Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The castle kitchen was quiet that night, except for the rhythmic sound of something being worked against the wooden table. Arthur, sleeves rolled up, had his brow furrowed in concentration. A huge bowl of dough rested before him, and his hands were buried in it up to the wrists.

“It’s hard…” he muttered, letting out a frustrated groan.

In the corridor, Leon, passing absentmindedly on his way to the courtyard, froze with one foot still in the air. The sound had come clearly from the kitchen. He blinked, his eyes widening slowly.

Before he could convince himself he’d misheard, a second voice followed, lower, almost a husky whisper:

“Just work it more with your hands, my lord.”

Leon’s throat went dry. He turned his head slowly toward the half-open door, his heart racing.

Inside, Arthur was biting his lip as he tried to follow the instructions. “Am I doing it right?” The question came out heavy with doubt—he didn’t even know whose idea it had been to make him, a king, bake cakes!

Out in the corridor, Leon pressed his fist against his mouth, horrified.

“Yes, sire,” Merlin answered, his tone satisfied, with a trace of pleasure in his voice. It was far too gratifying to watch Arthur work—this would finally show the king how hard baking really was. “I promise it’s going to taste wonderful.”

Leon staggered back two steps, as if struck. Sweat ran down his temple. He asked himself if he’d really heard right, if Merlin was truly… he didn’t even want to think about what Arthur and Merlin might be doing!

Unable to stop himself, he shoved the door open hard and rushed inside, nearly tripping over the threshold.

“My lord, you—!”

Arthur lifted his eyes, confused, his hands still covered in sticky dough. Merlin, beside him, only arched a brow.

“Just be careful not to knead the dough too much, Arthur,” Merlin said casually, scooping up a piece to show the right consistency.

Arthur nodded, intent. “I got it already. The cakes will turn out fine, don’t worry.”

Leon froze in the middle of the kitchen. His face was red all the way to his ears, though no one seemed to notice. Arthur was looking at him as though nothing strange had happened, merely curious at the interruption.

“Sir Leon. Are you all right?”

Leon blinked rapidly, trying to regain composure. He straightened, but his sword clanged against the table, nearly toppling some jars and betraying how nervous he was.

“I…” he cleared his throat. “Just… be careful about what you two say together. People… might misunderstand.”

Arthur and Merlin exchanged an identical look of pure confusion.

“Huh?” they both said at the same time.

Leon drew in a deep breath, his gaze locking on Merlin. “And you.”

“Me?” Merlin raised his eyebrows, genuinely lost.

Leon stepped forward, his shadow stretching over him, suddenly intimidating. “Since I became a knight, it’s been my duty to protect the king’s purity until marriage. Arthur is too pure for this world. If I notice… indecent hands trying to reach for him—” his hand lowered to the hilt of his sword, slow and deliberate. “—I will not hesitate to cut them off.”

Merlin blinked, unsure whether to laugh or be alarmed.

“Right…?” The word came out drawn, suspicious.

Leon narrowed his eyes, running his gaze up and down Merlin. “Just so you know. I’m watching you.”

Merlin opened his mouth, closed it again, utterly stunned.

Arthur, however, kept his hands sunk in the bowl, staring at them both as though the entire exchange were in a foreign tongue. At last he muttered:

“What the hell is going on…”

The silence hung heavy, broken only by the crackle of wood in the stove. Merlin buried his face in his hands, trying to hide his expression. Leon, steady as a wall, didn’t blink once. And Arthur, with no idea what was happening, simply went back to working the dough, humming again, oblivious to it all.

He was far too excited about eating cakes—now that he was learning to bake, he’d make them for himself whenever he felt like it!

Chapter Text

The corridor of the royal chambers was shrouded in silence, except for a muffled sound that slipped through the half-open door of Arthur’s room.

Leon, making his nightly rounds, froze at the sound of a low, drawn-out groan that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.

“Slower, Merlin…” Arthur panted, his voice deep, heavy with strain.

Leon swallowed hard. His eyes widened for an instant. But no… it couldn’t be what it sounded like. Not after the kitchen incident. He remembered perfectly well how he had nearly lost his composure that night, only to discover they had been talking about… dumplings. Ridiculous. He wouldn’t let himself be fooled again.

He straightened his shoulders and forced his mind to find logical explanations.

From the other side of the door, Merlin let out a low, broken laugh. “If I go slow, it won’t be as good, sire.”

Arthur gave a frustrated groan. “But it’s… it’s too big…”

Leon drew a sharp breath, his hand instinctively settling on the hilt of his sword, as if to shield himself from indecent images. But he shut his eyes and muttered under his breath:

“It’s… it must be training, or, I don’t know… adjusting armor. Yes. A tricky buckle. Nothing more.”

Inside the room, a dull thud echoed — something had hit the wall. Arthur gasped loudly, his breathing uneven. “Merlin! The wall is cold…”

Leon clenched his teeth. Sweat trickled down his temple, but he refused to fall into the trap again. “Maybe they’re moving furniture,” he muttered, resolute. “Or… God knows what. But nothing… nothing indecent.”

Beyond the door, the bed creaked in a steady, rhythmic protest that made Leon’s ears burn.

“Yes… right there!” Arthur gasped, his voice breaking.

Merlin’s reply was low, almost a husky whisper. “Trust me. I know what I’m doing, sire.”

Leon held his breath. His mouth opened to object — then closed again. He forced himself to remember the mixing bowl, Arthur’s innocent look, the dumplings burning in the oven.

He shook his head, resolute. “No. Not again. They’re just… just playing around. Yes, it has to be nothing more.”

On the other side, Arthur groaned louder, almost a cry. “Merlin!”

Leon nearly stumbled back but held his composure. Lifting his chin, he turned on his heels and continued his patrol with firm, hurried steps, as though fleeing from his own thoughts.

Behind him, in the room, the bed rattled faster and faster. Merlin muffled his laughter against Arthur’s neck, and Arthur tried — with little success — to keep his voice down.

Leon, striding down the corridor, repeated like a mantra: “It’s just dumplings. Always just dumplings.”

If Leon tried to kill Merlin with his eyes the next day, no one noticed — but Merlin knew exactly what he had done wrong.