continued, “Ever since I was a kid, I suppose. People are always saying they’re going to fatten me up- my Mum, Gaius- even Gwen actually, when I first came to Camelot- but no signs of that yet.”

“Alright, Merlin, you’ve made your point!” Arthur snapped. Merlin raised his eyebrows.

“I wasn’t trying to make a point!” He protested, the pitch of his voice rising with indignation, “I was just saying-”

“That you’re so naturally thin and always have been and la-de-daa, isn’t it wonderful!” There was a long pause. Merlin was digging around in his brain to understand, and all of a sudden it clicked into place.

“Arthur,” he said slowly, “Is this because I called you fat?”

Arthur visibly flinched, as though slapped. Merlin nearly laughed out loud. “Arthur, I had a real reason for stealing that food, you know.” Arthur looked at him blankly, prompting the explanation. “Well... a, er, family in the lower town- friends of my mother’s- they’d recently come into great misfortunate and I... just wanted to help them.” Arthur screwed his face up.

“You’re such an idiot, Merlin. If you had told me that, I would gladly have had the kitchens donate something.”

“Well, that’s me; I’m stupid,” Merlin grinned, “Listen, Arthur. You do know you aren’t fat, don’t you? Because I didn’t mean to upset you or anything.”

"I'm not upset," Arthur said through gritted teeth, "I just- you wouldn't understand it." He was clenching and unclenching one fist now, clearly stressed. Merlin cocked his head.

"You can trust me?" he tried.

"Oh, I trust you, Merlin. For some reason unbeknownst to me, I do trust you. I just- I literally cannot explain this." Merlin was stood by the bed now. Arthur looked at him, and stretched out a hand. "Uh... sorry... could I?" he asked disjointedly. Merlin nodded, clueless as to what he was approving. He soon found out as Arthur's warm hand came down on his collarbone. Arthur traced the line, them down Merlin's side, stopping at the jut of Merlin's hip bone. Merlin shivered, his breath caught his throat. Arthur pulled his hand away. "I'm sorry... I don't know what I'm... sorry." He leapt off the bed and crossed to the door, grabbing his jacket off the back of his chair.

"Arthur- wait!" Merlin called, walking after him. Arthur sighed and slowly turned around. He gave him a bitter smile.

"Just forget it, Merlin... I believe jealously is very unbecoming in a prince." Merlin stepped backwards, holding out his arms, laughing in disbelief.

"You're jealous? Of me?" he asked incredulously, "Arthur, I have nothing that you don't have, and you have everything I don't! I can't believe- oh my God, you idiot." He shook his head, "You complete idiot!" Arthur scowled, turning to point a finger in Merlin's face.

"You watch your tongue, Merlin: you can't speak to me like that."

"No, seriously!" Merlin yelped, "You envying me of anything is nothing short of ridiculous! There's nothing fun about being thin. I'm always cold. I'm pretty weak, Arthur, a fine knight you'd make if you were falling over yourself and dropping your sword every five minutes!" Merlin jumped as Arthur slammed a hand against the door frame.

"God damn it, Merlin, I'm- it's just-!" He trailed off with what almost sounded like a whimper. “I couldn’t- I can’t- can’t let my routine slip.” He put his palm to his face, hiding his eyes, turning to face the half-open door, his shoulders dropping in a long sigh.

“Talk to me.” Merlin murmured. Arthur swallowed.

“When I was a child, there wasn’t... much to my life. There was training. There were lessons. There was Morgana, but I didn’t talk to her when I could help it, and there was father, but not often because he was so busy. And then there was food.” He clicked his tongue, reflecting with contempt. “The knights training me were... cruel. They pushed me to beyond my limits, and they... they beat me when I failed. They got away with taunting me mercilessly for being a bit chubby. I confided in Gaius, who asked my father to put a stop to the bullying, but he wouldn’t.”

Merlin looked into Arthur’s face, his brow furrowed. Arthur met his eyes for a moment and then looked away, embarrassed. “So, I had my training time doubled. And I stopped eating.”

“Oh, Arthur,” Merlin breathed. Arthur kept his eyes averted.

“It was Hell. I just shut down- I was constantly exhausted but I couldn’t sleep, and I was always shaking and sweating. I was surviving on will power alone. And you know what pushed me?” He seemed angry now, rather than upset, “No one tried to stop me. I don’t know if anyone even noticed. So I carried on as I was, pushing myself on until I could feel...” He rubbed a hand against his side, remembering, “Bones.”

“How old were you?” Merlin asked hushedly.

“I must have been... eleven.”

“My God, Arthur... that’s terrible... I’m sor-”

Arthur snapped out of his reminiscent daze.

“You don’t have to worry about me, Merlin, because as is apparent, I recovered!” He said bitingly.

“What made you start eating again?” Merlin tried, ignoring the self-depreciating comment to make sure he could make Arthur stay in the conversation.

“It’s stupid, really.”

“Please?”

“Well... one afternoon during training I collapsed. I was carried back to my room and only came around late evening. Just as I sat up I saw the end of a skirt disappearing through the door. There was a meal on my bedside table, with a note, simply saying “Eat” in Morgana’s hand. So... I did. And I was fine after that.”

“Until now.” Merlin corrected. Arthur rolled his eyes.

“It’s not the same now. I’m in control this time.”

“Yes, and I’m sure that’s what you told yourself last time!” Merlin heaved a sigh. “Arthur, I swear to God I didn’t mean it. It was a ridiculous excuse to cover for myself. You are not fat.”

“Well, you mightn’t have meant it but you opened my eyes. I’ve let it slip, and like I said, I can’t let that happen.” Arthur said quickly. Merlin grabbed him by the shoulders and frog marched him to the table. “What on Earth are you doing?” Arthur demanded as he was forced down into his chair, “I’m not eating that; you’ve slobbered all over it!”

“I haven’t touched the sausages,” Merlin insisted. “Eat them.”

“No.” Arthur refused point blanc, folding his arms. Merlin sucked in air through his teeth.

“Well, Arthur, you can eat them, or I can feed them to you.”

Arthur looked scandalised.

“And who the Hell do you think you are?!” He scoffed, “You can’t make me do anything! You’re just a servant!”

“No, I’m your friend, and I’m not about to sit around and watch you starve yourself for a pointless cause.”

“It’s not pointless,” Arthur hissed, “Merlin. Whether it’s a concept you can grasp or not, I am getting fat, and I just cannot let that happen again.”

“Arthur. This is just foolish. It really is. There isn’t anything wrong with your body. There just isn’t.”

“You don’t understand-”

Merlin cut across him.

“No, actually, because I had a friend, a girl in Ealdor, who was exactly the same as you, and she died, so don’t tell me that I don’t understand!” he snapped. There was a heavy silence for a number of second.

"Sorry." Arthur said.

"Well. It was a long time ago. I just don't want you to... go the same way. I mean, Arthur... you're pretty much perfect. You're beautiful." he blurted before he could think about the implications of the words. His hands were still on Arthur's arms, half-heartedly pinning him to the chair.

"What do you mean by that?" Arthur demanded. Merlin took his hands away and set about aimlessly tidying things that were not untidy.

"Just that, you, er. You'll make someone a very happy Queen one day. Gwen. Or, someone else. Or something."

"Quite," Arthur said sarcastically, raising an eyebrow. Merlin dropped whatever he was holding, blushing furiously and wishing they could rewind the conversation a few minutes to a point where he was dominating the situation and Arthur wasn't reducing him to a babbling fool. "Merlin, you've reached shades of crimson I didn't think were possible for a human being."

"It's too hot in here, sire, isn't it, would you like me to open the window?" Merlin offered desperately.

"Merlin, it's not hot, you just don't want to explain to me what you're talking about." Merlin moaned, then had an idea and walked slowly back over to Arthur, pushing the plate closer to him.

"Tell you what. You eat those sausages, I'll tell you."

"Merlin." Arthur breathed, "This isn't a game. I'm not refusing to eat just to spite you, am I..."

"One bite. Please." Arthur squirmed in his chair, shrinking back into it, his face crumpling. He instantly looked very ill and afraid, and Merlin felt a pang of guilt twist in his chest. He pulled up another chair and sat down beside Arthur, cutting into the meat. Arthur tensed. Merlin's free hand was resting on the arm of the chair, and he suddenly found it clasped in Arthur's.

"Don't, Merlin," whispered Arthur, "I can't."

"I-- I meant what I said, Arthur," said Merlin after a long, contemplative pause in which he quashed the majority his fears.

"About what?"

"You. You're... beautiful."

"Well," Arthur replied hoarsely, "A vase of flowers is beautiful. A landscape is beautiful. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder... or..." he trailed off.

"Do you trust my judgment on these matters?"

"I... don't know?" Arthur shut his eyes, then in one swift, deft movement, stabbed the sausage with his fork, put it in his mouth, chewed rapidly and swallowed. He coughed and choked, startled tears pouring onto his cheeks. Merlin squeezed Arthur's hand tightly as the prince looked at him, wide-eyed. "Happy now?!" he gagged.

"Sorry." Merlin tried to turn away but Arthur grabbed his face with one hand and pulled his head back towards him.

“No one,” he hissed, “Can make me do anything I don’t want to do.”

Merlin struggled, shaking his head.

“No, Arthur, sorry, sire-”

“So...” Arthur stumbled over his speech, “If no one can make me do something I don’t want to... how did you... make me eat?”

Merlin was silent, not knowing how to respond. Arthur’s hand moved to the side of Merlin’s head, gently scraping his slender fingers against Merlin’s dark hair. Merlin’s breathing was as he looked into Arthur’s face with a slight frown.

“I’ve only just realised how thin your face has gotten.” A wan smile played on Arthur’s lips.

“How do I look?”

“Terrible.” Merlin said, the honestly making his voice thick.

“Merlin,” Arthur mumbled, “I’m so hungry.”

Merlin gazed at him, then slowly raised his hands to hold Arthur’s face. He drew him close and placed a brief kiss upon the chapped lips, Arthur’s hands jerking for a moment then coming to rest in the coarse fabric of Merlin’s scarf, hanging over his chest between them. Arthur moved his head so Merlin’s soft kiss was against his cheek, then his neck. Merlin moved his mouth gently over Arthur’s throat as the prince bent back his head, his eyes shut in thrilled surprise. Merlin’s fingers found Arthur’s hips and soothed lines against the prominent bones, Arthur tilting his head downward and kissing back effusively.

They broke apart some minutes later, with a low hiss of short breaths, startled back into reality. Merlin wove his fingers into Arthur’s.

“Eat.” He instructed gently.

Arthur managed a piece of bread and a little more of the sausage. Merlin looked at his prince in the warm firelight, and made a vow to himself that he would make him better.

*

Part Two- Perfect Soul Part Three-Thin Line

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