Scars

They had escaped, barely.

One night ago they had been attacked on a patrol by bandits. Only Merlin and Arthur survived, but were captured. Merlin created a diversion and Arthur got them out, but Merlin was injured in the process. A long, thankfully shallow, gash ran across his chest. Arthur had pulled him back, otherwise it would have been much deeper.

Merlin had drawn blood biting his cheek, trying not to moan in pain as Arthur carried him from the camp.

Now, as Merlin shifts uncomfortably, he turns his head and spits the blood that builds up each time Arthur must carry him.

Arthur finishes building a fire, as it is getting close to dusk, with a sigh. The young king gets up and kneels next to Merlin. "Come on, off with the shirt." He helps the wincing warlock out of the offending tunic, and gasps at the sight. Not only at the large cut but the numerous scars spotting Merlin's chest and, from the look of his side, his back as well. Arthur and the knights just always thought it was out of shyness that the young man didn't bare himself with the rest of them when they go swimming and such.

With a jolt Arthur turns his attention too the fresh wound and begins cleaning it. "Merlin, where on Earth did you get all these-these scars? I've seen seasoned knights with less."

Merlin shrugs and much as he can in his state. Arthur scolds, "well?" He demands, "you can tell me, now." He adds at the end.

Merlin sighs but does as his king not-so-subtly commands, "well, some of them I got from Ealdor. I would get beat up occasionally." Arthur frowns and Merlin explains, "I'm a bastard and a freak. In a small village, children can be cruel and I scared the others. Humans can do terrible things when frightened."

"How would you scare them?" Arthur's eyebrows pull together.

"Like I said, I'm a freak." Merlin shifts his eyes away.

Arthur strongly disagrees and wants to say more but changes the subject as he finishes bandaging Merlin, "what about that one? It's not old enough to be from Ealdor." He gestures to a straight scar the length of his hand, tip of his middle finger to wrist.

Seeing the one he pointed to Merlin smiles and chuckles lightly, confusing Arthur. "You threw a plate at me and I forgot to duck."

Arthur looks horrified, "I did that?" Arthur's fingers hover over the mark.

"I don't blame you, I learned very quickly how to duck." Merlin chuckles, Arthur is not so amused.

Arthur's eyes drift to another, lower close to his hip. It's a whip mark he realizes. "Where did you get that! You were never whipped in Camelot." His eyes widen, "were you?"

Merlin shook his head, "no, you lent me to some knights who came for a tournament. They liked to get a bit rough."

Arthur's lips part in shock, "why didn't you tell me, you idiot! I could've stopped it!"

Merlin shrugs, "it wasn't any of your business."

"NONE OF MY BUISNESS?" Arthur yells, before looking behind him and lowering his voice, "you're my servant." 'And my brother,' he adds silently. "And the rest of them?"

Merlin pushes his chin into his neck as he surveys his torso. Lifting his hand he points to different marks as he speaks, "butter knife, stairs, knight, stocks, you were frustrated and had me hold your target, my second day with you as you attempted to teach me sword fighting, tree, sword, axe, mace, dagger, sword, crossbow bolt, stairs again, chest full of armor-don't ask-, thrown against a wall-"

Arthur stops him, his face had gotten paler with each story. "Sword? Mace, axe? Dagger? Thrown against a wall? Explain, now."

"The axe is from a hunting trip when we got ambushed-"