I’m so sorry for the late, late response, dearest anon!
mini fic (google didn’t give me a decisive length, so I’ve stuck to an arbitrary 300 words) follows under the cut (posted to AO3 here):
* * *
“I’m scared, Merlin.”
Merlin keeps his eyes shut tight and lets the whisper of Arthur’s breath crash against his nape. The forest floor is unpleasantly damp through the bedroll, but it is offset by the warmth of Arthur’s body near him, the unsteady burn of the dying fire an intermittent comfort.
The knights, scattered all around them, resemble the dead in their still slumber—the hunt for the assassin who poisoned Uther Pendragon has failed, and the forest looms unfriendly over them as they sleep.
“I’m not ready.”
Merlin lies still as a statue. Arthur shuffles a little closer to him and Merlin almost jolts in surprise as Arthur covers Merlin with his own cloak, tucking the ends in carefully under Merlin to ward off the cold wet.
“Ruling Camelot is all I’ve trained for. Ever since I was old enough to wield a sword and sit on my father’s lap bearing the weight of my circlet. It’s all I know how to do. But I can’t.” Arthur’s voice breaks.
All Merlin wants to do is roll over and hold Arthur close, place a hand on the back of Arthur’s head and rest it on his shoulder, but Arthur may never forgive him if he does.
“I have no one by me,” Arthur whispers. “Who’ll ever dare to look past my crown and sceptre.”
Merlin grits his teeth, aching to shout some sense into the broken man behind him.
“No one but you, Merlin.”
Arthur’s ungloved hand gently brushes through Merlin’s hair. The tip of his nose is a chill on Merlin’s neck.
“Turn around if you’re awake, Merlin. Turn around and we’ll run, far away to a kingdom which knows no Pendragon—manage a farm, till some land. Turn around.”
Merlin swallows and remains unmoving. Arthur’s hand keeps stroking.
merlin 