Arcane Asylum 12/16

[new_kate]

Title: Arcane Asylum
Fandom: Merlin BBC
Pairing: Arthur/Merlin and a bunch of less true pairings mentioned in the flashbacks.
Rating: NC-17
Warnings for this part: smut, violence, minor character death.
Summary: Modern AU. For the last twenty two years Uther Pendragon had been waging war on magic. When his son Arthur is framed for a magical crime he's sent to the prison for magic users. He's instantly targeted by the inmates, but mysterious top dog Merlin takes him under his wing. They form a bond, and Merlin decides to help Arthur clear his name.
Originally written for this prompt at kinkme_merlin
Many thanks to devikun and ghost_guessed for betaing!
Word count: 10K for this part.

First part
Chapter index


Part 12: Cathedrals



The bus was cold and stuffy at the same time, and it was roaring and juddering constantly as if it was liable to fall apart at any moment. Arthur's knees kept bumping into the seat in front, the worn upholstery exuded a very odd smell, and there was no way to get comfortable.

"Worst mode of transport ever," he huffed, shifting his legs for the hundredth time.

"Tauren said the bus is the safest way. He ran his group for years, he knows that stuff," said Merlin dully. "He said, never get into a car, you'll end up on thousands of cameras. Never enter a train station, they're crawling with security. Besides, bus is the cheapest. I can't make money right now."

He sat very still, even though his long legs must have been cramping in the narrow space between the seats, and stared out of the window. Arthur followed his example for a while and felt himself unwinding a little, soothed by the beauty of the lush hilly countryside, bold lines of the landscape and the strength of the gnarled trees clinging to the rocky inclines.

"I love this county," he said. "Cheshire was nice, flat and green, but this is great too. I've been to every continent, and yes, they have flashy things, waterfalls, dunes, glaciers. But when it comes to real beauty, this island wins hands down. There's just no place like it."

"Doesn't look real," said Merlin miserably. "Like in the old movies, you know? The actors sit in a stationary car, and the moving scenery is projected on the back window. I feel like this all is an illusion."

"No, we're really outside. I know, took me a while too. How do you feel, does it still hurt?"

"Not really."

"You look like you're in pain. Seriously, you look like crap. Like, I don't know, an addict with DTs."

"Well, I am, aren't I? I've been hooked on the good stuff for a year. Now my whole body is learning to live without. I never said this was going to be pretty."

Arthur slid an arm around him and pulled Merlin's head onto his shoulder. Merlin gave an annoyed little huff, but stayed there and stuffed his cold hands under Arthur's coat.

"Just my luck," Arthur said, petting his hair.

"Yes, everything is about you, naturally."

"No, seriously. I hook up with a fit, powerful man, the real top dog type, and somehow end up with a broke strung-out junkie on my hands. What the hell, I ask you?"

Merlin giggled and said gravely:

"Such is the lament of all men, as my doctor used to say."

"Really? You had a family doctor? Oh, I guess you mean some NHS person."

"Yeah, what the hell, how did I end up with such an entitled posh git? I meant my doctor in prison."

"Ah, right."

An old lady across the aisle gathered her bags and demonstratively moved a few rows forward, radiating disapproval.

"It's okay, love, he's been deloused," Arthur told her pleasantly as she brushed past them.

"You suck at keeping low profile," Merlin muttered when she was out of earshot.

"Me? Never mind, tell me more about this meeting."

"Aulfric just said, be at the cathedral after dark. His guy will find us."

"We can still call my father," Arthur said carefully. "No, will you just listen? We need a back up plan. If the guy won't cooperate, father's men can pick him up and..."

"And what? Torture him for information?"

"Well. Um. They could cut him a deal."

"No, forget it. Besides, they can't arrest him. He's not even corporeal."

"Fantastic," Arthur sighed. "Our only lead isn't even corporeal!"



It was already dark when they got into town. They blew most of their remaining money on incredibly tasty sandwiches and vanilla lattes, and then loitered in the alleys, waiting for the last of the tourist crowd to dissipate from the cathedral square.

The caffeine was going straight to Arthur's head, every sip delivering a small jolt of clarity somewhere behind his eyeballs. The texture of the bread was fascinating, something he could have spent days exploring and pondering, like a soggy revelation against the roof of his mouth. The filling was bland and didn't really taste anything like chicken despite what the label said, but it was even better like this: nothing overshadowing the deliciousness of the bread, all flavours fusing subtly together. He even liked that the lettuce was wilted. It made the taste more mellow, gave it an exciting, complex warm hint, like poached spinach on a pizza.

Suddenly he bitterly regretted not going for pizza instead.

"I think I'm feeling better," said Merlin, licking the last of the coffee from inside the rim of the cup. He looked frantically bright-eyed, still riding out the pleasure of the junk food high. "Maybe I just needed some solid food in me. You know, bad as this is, it's making me stronger."

"There's a time and place for character building exercises, Merlin, and this isn't it."

"No, I mean literally. My magic is still all in shreds, and it's never going to be like it was when I was connected to the earth, not on my own. But it's healing up stronger than it used to be. I can already feel the elements like I never could before. Maybe I could try a spell tomorrow."

"We'll see. I'd rather you didn't rush it, injuries have to heal... Do you think we should stand over there? So the guy can see us?"

"He'll find us, don't worry."

"I'm not worried. Why would I be worried, it's only my single shot at clearing my name, what's to worry about? Hey, what if he's invisible? Being non-corporeal, makes sense. How will we know if he's here?"

"I'm here," said an unfamiliar voice very close, right at his back. They both startled and spun on the spot.

"Hullo," said Merlin uncertainly. The man behind them was visible, in his thirties, gaunt and tired-looking. He had awful 70s cop show hair and moustache and wore a floor-length leather coat and a thick golden necklace, displayed proudly over a fantasy print t-shirt. He didn't look wise, powerful or even trustworthy.

"We don't know if it's him," Arthur hissed.

"Yes, we do," Merlin said. "I can tell. It's an honour to meet you, Cornelius."

"Oh, no, no, the honour is all mine. Shall we get off the street? We can have more privacy at the back."

They walked over to the fence, keeping to the shadows around the square, and climbed over, into the cool darkness of cloister gardens.

"Looks pretty corporeal to me," muttered Arthur, watching Cornelius awkwardly pull his thin legs over the railing. Merlin elbowed his side in a silent warning.

There were no lights in the gardens, save for whatever filtered through the trees from the street behind them. The white-grey stones of the cathedral loomed through the darkness, complicated lines of columns and carvings broken by the glittering black of tall unlit windows.

"Aulfric sends his regards," Merlin said belatedly. "He thought you might be able to help us."

"Good old Aulfric," nodded Cornelius. "How much has he told you about me?"

"He said you're older than him, and much more powerful. He said you're very wise," said Merlin with great reverence quivering in his voice, the power of adorable puppy eyes turned up to eleven. "He told me that you were betrayed and captured many years ago, and you left your body behind, to escape, and that only made you more powerful than they could ever imagine. He also said you might know who framed Arthur Pendragon."

"Hmm," said Cornelius, pensively eyeing Arthur. "I might, I might. Let me look at you, young man."

He lightly touched Arthur's shoulders, turned him to face the faraway street lights, leaned in, looking suspiciously as if he was sniffing Arthur's hair. Then he touched a fingertip to Arthur's lower eyelid and pulled it down a little, peering into the edges of his eyeball. Arthur patiently let him explore, didn't wince, held his tongue against all the questions he was dying to ask.

"Good blood, good stock," said Cornelius approvingly. "You have your father's strength. That doesn't often breed true. I like you. Now you, Merlin, may I?" he pressed his palm against Merlin's forehead and sighed sadly. "Oh, child. What have you done to yourself."

"It'll heal," said Merlin sullenly.

"Ah, youth," Cornelius shook his head. "You think your every love will last forever, every battle is the greatest. You think you can burn yourselves out every day, not leaving anything for the years to come. You've torn yourself to pieces for this boy you barely know, left yourself defenceless, at his mercy. Not many can love like this, and none can forever. Seems that fate has been pointlessly cruel to give this kind of heart to Emrys."

Merlin frowned, and Cornelius touched his face again, caressing his cheek in the way Arthur didn't like at all.

"You don't even know who you are, do you, Merlin? Perhaps it's time you did. I know it's not the question you came to ask me, but I think young Pendragon can wait a little, while I help you understand your destiny. That's the least you owe him, isn't that right, Arthur?"

"Of course."

"Then listen. A few centuries ago..."

"We really need that information, about Arthur being framed...," started Merlin, and now it was Arthur's turn to elbow him in the ribs.

"Look, a nice old man wants to talk to someone," he whispered to Merlin angrily. "Respect your elders, for fuck's sake. We need him to keep liking us."

"Sorry, yeah," said Merlin contritely. "Please tell us all about that exciting thing that happened in ancient times."

Cornelius smiled indulgently and carried on:

"A few centuries ago, at the height of what we now call the Golden Age of the Old Religion, something had happened to the magic. Just when the whole world seemed to be at our feet and our reign was no longer disputed by anyone, when no external threat was worthy of our notice, the trouble came from within. The magic began to wane. Less and less were born with the gift. Less and less of our students could match the skills of the previous generations. Even the best of us started to feel our power seep away. Carefully maintained balance, the divides of influence that had been in place for millennia, started to crumble. We became paranoid and turned on each other. That's when the Arcane wars began. At the end of that dark time the survivors held a council, and it was decided that we would withdraw from the affairs of the world before we weakened enough for the people of the land to wage war against us."

This was nothing like the history Arthur had studied, but Merlin was nodding along, as if he'd heard all that before.

"It was prophesied that the magic would return to us, stronger than ever, and that it would rise from the blood of the Old Religion. But only very recently we were given signs of a person who would be instrumental in this revival. Opinions were divided, but the High Priestess took it upon herself to approach the man she believed was the one, and set him on his path. That man was Uther Pendragon."

"How recently was that, exactly?" Arthur asked. He couldn't imagine any sorceress ever approaching his father, except for the purposes of casting a deadly curse.

"About twenty, twenty five years ago, I think. As you know, Uther betrayed her and turned against us, and the war we'd been fearing for so long began. Some think the High Priestess made an awful mistake. But a lot of us believe that this all was meant to happen. Uther Pendragon has fulfilled the prophecy: he bled the Old Religion till it yielded what was promised. A gift of pure magic, a being of immense power. It birthed Emrys."

"And you think that's me," Merlin said blankly.

Arthur only grasped the most general idea of what Cornelius was talking about, but that was enough. He'd spent all last week amongst warlocks who constantly spoke over his head in code and riddles. But even before that he'd had a lifetime of practice eavesdropping on his father's conversations he was too young for, didn't have security clearance for, had no business being a part of. He didn't need to understand all the details to figure out the possible implications.

He didn't know how magic worked, and if there was any truth to what Cornelius was saying. But that didn't really matter. If enough people believed it to be true, the weight this would put on Merlin's shoulders would be enormous, too great to even think about.

Arthur still remembered something Uther had said once, even though it was over ten years ago. They were talking about his grades – he'd been struggling with a few subjects – and in the midst of Uther's long litany, he said: "I won't have you wasting your potential. Your mother gave her life so you could be born; the least you could do to honour her sacrifice is amount to something!"

He said later that he misspoke. He took it all back, he even apologised. That wasn't what had happened: Arthur's mother was killed by a magical curse, just as Uther had always told him, before and since. But he could never forget what he felt at that moment. If Merlin believed that countless people had died and suffered so he could be born, and it was his job now to honour their sacrifices and repay those debts - Merlin didn't need that. Arthur didn't want that for him.

"Come on, that's nonsense," he said. "You can't possibly believe that Merlin – Merlin! - is some sort of chosen one. Just look at him! He's Merlin!"

"We know it's you," Cornelius said, ignoring him. "The druids discovered you first. Their faith never wavered. The others had their doubts. They didn't have the will and, later, the opportunity to perform the only conclusive test. But you did it yourself when you shattered your place of power. Now we know."

"What do you know? What does it prove?" Arthur insisted. "He nearly died doing that! I had to CPR him, I thought he was gone!"

"Yes, exactly," said Cornelius with a creepy smile. "Merlin, you're the one we've been waiting for. You're the blood and tears of your people. All the power we've lost has been bestowed upon you, it's in your care now. You're our only hope for a better future, and you can't turn your back on your destiny. You owe us this."

"You want me to do something," said Merlin quietly. Darkness was concealing his face, and Arthur couldn't read him, couldn't figure out his state of mind. "Just tell me what it is."

Cornelius clasped his shoulder, chuckling gleefully, and turned Merlin around to face the cathedral.

"I have big plans for you," he said. "But here is where we can start, and this is the reason why I asked you to come here. Look at this place. It's constructed on the same principles as every temple of the Old Religion has been since the dawn of the time, when a temple was but a circle of rocks in a field. This one is only an imitation, but it's almost immaculately built – the location, the shapes, the lines of symbols, everything is as near perfect as it could've been, considering that the builders only had tradition and guesswork to guide them."

He reached a hand toward the walls and heaved a long sign of delight.

"This, like every temple, is a conduit for the power of worship," he continued. "Of course, nowadays only a tiny fraction of the pilgrims come here to worship the one this temple is dedicated to. The rest worship still, but they worship the craftsmanship, the vision, the history embedded in these walls. They worship the temple itself, and it absorbs the power, keeps it in, and glows with it. It draws in the lost children of the Old Religion who cling to its warmth. I see them here sometimes: the ones who escaped capture, or never had a true home. Pitiful, ragged creatures, their magic in tatters, their spirits ground to dust. They drift to the places of power because it's their natural instinct, but they're too weak and frightened to take what's theirs. Instead they let the building siphon out their power in exchange for empty solace and moments of comfort, and then they flee again, to sink further into the shadows. But it doesn't have to be this way. I know what you did with the Facility, Merlin. Once you've healed, you will do the same here. I will teach you how to take this place for your own and drain it of all this power, and once you do it, you'll be godlike. This will be the true fortress of the Old Religion. Here we would gather those of us who are still strong and free. In this ancient heart of our land our freedom shall be reborn."

"You want me to make a fortress in a city centre. In a tourist spot. Basically, you want me to start an all-out war," Merlin said. "You know that everything I did in the Facility was to prevent just that. This isn't the future I want for us. I'm not going to do it."

"Not even for Arthur?" Cornelius asked sweetly. "Not even to see your little darling home and safe? It can be done, you know."

"Arthur won't be home and safe for long if the real war begins."

"True. But you don't have to send him back to the enemy camp. You can keep him with you, here," Cornelius suggested easily. "I think you'd prefer that anyway."

"I don't want to keep him. He's not a thing. Cornelius, please listen. There is another way. There can be peace - "

"Yes. Once we've dealt with the opposition."

"What do you want to do, kill them all? Enslave them? We were friends in the ancient times! Yes, there was meddling and manipulating and I don't even know what, but we lived together!"

"They turned on us first, Merlin."

"But we're supposed to be the wise and powerful ones! The ones who should know better! Are we going to hunt them like they hunt us now?"

"There is another way, yes," said Arthur urgently. "My father told me how hard it was to push the Anti-Magic Acts through the parliament. He had to make people see how much of a threat magic was, so they'd let him bend the laws on human rights, due process and civil freedoms. And in the end we let go of those ideals, yes, and we did what we did to you. But that's not the real us, that's not who we are. When we're not scared out of our wits, or blind with rage, we want to be just, and fair, and we want peace and prosperity for all. If both sides show willingness to stop the violence, forgive and work together, it will happen. Because in our hearts that's what we all want."

"Ah," said Cornelius. "There was something about this in Aulfric's message. Is this your great plan then, Merlin? Pin all our hopes on this boy? Wait till he comes into enough power to throw us some scraps off their table? Trust that he'll come through, that his own father will tolerate disobedience? Ridiculous. However, if your heart is set on this, I have a suggestion. I'll take him as a vessel. I'll have the enchantment lifted off the evidence against him, and I'll get into the inner circles of their Government in no time. Then I'll reshape this country to suit our needs, and the rest of the world will follow. The body of a Pendragon with my mind and magic in it – that can work. Once we've achieved our goals, I will release him. And I wouldn't even be opposed to you enjoying his body while I'm riding in it."

"I think I understand what you're suggesting, Cornelius," Arthur said, trying to sound reasonable, professional and not at all freaked out of his skull. "Leaving aside how creepy your idea is, I can do much better by myself than you could posing as me. I'm sure you're very competent in all things magic, but this is my field, politics is my life. I've been trained for this since birth."

"Oh, and how long was that? Quarter of a century, less?" Cornelius laughed.

"Enough, we're not discussing this," said Merlin. "I won't let you touch Arthur."

Arthur wanted to remind him about that overprotective attitude: they'd been over this, he thought they'd come to an understanding. Besides, Merlin was pretty much useless in a fight right now, by his own admission. But he kept his mouth shut, hoping that Cornelius would buy their bluff and back off.

This meeting had definitely been a setup. Aulfric had given them to this man on a platter, weakened and cut off from any resources they had. The whole prison could've been in on this. Arthur wasn't that surprised, he never expected this to go smoothly. He just wished Merlin had let him sort out a better exit strategy than hoping that the two of them would be enough to take on one warlock.

"Oh, very well," Cornelius shrugged. "I only offered those alternatives for the sake of our kinship, Merlin. I'm not going to take Arthur. I do like him, yes. But I'd much rather have you."

He took a step back and hissed out a few words, waving his arm at the wall of the cathedral. Arthur lunged at him, hoping that a punch to the throat would cut off the spell before it did any damage. But before he could reach him, Cornelius staggered and crashed to his knees. He suddenly looked terrified, pained, confused – he stretched an arm toward Arthur pleadingly and tried to speak, but then another convulsion whipped through him, and he fell down, face first, twitching weakly.

"What - " Arthur started, "Did his spell backfire? What's this?"

Long tendrils of blue light were pouring out of the prone man's mouth, streaming low over the grass, towards Merlin's feet. Arthur experimentally toed at one and his foot went clear through, not even disturbing the flow.

"It's Cornelius," Merlin said. "I can fight him off, I just need to focus..."

An odd grinding noise came from the direction of the cathedral. Something stirred there in the dark, high on the wall, against the grey stones. At first Arthur thought it were birds perching on the gargoyles that adorned the pillars. But there were no birds there.

On the pillar closest to them three dark figures were moving, twisting against the stone, trying to wriggle free. The one shaped like a lion broke out first and sprinted down the vertical wall, its stone paws hammering out a fast rhythm in the quiet of the gardens.

"Arthur," said Merlin. "Run."

"I'm not leaving you."

"Run!"

The second figure from the pillar, a stout man about two feet tall, was running down the wall as well now, following the lion. The third one strained up and flapped its heavy stone wings, attempting to take flight.

Merlin was eyeing the gargoyles, shaking off his right hand like a pianist warming up for a performance. His left hand was hanging by his side, palm spread toward the ground where the blue light was coiled around him, circling him cautiously.

The lion pushed off the wall and jumped on the ground, gouging big chunks out of the beautifully tended lawn. Merlin shouted out a spell before Arthur could react; a flash of bright light shot out from his hand, and the stone man crashed off the wall, shattering on the concrete path beneath. Merlin moaned and staggered on his feet, clutching at his hand, his chest; the blue light sprang up from the ground, as if it'd been waiting for this moment, and clung to his legs, slithering higher.

"Don't, I've got this!" Arthur shouted. "Focus!"

The lion gargoyle was almost at them. Arthur waited till it leapt in the air, aiming at him, dark maw wide open, paws spread. It was not much bigger than a pitbull, but that was small comfort. When it was close enough, he landed a solid kick right on its rain-polished flat nose. It felt exactly like kicking a flying boulder – the pain of the impact shot up his leg, but the lion flew backwards, stunned for a moment, and clumsily flailed on the grass.

The winged gargoyle was airborne, flying heavily in awkward circles like a confused bumblebee. It was coming at him, completely ignoring Merlin, and finally Arthur understood. The gargoyles were just a diversion. Cornelius was incorporeal, Cornelius was the blue light - the man they spoke with had been his vessel, and now Cornelius was trying to make Merlin into one. He wouldn't want the gargoyles to mangle the body he was planning to use. The only purpose of them was to ruin his concentration, to split his focus, and it was working. The blue tendrils were crawling all over Merlin's body now. He did something to make them recede for a moment and tried another spell, aiming at the stone bird, but it didn't even seem to fire off. He grunted in pain and fell to his knees, and the tentacles tightened around him, coiling over his throat, probing at his face.

"Focus, you daft sod, fight!" yelled Arthur again. He should have run away when Merlin told him to, he realised that now. The beasts would have followed him, and he could have faced them around the corner, where Merlin wouldn't have to watch, wouldn't be distracted.

It was too late now. The broken stone midget had pulled itself up and was hopping forward on its only remaining leg; the lion was circling Arthur, snapping at his heels, dodging the kicks. The griffin swooped down for an attack, and Arthur managed to grasp its wing and slam it hard into the ground. The lawn was too soft, the statue didn't break; it lost a tip of one wing but quickly pushed off the ground with its stumpy feet and was flying again, climbing up.

The midget was getting close, shaking its little, crudely carved fists, its face, half-destroyed by age and weather, contorted in a grotesque mask of rage. It probably wasn't as much of a threat as the other two, but it was by far the creepiest, and Arthur didn't want it near. He grabbed it by the head and flung it towards the wall, hoping to damage it more.

The griffin dived for him again, and he dodged it. Merlin was flat on the grass now, his heels dug into the lawn, his whole body arched with tension. The blue tendrils were all over him, pulsing around his neck, swirling into his nostrils, into his ears. He raised his hand towards the gargoyles again and opened his mouth to cast a spell, and the light twisted up into a thick tentacle that plunged between his lips, forcing his jaws open, choking him.

It was unbearable to watch. Arthur lunged towards him – he had no idea how he could help, but he had to do something – and lost sight of the lion for just a moment.

It was faster than it had looked. When its maw clamped around Arthur's leg, the pain was unbelievable. He tried not to scream, but it felt like stone was grinding right against the bone, crushing skin and muscle into nothing. If the medieval sculptor had bothered to detail the teeth, his leg would be broken already, and the pressure just kept increasing. The beast hung on with all its weight; every attempt to shake it off only hurt more.

He could barely stand, he couldn't really move. The one-legged gnome was hopping toward him again, and the griffin was barrelling down at terrifying speed, wings spread wide, looking like a bomber plane in a WW2 movie. It was aiming to ram into his chest, and it was coming too fast to avoid cleanly – and then it smashed into the ground, brought down hard by a swing of a truncheon.

Just the sight of all the yellow and black of the familiar uniform was such a relief that Arthur almost forgot about the pain. The police were here, everything was going to be fine now, everything was finally under control. The cop wielded his weapon with perfect, practised grace of a martial artist: he swatted the man-gargoyle away, gave the griffin another hard blow before it could rise up again, then wedged the truncheon between the lion's jaws and levered them open, and Arthur was free.

He left the copper to defend them against the gargoyles – the man seemed more than competent – and rushed to Merlin's side.

Merlin's eyes were wide open, wild and completely black. The last of the glowing tentacles were worming into his mouth, curling between his listlessly parted lips. He was convulsing painfully at odd intervals – it looked as if someone invisible was kicking him in the stomach. Arthur grabbed his shoulders and pressed their foreheads together, willing his strength to somehow seep into Merlin, to help him.

"Fight," he pleaded.

For a few seconds he heard nothing except Merlin's wheezing breaths and the sounds of truncheon hitting stone, and then Merlin rolled his head back and let out a hoarse angry scream. The blue light exploded all around him like a ragged halo; it hung in the air, the tendrils torn up and limp, curling on themselves, and then it simply faded, and the gargoyles stilled and fell on the grass, dead stone once again.

"He's gone," Merlin said, pulling himself up with shaking arms to face the copper.

The man stopped prodding at the gargoyles and was turning toward Arthur and Merlin, truncheon in his left hand now, drawing a tazer with his right - and only then Arthur remembered that the police presence wasn't actually a good thing for them. Merlin was already lifting his hand, about to try something again, but Arthur grabbed his wrist and pushed it down. This copper had just saved their lives, he didn't deserve to be assaulted with magic. He looked up to meet the cop's eyes, trying to come up with some sort of compelling argument, plea or threat. He couldn't quite believe what he saw till the man's beautiful face went slack with surprise to match his own.

"Arthur?"

"Lancelot," Arthur said with a completely inappropriate happy giggle. "Well. Hello."

A sound of steps echoed from the far end of the gardens, and another yellow jacket flickered behind the trees. Without a moment's hesitation Lancelot grabbed Arthur's shoulder and shoved him toward the cathedral:

"Hide!"

Arthur picked Merlin up and half-dragged, half-carried him to the shadow behind a pillar. The pain in his leg flared again, but it was only a few steps; they huddled up together, pressed flat against the wall. The other cop saw Lancelot and waved his torch at him.

"All clear on that side!" he yelled. "Did you see anyone?"

The man on the ground, Cornelius's former vessel, suddenly stirred and grabbed Lancelot's ankle. Arthur jerked toward them, half on instinct, but Merlin caught him around the shoulders and pushed him further into the shadow. The man wasn't attacking Lancelot; he just tugged on his trouser leg and whined:

"Sergeant DuLac, sir, it wasn't my fault! You know your Cedric, I'm no sorcerer – he stole my body! He tricked me! He promised - "

The other cop jogged up to them and stopped, taking in the ruined lawn, the battered gargoyles and the sobbing man on the grass.

"Oh hullo, it's our Cedric," he said. "What are you up to now? What went on here?"

"I'm sure Cedric has an explanation," said Lancelot nonchalantly. "He always does."

Cedric slowly sat up, nodding.

"Well, you see," he said, after carefully clearing his throat. "There is this bloke, a loan shark. A nasty customer, whom I'd be more than happy to help bring to justice. He's been threatening me - and my poor old Mum! You remember my dear old Mum, Officer Patons, don't you? And he said he'd let me off if I bring him one of these beauties."

"Someone wanted to buy a bloody gargoyle?"

"It's a work of art, innit? Historical artefact! He's got a buyer, see, some Japanese tourist, you know how they are. He said it'd be a piece of piss to climb up and chisel one off. But, as you see," he mournfully spread his arms, indicating the disaster area around himself. "It all went horribly, horribly wrong."

"But we saw lights," said Patons. "There was screaming, and lights. Really looked like sorcery."

"Of course there was screaming, I fell off that height! Must've done my back in again," Cedric whimpered, feeling himself for imaginary injuries. "I had a flashlight, dropped it somewhere – but sorcery, no, no, you know your Cedric, Officer Patons, I'm no sorcerer!"

"Of course we know you, Cedric," said Lancelot soothingly. "We've nicked you about six times just this year. If you somehow turned out to be a sorcerer, we'd be a laughing stock. Who'd even believe that we really didn't know you had magic?"

"Yeah, of course," said Patons quickly. "That looked more like flashlight, yeah. Well, you've done it this time, Cedric. Defacing a historical building!"

"Maybe they can glue them back on," sighed Cedric, trying to fit bits of rubble back onto the broken wings of the griffin.

"Maybe," said Lancelot. "Let's make sure nobody pinches them after all. Dan, you go book him and call it in, I'll secure the scene."

After Patons performed the arrest and led Cedric off, Lancelot walked over to their hiding place and crouched in front of them.

"Arthur," he said. "What's going on? Are you in trouble? How can I help?"

That was Lancelot, through and through, just as Arthur remembered him, and once again he felt the same helpless admiration for this man. They barely knew each other, after all. He wasn't sure he could expect this level of trust from his closest friends.

Merlin was staring after Cedric and the cop, puzzled.

"He knew we were here," he said. "He could've given us up. Why did he just take all the blame? He really isn't a sorcerer, he was just possessed..."

"Cedric's smart," Lancelot said. "He'll weasel out of this, he always does. But if he told the truth, this would end up being a magical crime. You'd all end up investigated by the Commission, him included, and I guess you of all people would know what that's like. I'm Lancelot, by the way."

"Merlin," said Merlin cautiously, accepting the handshake. "Me of all - why?"

"I saw you. You actually are a sorcerer. I guess you're on the run and Arthur's helping you."

"No, he's helping me," Arthur said. "Haven't you heard? Even if I haven't made front page news, it must've been in the bulletin."

"I'd remember if your name popped up, Arthur. Whatever it is, I guess your father silenced it."

"Well, at least that's something... Look, Lancelot, I really am in trouble. Thank you for what you did, but I'm not going to involve you in this any further. We'll just go."

"Where? Just look at you. You're in no shape – you need a place to rest."

Merlin did look awful, even worse than yesterday when he passed out in that field. His face was filmed with sweat, lips pale and cracked, and the shadows around his eyes now looked like livid purple bruises, as if he'd just had his nose broken. His heartbeat hammered fast and wild even through layers of clothes, and it probably wasn't just the after-effects of all the excitement. But Arthur could look after him; he was fine himself, the only problem was his leg - he'd walk that off.

Lancelot took out his notepad and wrote down an address and some directions.

"Here," he ripped the page out and handed it to Arthur. "Go there right now, knock on the second window from the left. Speak only with Guinevere; tell her Lancelot sent you."



"We're not really going where a policeman sent us, are we?" Merlin asked after Arthur managed to drag them both out of the city centre.

Moving wasn't easy. His leg could barely take his own weight, and Merlin couldn't even stand unsupported, let alone walk. But they had to get off the streets. Merlin looked obviously ill, and the left leg of Arthur's jeans was soaked through with blood all the way down to his shoe. They'd get picked up by the police in a heartbeat, no matter how low a profile they tried to keep.

"I mean, we already walked into one trap today. Shouldn't we space it out a bit?"

"Look, Merlin, I went along with your plan, stupid as it was. Have I already said I told you so? Nevermind, it bears repeating. Now we're going with my plan. We can trust Lancelot. I'm more worried about getting him in trouble."

"Is he a friend of yours?"

"Yes. Well, in a manner of speaking."

"Ah. Is he your token working class friend then?"

"You can be such a bitch sometimes," said Arthur tiredly, shifting Merlin's arm over his shoulders to try to take more of his weight. Merlin kept tripping over his own feet and losing his balance; it would probably be easier to outright carry him. Secretly he was happy that Merlin still had the energy to prattle on, at least that meant he wasn't about to faint again. "All right, we met once, ages ago. He was receiving the Queen's Medal, the man's a bloody hero, I'll tell you the story, it'll make you weep, I promise. There were all the ceremonies, and then a big do, and I showed him a bit of the city in the afternoon. We got along, but didn't stay in touch. I don't know what your definition of a friend is, but what he did for us today – not every friend would go that far."

"You slept with him, didn't you."

"What? Why would you just assume that?"

"You did, didn't you?"

"Well, okay, yes. But still, why would you just assume that?"



Lancelot had been the only real one-night-stand in Arthur's sexual history. The whole concept of one-night-stands was something he never quite got the hang of. Having sex meant entering into a relationship, that was always the default unspoken intention, as far as he was concerned. The only reason to break things off after one encounter would be because it had been a mistake to hook up with that person in the first place. And that wasn't likely to ever happen to him. He didn't make such decisions lightly.

When he pressed Lancelot against the oak panelling in that empty drawing room and kissed the man's lush, soft lips, it hadn't really been a decision. It just happened, like it couldn't be prevented from happening if he tried. It was a pull like gravity, a warm, soft undertow, and he felt into it, gladly and eagerly, not thinking a single step ahead. It happened a bit like that with Merlin, too: he felt the same giddy fatalism take over him, ever though he knew it was ill-advised, potentially dangerous, no good reason to do it, except that the man in front of him was beautiful, inside and out, and Arthur had to have him.

They had talked a lot during that day, on and off, between Lancelot's interviews and endless photo ops, and were both surprised to find how much they had in common even though their lives were worlds apart. Somehow, through completely different paths, they both had managed to arrive at exactly the same brand of political idealism, the kind that went out of fashion before either of them was born. Arthur hadn't really talked about this to anyone. Most people he knew considered that attitude career suicide, and those who didn't tended toward infantile anti-establishmentarianism, mostly of the "break stuff" variety. Lancelot was different. Everything about Lancelot was fiercely real, good and true.

The media went quite a bit more nuts than usual – normally to put a gorgeous face on the front page they had to run some sleazy celebrity scandal story. Now they had a real life hero with movie star looks; they just couldn't let up. Even at the after-after-dinner party, which was supposed to be private and invitation only, there was quite a bunch of them, vying for the exclusives. Lancelot held up commendably through the whole day, but it was getting to him, Arthur could see. As soon as he could he stole Lancelot away under some shoddy pretext, just to give the man a moment's respite.

"Thank you," Lancelot said as they hid in the first empty room they could find. "This is harder than I thought it would be. I feel like a fraud; I haven't actually done anything that's not in the job description."

"Don't be ridiculous. What you did was the definition of above and beyond the call of duty. Look, I know it all feels shallow and fake, but it's important. People want to celebrate bravery, they need to be inspired."

"Yes, this is great for the Department, and I'm doing my best," he nodded, leaning tiredly against the closed door. "But I'm not brave, Arthur. I did a very cowardly thing not so long ago. I could have helped someone, and I didn't. I have a lot to prove to myself now."

"You can't live your whole life constantly trying to prove yourself," Arthur said. Those weren't his words; that's what Morgana used to tell him in his darker moments. "Well, that's just a piece of advice somebody gave me. Not that I’ve really managed to follow it yet. But you know, you can't save everyone."

"I have to try. That's what the job is all about. You know how it is - if it's not a crusade, it's nothing."

"Oh God," Arthur moaned, and couldn't help laughing. "It's been a long time since it was acceptable to say those words around here."

"Well, I can't change the way things are done here. You probably can."

"That's the general plan, yes," Arthur admitted. "Eventually. Maybe we'll end up working together. I'll need – this country needs men like you."

Lancelot gave him a warm smile, brilliantly dazzling on his tanned face, and Arthur was leaning in to kiss him before he even realised what he was doing.

He tried to keep the kiss light and gentle, a question more than anything. Lancelot flinched against him, but immediately kissed back, skilfully and thoroughly, and Arthur pushed closer, exhilarated, chasing the tang of champagne on Lancelot's tongue.

"Arthur," Lancelot said, softly breaking the kiss. "Arthur, I'm straight."

Arthur grinned sceptically and lightly brushed his hand against the front of Lancelot's trousers, thankful that cheap rented clothes were so rubbish at concealing erections. Lancelot laughed and awkwardly twisted his hips, as if he tried to pull away but couldn't bring himself to do it.

"Well, yes," he said. "We're both tipsy, and you're an extremely attractive person, and - yes. But it's just a moment."

Arthur shrugged, kissed him again, and slid down to kneel on faded antique carpet. Lancelot still seemed uncertain, but didn't stop him as Arthur opened his flies and pulled his hard, honey-golden cock out. He licked through the scent of hotel soap to his real smell underneath, the warmth and the musk and the bitter slickness of the precome. It'd been too long, he'd missed this: a beautiful cock thick in his mouth, heavy and hard on his tongue; when he glanced up, Lancelot's dark eyes were full of heat and unguarded affection. Lust laced through him, making his thighs shudder, and he fumbled his cock out one-handed, wanked himself shakily and too fast, swallowing around his mouthful, again and again, working the flat of his tongue over the delicate ridges on the underside, relishing the taste and the smell and the burn in his stretched jaw.

He had just about enough presence of mind to pull back and catch Lancelot's come in a handkerchief. This was only a moment, and it was best to keep it clean, neat and casual. Lancelot knelt down beside him and curled his hand over Arthur's friction-hot cock, unerringly, without hesitation, and kissed him all the way through it, till the last of the aftershocks.

And that was it. They straightened up and rejoined the party, and only exchanged a smile and a nod when Uther called it a night and Arthur left with him, and there'd been nothing more than that.



"Unbelievable," said Merlin in a wounded tone.

"You know what's unbelievable? You giving me grief for what happened before we met."

"No, come on, we've been on the outside for two days, and basically the first person we bump into turns out to be your ex! You don't even live in this county! Is that how it's going to be? Are we going to trip over your past conquests wherever we go?"

"What the hell, are you seriously saying this to me? I have only two words for you, Merlin: fertility festivals. For all I know, you fucked half that prison!"

"Not even close to half!"

"And – don't tell me if I'm right about this, because I'd really, really rather not know – but, let's just say, at least my ex is a gorgeous hero and not a deranged scar-faced murderer!"

They glared at each other angrily, which wasn't easy with their sides pressed flush together and Merlin more or less draped across Arthur's shoulders. Merlin sustained the indignant expression for a few more steps and stumbled again, nearly tripping them both.

"Let's stop," he said. "I need to rest. Just a bit, and I'll be fine."

Arthur needed to rest too, not that he was going to admit it. The pain pulsed in his leg, hot and exhausting, and shot upwards on every step. He could feel his shin swelling hideously; the bone was definitely fractured.

"We're almost there," he said, reassuringly squeezing Merlin's bony elbow. "Quit whining."

It felt like it took hours, but they made it. Arthur double-checked the address and tapped on the window as instructed. Almost immediately a pretty female face popped up over the windowsill, sleep-soft, framed adorably by a sea of mussed black curls.

"Guys, guys," she whispered, pushing the window open and stifling a yawn. "You know you're not supposed to do this. If you know this address, then you know the rules. You have to be referred by the council and you have to go on the waiting list, you can't just show up. I don't have any free beds, and no, I can't let you sleep on the floor, it's against Health and Safety."

"Wait," Arthur interrupted. "What's this place? Is this... a homeless shelter?"

She stared at him warily, blinking away the last of the sleep. Arthur only just realised he was dripping with sweat everywhere, his scalp itching with it; his hair had to be a complete disaster. Merlin clung to his side, wobbly on his feet, looking like a malnourished, sad panda. Most likely they appeared to be on drugs, and not in a fun way.

"Do you need an ambulance?" she asked softly. "I'll call, hang on."

"Please, wait - we're looking for Guinevere," Arthur said. He wasn't quite sure why the girl wasn't calling the police yet. Even if she was used to suspicious homeless men knocking on the windows in the middle of the night - well, especially in that case, really.

"That's me."

"Lancelot sent us here."

She gave a short nod, her face hardening with resolve, and pointed toward the corner of the building:

"Go round the back. We'll talk there."

She met them in the back garden, on the steps leading to the basement level.

"Show me," she demanded.

"I'm sorry, what?"

"If you were sent by Lancelot, you know what I need to see."

"I think I do," said Merlin, who'd kept uncharacteristically and pleasantly quiet so far. "Here."

He stretched out his hand and whispered a single word, and the next moment there was a small purple flower resting in his palm.

"I've heard about you. It's so great to finally meet you," He bowed his head, clutching harder at Arthur's arm for balance, and offered the flower to the girl. "You're a bit of a legend in the Facility. Mike keeps talking about you, don't know if you'd remember him - well, he never told us your name, or where you were, just to be on a safe side, but he's really grateful for what you did."

"So he's in the Facility," she said sadly, twisting the magical flower in her fingers. It bruised and shed petals just like any normal flower would. "Obviously I didn't do enough."

"Yes, he got caught, but he's fine. You don't know how much it means, when you're all alone like that, to have someone willing to help you. He'd pretty much given up before. You saved his life."

She smiled awkwardly, uncomfortable with the praise.

"I have a cot in the basement," she said. "Couldn't be more against Health and Safety, but you look like you need it."



The damp-smelling room hosted a labyrinth of stacked-up boxes, most full of shabby donated clothes or buy-in-bulk cleaning products. Merlin squeaked joyfully and made straight for the camp bed by the far wall.

"I have a sleeping bag here, if you don't mind the floor," Guinevere said. "And I want to look at your leg – let me go grab the first aid kit."

"No, I'm fine, I just need to clean up. Is there any chance of taking a shower?"

"He's like a cat," mumbled Merlin into the pillow. "Always needs to clean himself."

Guinevere dug some clothes out of the boxes and snuck him into the main building, to the tiny downstairs shower room. The light inside was eerily blue, and he didn't even want to know what that was for; it could be making the wounds on his shin look worse than they were. He rinsed the damaged area with hot water, gritting his teeth against the sting, quickly washed, and had started sweating again before he finished putting on worn donated clothes. He had a fever. Possibly infection or internal bleeding. He also had no leads left, nowhere to go, no idea what to do next. He still didn't know if Merlin was going to get better on his own, or how to help him if he didn't. But at least they had shelter for the night.

When he got back to the basement, Guinevere was laying out a first aid kit on one of the boxes, and Merlin was sprawled on the bed, fast asleep. Arthur limped over to him and checked his pulse, just in case.

"Right," he said, satisfied. "Guinevere, could you explain something to me?"

"Call me Gwen."

"Gwen. So. You and Lancelot knowingly shelter warlocks. On a regular basis, apparently. Even fugitives from the Facility, which Merlin practically admitted we were. Do you understand the danger you're putting yourself in? Are you both completely insane? You could lose everything - your careers, your whole lives would be ruined! You could go to prison!"

She crossed her arms on her chest, over the logo of the charity on her uniform t-shirt, and stubbornly lifted her chin.

"This is our choice," she said. "The people we help don't have a choice. I have forty six men and women sleeping upstairs. They'd love to be in my position, to have this much to lose. The warlocks can't even have what the homeless have, not even a bed in a shelter..."

"You need to be more careful, at least! You checked that Merlin was a warlock before you exposed yourself as a sympathiser, that was good, but you didn't ask me to do any magic. I could be a Government agent, and Lancelot could already have been arrested, and you would be soon, too!"

"Merlin obviously trusted you."

"So? For all you know he's an idiot and I'm - "

"I know who you are, Arthur Pendragon. Merlin’s already told me the whole story."

He stuttered, deflated, surprised how jealous he was just thinking of the two of them bonding in his absence.

"And you don't - I mean, my father... You know his stance on..."

"I've heard about you before, actually," she said with an oddly shy smile. "If Lancelot thinks we can trust you, that's good enough for me. He thinks very highly of you, you know. As a person, I mean, not because of what you – oh, I'm not saying he didn't like the sex, because he did – not that he ever told me the, the details - I'll shut up now."

"Well," he said bravely. If he was blushing, it was the fever. "It's nice that the two of you don't have secrets. Lancelot is very lucky to have you. And he deserves to be happy, he's a great guy."

"Oh, we're not a couple," she said, fidgeting with a roll of bandages. "Just friends. He's... he's not my type."

"Yes, I know what you mean. Gorgeous, noble, a decorated hero, great kisser – how would he ever manage to pull, poor thing."

She laughed and nodded:

"Well, all right, he's... incredible, yes. But I can't, it wouldn't work. His job – he's in the right place to help a lot of people, but it makes him so exposed. I want him to be able to walk away from this if things get dangerous. And I think if we were together he wouldn't do that. He has these ridiculous notions of chivalry... Well, you know him."

"Gwen," he said, struggling for words. "Gwen, you're..."

"Completely insane, check."

"No. No, I'm sorry I said all that. It's just, if anything happens to you and Lancelot, I wouldn't be able to help you. If you get arrested - even thinking about you or him going through all that, it's... it's too much, I can't... "

She put her hand on his, soothingly. He could feel small calluses on her palm, the warmth of her body; he looked into her dark eyes and felt quieted somehow, safe, accepted and understood on some new, different level.

"Yes, I know what it's like," she said. "This is exactly why I do what I do."

And he nodded and kissed her.

For an endless, blindingly bright moment he was lost in the feel of her lips, the sweetness of her breath, the soft, dizzying scent of her skin. When he pulled back she rocked forward, straining toward him, and stopped abruptly, blinking, looking just as confused as he felt.

"I... don't know why I did that," he said.

"I know why," chirped Merlin helpfully.

He was awake, lounging on the bed with his head propped on one arm. Dark ends of his hair curled over the pale skin on the inside of his wrist, and the contrast was at once startling and delicate. Looking at his wide, wide grin full of teeth and mischief, Arthur had a freaky moment of three completely separate trains of thought occurring at once, laid out in his head neatly, in spreadsheet fashion:

"1. My boyfriend is so hot, even though he urgently needs a haircut."
"2. Merlin is going to turn me into a cockroach."
"3. Hey, I am bi!"

"Arthur has a bit of a hero fetish," explained Merlin. "He just can't help himself. First time he kissed me was exactly like this: right after he found out I'd saved some people."

"Oh - oh, god, I'm so sorry," Gwen gasped, biting her lips. "Merlin, I... "

"It's okay, I'm getting used to this! No, Gwen, don't - it's okay, really."

He caught her hand and shook it gently, up and down, in an childishly earnest gesture, till she smiled.

"I’d better go," she said. "I guess you won't be needing that sleeping bag."



She left, and Merlin was still grinning, and Arthur still couldn't tell if that wasn't a bloodthirsty grin of a warlock bent on vengeance. Mostly because Merlin probably couldn't help looking ridiculously cute even when bloodthirsty.

"So," Merlin said finally. "I guess you found the right woman."

"I guess," Arthur agreed. "If she wasn't so clearly into Lancelot, and if she was actually interested, and if I were single, I'd be really excited about it right now. So, how mad are you exactly?"

"Eh," Merlin waved dismissively. "I reckon if I get mad every time you do or say something prattish, I'd never have time for anything else."

Arthur sat on the cot next to him, unsure if he should feel insulted or relieved. For a moment the pleasure of finally resting his injured leg was enough to forget about the pain, but it didn't last.

"She's really nice," Merlin said wistfully. "I’ve never kissed a girl, you know. That was kind of... vicariously fun to watch."

"You like girls?"

"I don't know. I mean, theoretically, sure. I'd just never – I couldn't date someone I'd have to lie to, it was too risky. Plus, also, rather skanky. And later, in the Facility, options were obviously limited."

"Fuck, Merlin. Don't tell me you lost your virginity in prison."

"Yeah, cell 14F, good times. And that was it, one boyfriend, one breakup, a few orgies, and - you. That's my whole story."

His smile was angelically innocent, soft and trusting. Maybe it wasn't cruelly calculated to make Arthur feel like an utter bastard, but it was working nevertheless.

"Merlin," said Arthur miserably. "I've never cheated on anyone. I don't cheat on people. That's not me."

"Oh, whatever," Merlin wrapped an arm around his chest in a comforting half-hug. "Lie down, turboslut."

Arthur settled down on the creaky cot. Merlin easily tucked himself to his side, fitting them together in the narrow space.

"You look better," Arthur said. Merlin's skin had lost its pallor after that short sleep, and was now his usual healthy, glowing pale, with a soft flush over his perfect cheekbones. "I hope you're feeling better, because I'm seriously sick of dragging you around."

"I feel good. Told you, I just needed a little rest. When I pushed Cornelius out, something... aligned. I think when I killed him I kept some of his power."

"Ew, gross. It's like you ate him," Arthur commented, poking at Merlin's flat stomach where his shirts rode up. Merlin responded with a dark chuckle.

"So yeah, not wanting to try anything epic like standing up, but I'm ready to work some magic." Merlin casually grabbed the waistband of Arthur's borrowed track suit bottoms and pulled them off, swiftly and businesslike, leaving him lying there half-naked.

"You said next time I could use magic on you. Can I?" he asked, running his palm down Arthur's thigh.

"Yes, go on then, if you're up for it," said Arthur easily, arching into the touch. He wanted Merlin, even tired as he was, even through the haze of pain and fever. He wanted to be claimed again, to feel in his skin and flesh that they were still together, even after all the magic, blood, and sexual revelations of this day. "But, wait. First help me wrap my leg up, and I wouldn't say no to a paracetamol or something, and I can't really promise a stellar performance..."

Merlin rolled his eyes and petted Arthur's soft cock. It twitched into his palm, valiantly trying to get interested.

"Calm down, the magic is for your leg."

"Hang on, hang on, remember how you're not very good at healing?"

"It'd different now. I know your body. I can feel how it works," Merlin shifted on the bed and pressed a light kiss to Arthur's knee, above the mess of bruises and grotesque swelling. His palm slid down, not quite touching the torn skin; for a second it started stinging again, and then the pain faded into intense, deep heat. It still felt weird - his muscles were twitching, as if zapped with tiny electric jolts, and something was pulling and pinching his abused skin. Merlin trailed small kisses over the underside of his knee, his inner thigh, whispered strange words into his flesh, and Arthur concentrated on that distraction, trying not to worry, not to doubt or question what Merlin was doing.

For all his talk about peace and the human rights of warlocks, actually having magic twist and crawl under his skin felt wrong, shameful and dangerous. It was something his mind recoiled from on pure xenophobic instinct, inexplicable and unshakable like a childhood fear of the dark. Yet, at the same time, having Merlin fuss over him like this - attentive and gentle, near enough worshipful - wasn't bad at all. That part felt wonderfully right.

When Merlin suddenly pressed his hand right onto the worst part of the injured area, Arthur jumped on the bed, bracing for pain, but there was only a dull warm ache. Where the wounds had been there was now new skin, oddly pink, hairless and shiny, and the swelling had gone down.

"Impressive," he conceded, and Merlin's face lit up in that pretty, sweet wide grin, Arthur's favourite.

"When I get to the bone, it will probably hurt," Merlin said, rubbing soothing circles from his ankle to the kneecap. "Do you want to sleep through it? I can do that."

"I'm sure I'll survive," huffed Arthur. He didn't want to miss any of it, even the gross and painful parts; he wanted to see how it all worked.

"All right. You just relax and I'll go slow and try to be gentle."

"I bet you say that to all the boys," joked Arthur lamely, trying not to tense up as the magic returned and pushed deeper, slid hot and prickly between his muscles, to the very core of him. Merlin glanced at him - golden sparkles dancing in his eyes, small filthy smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, his fingers curling possessively over Arthur's thigh - and didn't say anything, just ducked his head and went back to work.


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