Archive of Our Own ^beta

Once, when Merlin was thirteen, he and Will spent an evening sneaking drinks from the mead barrels rolled out at Samhain. He couldn’t actually remember much of that night, but when he woke up the next morning feeling vaguely like he’d died and been resurrected and saw the village in an uproar, he was pretty sure he had something to do with it. All the main walkways rippled like water every time someone stepped on them, several looms had ended up on rooftops, and half the chickens had doubled in size. That last one was being passed off as a miracle, but the pinched look on his mother’s face told him he should know better than to take credit for it.

All this was to say that there was a good reason he’d sworn off alcohol, a very good reason, and he should leave the tavern right now before he forgot what that reason was.

But he was having fun. He’d lost all his money half an hour ago, but that wasn’t really the point. The point was that the music was lively, the ale was good, and Gwaine’s arm was warm and heavy around his waist. Someone was always willing to spot him a few coins anyway, just enough to keep the game going.

He nearly fell out of his seat when Gwaine surged forward, triumphant with a winning dice roll even as the others shouted and cursed. His arms were weak where he caught himself against the table, and he could hear the scraping as his stool moved itself back underneath him.

“I should go,” he said, breathless with laughter and not really meaning it, but Gwaine turned dark eyes on him and smiled.

“Excuse me, gentlemen,” he said, scraping his winnings into a pouch while ignoring everyone’s protests. “I think I’ll quit while I’m ahead.”

He’d meant that he should go back to the castle, try and sneak into his room before it was late enough for Gaius to be irritated with him, but when Gwaine bought a room for the night and guided him upstairs, he didn’t say no.

—

He woke up feeling very, very warm. Unsurprising, since Gwaine was almost entirely on top of him, but it left the bedsheets sticking uncomfortably to his sweat slicked skin.

His headache was bearable, even if the crowing of the roosters out back wasn’t doing him any favors, but that also meant he hadn’t drunk nearly enough to forget the night he’d just had. He remembered stumbling down the hallway to their room, Gwaine’s hands underneath his shirt as they stopped to kiss at every other door. He remembered the strength of Gwaine’s arms as they held him pinned to the wardrobe, his legs wrapped tight around Gwaine’s waist, and he remembered the fierce pride and affection he’d felt as Gwaine’s face twisted in pleasure underneath him.

He remembered every second of what was probably the best sex of his life, and he hadn’t even planned for it to happen.

Kisses pressed against his shoulder told him Gwaine was awake. His heart skipped a beat when he realized Gwaine’s face was pressed right next to the burn scar on his chest, and he knew he’d tensed up. Gwaine made no mention of it though, only bringing his hand up to stroke along Merlin’s side. Merlin cursed his traitorous body for arching into the touch, his thigh brushing against Gwaine’s stirring groin. Gwaine smiled at him, sleepy and satisfied.

“Good morning.”

“I’m late,” he said, which wasn’t what he meant to say at all, but now that it was said he realized it was true and oh fuck Arthur was going to be furious.

Gwaine rolled off of him as Merlin scrambled for his clothes, panicked and undignified. He had his trousers fashioned, shirt half way down his torso before it occurred to him that running out on a bed partner like this was in very bad form. Gwaine was reclined on the bed, sprawled atop the sheets in all his glory in a pose that screamed ‘casual’, but Merlin knew him too well. He could see the disappointment on his face.

This was a bad idea. No one with as many life or death secrets as Merlin should invite someone so casually into their life, into their bed, where the smallest of slip-ups could mean the end of everything he knew. Following Gwaine last night had been a spur of the moment decision, helped along by alcohol and good cheer, but now that he was here he found he didn’t want this to be where it ended.

Gwaine’s lips were dry and a bit swollen when Merlin kissed him, cautious hope in his eyes when they separated. What should he say? I had a good time? Too flippant. We should do this again? Too desperate.

“I’ll see you later, yeah?” he settled on, because that was the most important thing, that there be a later to look forward to.

—

Arthur’s jaw snapped shut with an audible click when he walked through the door, breakfast in hand and a flush on his cheeks. There was no way he didn’t know exactly what Merlin had been doing. His clothes were rumpled, hair messy, and though they’d taken a quick moment to wipe the seed from their bodies before falling asleep, he hadn’t washed otherwise. He hadn’t looked in a mirror today, but he was pretty sure there was a love bite purpling on the underside of his jaw too, where his neckerchief did little good.

“Sorry I’m late,” he said, trying to sound sheepish and pathetic enough that Arthur wouldn’t yell at him. Arthur pressed his fingertips to his forehead, exasperation written in every line of his body.

“I don’t want to know. Just…go fetch my armor.”

“Right away.”

—

Arthur ran him ragged that day. If it was punishment (for what? Having a little fun?), then it was hardly fair. As if he’d never walked in on Arthur enjoying some alone time.

By the evening, his arms ached and his feet dragged along the floor, his eyes drooping in an effort to stave off the headache building in his temples. It wasn’t really a conscious decision when he turned away from Gaius’s tower and towards the knights’ wing.

Gwaine’s door loomed in Merlin’s mind like a flame calling out to a moth. Alluring, but dangerous, because he’d had an entire day now to really think about all the reasons this was a horrible idea, and Arthur’s disapproval was the least of them. There was danger in the secrets he might reveal when he was tired and incautious, and danger in the way Gwaine might react. Gwaine was a good man, of that he had no doubt, but then so was Arthur, and Merlin hadn’t told him either. Even if the magic itself wasn’t a problem, knowing Merlin had come to his bed lying about everything he was might be understandably upsetting.

There was also the danger to his heart. He loved Gwaine, of course, loved him in the way he loved all his knights, but he knew it wouldn’t take much for that love to shift into something different. The kind of love he’d felt for Freya and Will, the kind he felt for Arthur and Gwen and Gaius, the kind he always seemed to give away too easily and depend on too deeply. The people he loved didn’t tend to live long and happy lives with him around.

He knocked anyway.

The smell of roasted vegetables and fresh bread greeted him when Gwaine opened the door, the tightness around Merlin’s heart unclenching at the pleased look on Gwaine’s face.

“Thought you might be by,” he said, kicking the door open wider. “Hungry?”

“You didn’t have to do this,” he said, but he couldn’t hide the smile creeping across his face. The table in Gwaine’s room wasn’t as big as Arthur’s, but he’d set it for two right underneath the window, a fire blazing merrily in its grate.

Gwaine shrugged. “You didn’t eat breakfast.”

There was something oddly intimate about eating face to face, different from the many dozens of times they’d eaten side by side in the past. He knew he was blushing, but he couldn’t seem to stop. It was hard not to notice how handsome Gwaine was when there was nothing to look at but his face. Gwaine, at least, was good at keeping the conversation going.

They talked of nothing, mostly, Gwaine keeping the conversation on either himself or more neutral topics when it became clear Merlin didn’t want to talk about his day. Even if he had plenty of complaints stored up, he didn’t want to spend an evening with Gwaine talking and thinking about Arthur. Arthur took up enough of his thoughts as it was.

He was fighting to keep his eyes open before he’d even finished his meal, his head leaning heavily against his hand. He didn’t realize Gwaine had stood up until he felt a pair of hands land on his shoulders.

“Do you want me to take you back?”

Merlin hummed, unable to decide between being pleased at the offer or embarrassed at the idea of being escorted back to his guardian like a young maiden. His eyes flickered toward Gwaine’s bed before he could make up his mind. Gwaine laughed, his breath gusting across Merlin’s ear and his hands moving down to clasp over Merlin’s chest.

“You can stay here, if you like. I promise my intentions are honorable.”

Merlin snorted, remembering just how dishonorable his intentions had been the night before, but he kicked off his shoes and crawled in without saying so. Gwaine’s bed was so much more comfortable than his own, bigger and softer and warmer. He went limp as soon as his head touched the pillow, falling asleep to the feeling of Gwaine curling around his body.

—

“I think this belongs to you,” Gwaine said into Merlin’s ear, chin resting on his shoulder as he held out a single meadow cranesbill, the delicate blue petals fluttering as he twirled it before Merlin’s face.

A sweet gesture, but he could be so predictable. Merlin’s smile took on a teasing edge.

“You know, I heard the most interesting story about the day you met Gwen.”

Gwaine groaned and fell back on a bench, dragging a laughing Merlin down onto his lap. “My greatest defeat,” he sighed dramatically. Merlin gave him a quick kiss.

“You recovered.”

Gwaine hummed against his lips. “Does this mean you accept my gift?”

Merlin took it, holding it to his nose as he considered. Gwaine broke out his most affected pleading face, childlike and hopeful. It was a fight to keep his lips from twitching.

“I suppose,” he said, when he thought he’d let the silence last long enough. “As long as you don’t try and tell me I’m the most handsome prince you’ve ever met.”

“I’d never insult you like that.”

Merlin laughed, breaking the stem off and tucking the flower into his neckerchief. “Did you follow me out here, Sir Knight?” The only people who tended to frequent the castle’s herb garden besides Merlin himself were the kitchen maids fetching fresh batches for the cooks. It wasn’t a decorative garden by any means, the pathways unpaved and overgrown and the garden beds packed with plants prized for their functionality more than their beauty. The herbs Gaius used most frequently grew here. Fetching them was more a break than a chore, quiet and peaceful as the gardens were. “That’s not very gallant of you.”

“What sort of knight would I be if I saw a handsome young man going about his chores and didn’t offer to help?”

“Help? You made me drop my basket,” he said, gesturing to where the herbs he’d collected had spilled to the ground.

“Ah, right. Let me make it up to you.”

Kissing Gwaine still felt very new. It was reckless, perhaps, doing this out in the open in broad daylight, where anyone could stumble across them, but Gwaine was a reckless person. In the privacy of his own mind, Merlin could admit that he was too, and he was so very tired of being cautious in everything he said and did. The kind of freedom Gwaine promised was too tempting to ignore, and the longer this went on, the less he wanted to.

—

The heat of summer was by far Merlin’s least favorite time to go on patrol, when everything managed to be both uncomfortably hot and damp at the same time. Small insects buzzed around the pot he was laboring over, his swats more a token protest than anything effective at keeping them away, but the chatter of the knights around him was at least enough to keep him entertained.

“So now I’m fending off three dogs, half the guards are dead, and the Princess is still stuck in a window,” Gwaine said, in the middle of an outlandish tale of the time he rescued the youngest Princess of Dyfed from an assassination attempt, talking through the groans and jeers of the others.

“Horseshit,” Elyan cut him off, laughing even as he said it.

“It’s true! On my honor,” Gwaine swore, a hand held solemnly over his heart.

“Not like there’s much of that,” Percival muttered, the others laughing at Gwaine’s expense.

“Did you save her?” Merlin asked, interested in the end of the story despite himself. Everyone turned to him when he spoke, his shoulders hunching up defensively at their stares. “Well, did you?”

“Of course I did. We jumped into a haystack and ran away.”

“You mean there was no daring last stand?” Leon asked, the most reserved of the group even if he was clearly enjoying himself. “What kind of story is that?”

“A fake one,” Arthur said, all pretend irritation and haughtiness. Gwaine looked predictably offended.

“I don’t know,” Merlin said, feeling like someone should take Gwaine’s side in all this. “He saved you, didn’t he?”

The others turned their jeers on Arthur then, waiting to see if he’d rise to the bait, but he only leaned farther back against the log behind him, smug self assurance on his face. “As if I needed saving.”

Gwaine snorted. “King Harold, at least, knew how to show some gratitude. Offered me her hand in marriage as thanks.”

“And you said no?” Elyan asked, incredulous.

“I was holding out for better prospects.” That he said with a wink in Merlin’s direction, and Merlin hurried to hide his face in his work before everyone else could see the stupid grin it inspired.

Gwaine was dogpiled soon after, the others’ disbelief and mockery devolving into play fighting that Merlin was happy to stay well away from. Even so, he couldn’t help watching. He wasn’t a gifted liar by anyone’s standards, but he’d learned enough over the years that he could see himself in the way Gwaine spoke. Where Merlin tended to downplay his own competence, Gwaine emphasized the less believable parts of his story so that the truth remained overlooked. The story was probably highly modified, but unlike the others he had no doubt that the events at its core had actually happened.

Sure enough, when he next caught Gwaine’s eye, pinned under Percival’s arm as he was, the look they shared was full of fellow-feeling, almost conspiratorial. It left him wondering. If he could sense a kindred spirit when he looked at Gwaine, what did Gwaine see when he looked at him?

That was a question for another day, though. Right now, watching the way Gwaine’s arms strained as he flipped Percival onto his stomach, the only thing he wanted to know was whether or not his duties as manservant required him to sleep in Arthur’s tent.

—

“That’s ridiculous, it would shatter as soon as it touched you.”

The afternoon sun beat down hot and strong on them in the training yard, Merlin separated from Gwaine only by the low fence that circled the sparring rings. Gwaine’s hair was tousled and slicked back with sweat, his helmet held casually under his arm as he leaned against the railing. He was more in Merlin’s space than was probably appropriate out in public, let alone in front of all of their friends, but he was too happy to care overly much.

“So does a lance!” Gwaine leaned forward even more in his earnestness to convince Merlin that a giant icicle would be the best jousting weapon. Pointless debates like this were a specialty of Gwaine’s, and even if Merlin could see the teasing light in his eye, he didn't want it to stop. “This way, no splinters are left behind.”

“And when it melts?”

“Easy, you don’t have to store it.”

“Sir Gwaine! You’re up.” Arthur’s shout cut through their conversation, Merlin jumping back a bit as Gwaine rolled his eyes. “And Merlin, stop encouraging him.” Gwaine gave him one last wink before donning his helmet and, ignoring Arthur’s scowl, stepped into the center of the ring. Merlin’s jaw ached with the effort it took to keep his smile in check. He didn’t think he was doing a very good job.

They’d never actually told anyone about…whatever it was they were doing, but as the weeks rolled into months neither had they made any effort to keep it a secret. Pretty much everyone had caught Merlin either heading to or coming from the knights’ wing, and Gwaine spent enough time in Gaius’s tower that no one had any doubts about who he was with. They’d been met with plenty of gentle teasing, most of it directed at Gwaine when he sauntered onto the pitch looking like the cat that got the cream, but also a quiet acceptance that meant more to him than he ever thought it would.

He hadn’t realized how freeing it would feel, to have something as precious to him as his magic and be able to share it with the world. He wanted to scream it from the highest peak, to show everyone that he was someone who could love and be loved in return, not just someone who could fight and lie and kill.

But he really should stop distracting Gwaine. The summer tourney was approaching, and it would be the first one he’d fought in since gaining his knighthood. Arthur was determined that all of his men do well, but he was especially determined that the lowborn knights of his Round Table prove themselves before not only his father and court, but before all the knights of the realm.

Gwaine didn’t seem very worried.

He didn’t have to be, if his last performance in a tourney was any indicator. He was an excellent fighter, and even if Arthur glowered like his life depended on it, there was very little for him to actually correct. Gwaine laid Sir Safir on his back in less than ten minutes, sword pressed firmly just to the side of his throat. Merlin cheered as loudly as all the other spectators, and if the smile he wore was just a bit besotted, well, he didn’t really care who saw.

—

Speaking of the tourney, it wasn’t until he saw the ladies of the court start offering tokens to their champions that the idea of getting one for Gwaine entered his mind. They’d been having very enthusiastic good luck sex for the last week, but still he thought it would be nice to know Gwaine was carrying something of his into battle.

The marketplace was bustling with the influx of spectators and traveling merchants, but he found his way to the rows of stalls that specialized in cloth. It was common practice for young women to give their sweethearts a token to wear throughout the tourney, regardless of if they were competing, and the streets were crowded with noble ladies and maids alike. He had to walk past the stalls carrying delicate silks and exotic cottons, the handful of coins he carried weeping at their prices, and towards the stalls the serving girls had gathered around.

There were plenty of nice options available, a thin token in sea green, another in a rich brown that matched Gwaine’s eyes, even one with delicate patterns cut into the cloth around the edges. It wasn’t true lace, but it was an impressive mimic. Of the ones he could afford, he settled for a simple square of not quite fine spun linen, likely died with onion skins. It made a pretty yellow, one he thought would stand out nicely against Gwaine’s hair.

“Merlin?”

Gwen’s hand landing on his arm caused him to jump, feeling strangely like he’d been caught. She smiled when he turned to face her.

“What are you doing here?”

“Oh, you know,” he said, not entirely sure why he was feeling embarrassed, “browsing.”

Her eye caught the bits of yellow fabric sticking out from where he’d tried to hide it in his fist, and her smile widened.

“Is that for Gwaine?”

Merlin sighed. “Yes." He held it up to show her. “I know it’s stupid. It’s not like I can dedicate it to him in front of the entire arena.”

“I think it’s sweet,” Gwen said, running her fingers over the fabric. “I’m sure he’ll love it.”

“You think?” he asked, a tentative smile growing on his own face. “I didn’t even ask if he wanted one, I just…” he shrugged.

“No, I get it. You want it to come from you instead of someone else.” She sounded very sure of her line of reasoning, and it occurred to him what she might have been doing at these stalls in the first place.

“Are you getting one for Arthur?”

Gwen looked down, embarrassment sweeping across her face. “I know he isn’t even competing this year, but…”

“You wanted it to come from you,” he finished, parroting her own words back to her. She laughed gently, and just a bit self-deprecatingly. “I think it’s brilliant. He’s been moping for weeks, it’ll cheer him up.”

That seemed to encourage her, and they spent some time browsing the stalls until she settled on one in a beautiful, rich red. Pendragon red.

“Are you sure he’ll like it?" she asked, teeth gnawing at her bottom lip. "He must be used to finer fabrics than this.”

“Stop worrying, Gwen,” he interrupted her, shoving her a bit with his hip. “He’ll love it. And I better not hear you chickened out and kept it.”

“Alright,” she said before rounding on him, her finger pointed at his chest, “but if I have to give mine to Arthur, you have to give yours to Gwaine.”

“Deal.”

“How is that going by the way?” she asked, as they made their way out of the crowds and back towards the castle. “You never talk about it. Not that you have to, I mean, if you don’t want to, I know it’s private —”

“No, I know what you mean. It’s going well, really well. I…” Why didn’t he talk about it more? Was he so used to lying about everything that he couldn’t even talk about the good things in his life? He didn’t think so, and despite what Gwen thought it wasn’t because he wanted to keep things private. Oh, there were some things he shouldn’t be too open about, but it was Camelot’s worst kept secret that half the knights preferred to take their pleasure with each other rather than their wives. The clergy hadn’t been able to put a stop to it so far, and he doubted he and Gwaine would be the first.

No, it was more that he didn’t trust the world to safeguard his happiness. He’d been let down too many times.

“…I’m just not used to it, I guess.”

“Well,” Gwen said, linking their arms together, “I’m happy for you.”

—

Considering every tourney he’d attended so far had involved sabotage, attempted assassination, or some combination of the two, he took the time to weave a spell of protection into the token before he presented it to Gwaine. It wasn’t an especially powerful one. It wouldn’t bend events to his favor or act as a magical shield, but combined with Gwaine’s own talent it should keep him hearty and whole. Hopefully.

Gwaine’s eyes were soft when he took it, cradling it like a delicate thing between his fingers, and Merlin had never felt so warm.

—

He didn’t win the tourney, but as Merlin ran his lips over his unbruised, unbroken skin, it didn't seem terribly important.

—

Gwaine might not have won the tourney, but Elyan did. Arthur’s face radiated pride and relief in equal measure, and the town celebrations were uproarious. The son of a blacksmith, they said, champion of Camelot’s tourney. They cheered as if the hand of God Himself had delivered him into their midst, the windows of the Great Hall rattling in time with their thunderous applause.

It was a shame then, that they were stuck inside with the rest of the knights. Most of their faces ranged from angry disbelief to polite befuddlement, as if they’d never considered his victory a possibility. Merlin was fully aware he was glaring from his place at the edge of the room, his nose buried sullenly in his cup as he stubbornly resisted making them all trip over their own feet. If he drank much more, it would be a losing battle.

“Careful. If you glare any harder you might turn them to ash.”

Merlin snorted, leaning back when he felt the heat of Gwaine’s body close behind him. He carried a pitcher with him, reaching around Merlin’s chest to pour a generous helping into his half empty cup, clinking them together in cheers when he was done.

“Drink up, you look like you need it.”

“You’re all worth ten of them,” he grumbled, taking a large swallow. “If their heads weren’t so far up their arses they could see that.”

“That’s fine with me. If they were better men you might like them, and I think we’d rather keep your approval to ourselves. We’re greedy like that.”

Merlin did his best to ignore the butterflies that set off in his stomach, but he couldn’t curb his smile. “I could poison them in so many interesting ways, and they don’t even know! Really, you’re lucky to have me.”

“I’ll say,” Gwaine said, resting his chin on Merlin’s shoulder. His hands started caressing Merlin’s lower back, utterly shameless even as they were surrounded by people, though if anything the flush rising on Merlin’s cheeks was what would give them away. Before he could either slap his hands away or make an embarrassing sound of encouragement, Gwaine whispered, “I think the real party is out there. You coming?”

Merlin blinked. “We can’t just leave.”

Gwaine scoffed, tilting his head towards the servants’ entrance. A decidedly conspiratorial look was in his eye, a half smile hovering on his lips. Merlin took one look at him, at the drink in his hands, and out at the nobility milling in the hall before spinning around and leading Gwaine to the door himself.

It was ridiculously easy. Gwaine definitely shouldn’t have been there, but all he needed to do was keep his head high and a pleasant smile on his face and no one even tried to stop them. It wasn’t long at all before they were making their way out of the castle to be swept up in the crowd.

Merlin’s mood lifted immediately. There was music and food and dancing, and Gwaine’s hand was clasped tightly in his own as they wove their way around the other revelers. It was a shame Elyan couldn’t be here to enjoy his own party. Merlin would have to find him later.

Gwaine changed directions so quickly Merlin stumbled, crashing into his side hard enough his chainmail left faint imprints on his cheek. The noise of the crowd drowned out Gwaine’s apologies, but he could see his lips shaping the words and the faint crease between his eyes. He was worried. How sweet.

Merlin couldn’t help but kiss him then, his chest so full it felt almost like he could cry, because even though Gwaine knew he tripped over his own feet a dozen times a day he still made sure he wasn’t hurt every time he saw it happen. Because he spent his money on books he thought Merlin would like and took the time to learn what all his favorite foods were, because he never asked questions when Merlin’s smile was just a bit too pasted on, but offered his comfort all the same.

Because as far as he knew Merlin was just a peasant boy turned manservant, loud-mouthed and brash and too reckless by far, and he still looked at Merlin like he was something precious.

—

“So, I take it your courtship is going well?” Gaius’s tone was deliberately neutral, and Merlin had a hard time telling if he was irritated with the bundles of flowers scattered throughout his quarters or not. He couldn’t ask over the sound of his own sputtering though.

“We’re not courting,” he said, “We’re just…” just taking meals together and going for walks and buying each other gifts and having a lot of sex. Which, granted, sounded a bit like courtship, except maybe that last one, but they weren’t. There’d been no talk of a future together, and he was pretty sure those kinds of plans were the definition of courting. So…no.

“Ah,” Gaius said, expression managing to convey both fondness and you’re an idiot at the same time. “My mistake, then.”

Merlin knew for a fact Gaius was more than capable of keeping his expression blank when he wanted to, which meant he wanted Merlin to see how much he didn’t believe him, the crotchety old bastard.

“And even if we were, which we’re not, thanks, but even if we were, I don’t see how it’s any of your business.”

And really, what did Gaius know about courting? He hadn’t even realized Alice was being possessed by a goblin, he had no room to talk.

“Of course,” Gaius said, his voice dripping with magnanimity. “It is none of my business. I take it Sir Gwaine won’t be spending his free time in my chambers, then?”

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Merlin knew storming out in a huff wasn’t doing him any favors, but bandying words with the man who’d taught him just about everything he knew was impossible, and his distaste at the idea of discussing Gwaine with Gaius was so strong the only solution was to leave. Gaius called out for him as he crossed the threshold, maybe to apologize, but Merlin could hear the laughter in his voice. He didn’t turn back.

It wasn’t until later, when he was in Gwaine’s chambers staring at the handful of his possessions that had found their way into Gwaine’s drawers, that he thought he might have overreacted. Maybe Gaius had a point.

Maybe he’d taken this too far.

—

Gaius sighed when he finally came back, creeping through the door with his head bowed in shame at his outburst. “Come here, my boy,” he said, moving forward to wrap him in a hug. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“You didn’t,” he said, truthfully, because he’d finally been able to work out why discussing it with Gaius had been so distasteful. “It’s just—” he broke off, making sure the door was firmly shut behind him before turning back to Gaius. “He doesn’t know about my magic.”

Gaius looked genuinely surprised.

“You don’t—you thought I told him?” Merlin asked, a spark of his previous irrational anger coming back. “But you’re the one who told me I shouldn’t tell anyone!”

“I know what I said." Gaius's shoulders sagged as he spoke, as if the words were a physical burden to him. With a hand on Merlin's back, he guided them both to his bench and sat, knees popping as he went. A tangible reminder that he was getting older by the day, and one he seemed very aware of.

“I thought I knew what was best for Morgana, and I was wrong,” he began. It sounded like something he’d wanted to say for a while. “I saw what loneliness and fear did to her, and I worried the same fate would befall you until you started seeing Sir Gwaine. I was happy for you.”

“You don’t think he’ll take it badly?” His voice was small when he asked the question, and he hated sounding like as much of a child as he felt.

“I think,” Gaius said slowly, “that Sir Gwaine is not from Camelot, and he bears no love or loyalty to its laws and customs. Tell me honestly, do you think he’ll take it badly?”

Every gut instinct he had screamed yes, that there was no other way anyone could react, except he knew that wasn’t true. Will had found out, after all, and Freya and Lancelot. Even Gaius’s reaction hadn’t been too bad, considering he was more of a father figure than anything now. The people who loved him didn’t love him either because of or in spite of his magic, they just loved him, magic included.

And he knew Gwaine loved him.

He remembered, in the early days of their relationship, when a well meaning Arthur had cautioned him against Gwaine’s indiscretions. And the thing was, he’d never even considered it a possibility. He knew of course about the company Gwaine liked to keep, but something about the way Gwaine looked at him felt genuine and dependable. They’d made no promises of exclusivity, and maybe that had been naive of him, but here they were eight months later and he had yet to be proven wrong.

“No, I don’t.”

Gaius smiled, bringing his hand up to rest on the crown of Merlin’s head. “You aren’t the boy you were when I first met you. If you trust him enough for this, then I will trust your judgment.”

—

Turned out, saying he’d tell Gwaine the truth was easier said than done.

The only person he’d ever actually told was Freya (and Gilli, he supposed, but that was hardly comparable). Telling Freya had been easy. She’d been a Druid, and they’d known each other for all of a few hours. Gwaine was a knight, bound by oath to Arthur and the laws of Camelot, and he’d been lying to him for months.

It turned his stomach just thinking about it.

So he’d concocted a plan. He needed to get Gwaine somewhere secluded, where there was no chance of them being overheard, but also somewhere he wouldn’t be cornered if things did go badly. He didn’t really think that would happen, but in this he couldn’t afford to be reckless, because no matter what he needed to stay in Camelot. Nothing could come between him and his duty to Arthur. Not even Gwaine.

It took him a few hours flipping through his spell book to find what he was looking for, a simple incantation to alter or erase memories. It would work well as a last resort, but first he needed to test it.

—

He chose Lord Leofwine as his test subject, making his way to the guest quarters under the cover of darkness.

There were a few reasons he’d chosen Leofwine, the first and best being that he was a visiting noble who’d come to Camelot only for negotiations, and was scheduled to leave the next day. If this all blew up in Merlin’s face, at least he wouldn’t be sticking around to make Merlin’s life miserable. He was also a drunk, and disliked by pretty much everyone in the castle. Merlin was confident Arthur wouldn’t take his word over Merlin’s.

Mostly confident.

He’d timed his entry with the guard rotations, and the corridor was deserted when he pushed the door open. The creaking of the hinges woke the figure lying shrouded on the bed, wide eyes set close on a round face blinking blearily in the gloom.

“What is it, who’s there?” he asked, voice still a bit slurred from the mead served at dinner a few hours before, but aware enough to reach a hand under the pillow where he likely kept a knife. All the tension in his body bled out when his eyes landed on Merlin, recognizing him as the Prince’s manservant. He rolled his eyes, shoulders slumping and hand crawling back out from underneath the pillow. “You’d better have a damn good reason for waking me, boy.”

Merlin didn’t answer him in words, letting the magic flow through him and throwing the blankets off the bed. Leofwine’s eyes went comically wide, scrambling backwards until his head crashed into the headboard.

“W-what do you want?” he asked, hands raised as if to shield himself. “I’ve money! It’s yours if you want it.”

Again, Merlin stayed silent, raising his hand and pointing it directly at Leofwine’s chest. Leofwine paled so dramatically Merlin thought he might faint, trembling from head to toe. Maybe this was a bit cruel, but the man was an ass and definitely deserved to have a little humility shocked into him. It’s not like Merlin was going to kill him, anyway.

Concentrating hard on the magic flowing through his veins, he imagined it taking shape as he muttered, “Ofergiete,” before quickly dropping his hand and peering at Leofwine’s face, waiting for any change.

There was none.

Merlin crashed hard into the wardrobe when Leofwine elbowed past him and out the door, shouting loud enough to raise the dead, which was less than ideal. Grimacing, Merlin followed.

A single guard had already arrived to investigate, more surely on the way. “Restrain him!” Leofwine shouted, frantically waving a hand in Merlin’s direction. He didn’t stick around to make sure his order was followed, bare feet slapping loudly on the stones as he ran further down the corridor. It was just as well, because the guard’s name was Hal and Merlin had bought a present for his daughter’s birthday just a few months before. Merlin shrugged, pointing after Leofwine as if to say I should go take care of that. Hal waved him on.

The good news was that a tall man running through the castle in only a night shirt was easy enough to keep track of, and Merlin caught up to him just before he almost crashed, quite literally, into Arthur.

“What the hell is going on?” he demanded, only a robe over his own nightshirt, a sword sans scabbard in his right hand. Leofwine ducked behind him, as if to use him as a shield.

“Kill him!” he shouted, physically turning Arthur in Merlin’s direction. “He’s a sorcerer!”

Arthur tensed, and Merlin had a split second in which to worry before Arthur clearly recognized him, dropping the sword until the tip was pointed at the ground. Merlin slowed to a stop just a few feet away.

Arthur rounded on Leofwine before Merlin could even try to come up with a plausible explanation. “Please explain to me why you’re accusing my manservant of treason.”

“He cast a spell on me!” Leofwine shouted, nigh on hysterical.

Arthur gave him an unimpressed once over. “You look fine to me.”

Leofwine sputtered, tripping over half a dozen explanations before settling on, “He came into my room and threw all the blankets—I saw his eyes glow!”

“So you’re saying that my manservant risked execution in order to…rearrange your bedding?” Arthur asked, skepticism written in every line of his face. Really, this was going better than Merlin could have even imagined.

“He moved them without touching them! And—and he reached a hand out—”Leofwine mimicked Merlin’s gesture, and if Merlin looked half as mad when he did the same thing he should probably stop. “And what was he doing in my room in the first place, hmmm?”

“That’s a good question,” Arthur said, turning on Merlin for the first time in the entire conversation. He didn’t look angry through, just irritated. “Merlin, what were you doing in Lord Leofwine’s chambers?”

Merlin rounded his shoulders, trying to make himself look as meek and subservient as possible when he replied, “My Lord summoned me.”

“I did no such thing!” Leofwine protested, but Merlin had him now.

“Do you not remember, My Lord?” he asked, innocence painted all over his face. “At the feast you asked me to attend you later on,” and oh, he knew exactly what he was implying. From the thunderous look on his face, so did Arthur.

Leofwine’s face was beet red, sweat droplets beading high on his forehead. “My Lord,” he said, bowing now in Arthur’s direction. “I assure you—” Arthur clapped him on the shoulder, hard.

“Perhaps it’s best if you sleep off the night’s festivities,” Arthur said. It wasn’t a request. “We wouldn’t want you to miss your carriage.”

In that moment, Merlin could have kissed him. It wasn’t what he’d hoped for at the beginning of the evening, but considering the many alternatives, it could have gone a lot worse.

—

So the memory spell had been a failure, but that was fine. It would have been risky to mess with Gwaine’s mind anyway, unethical at the very least. He was better off without it.

At least that’s what he told himself, because he didn’t have much of a choice.

The rocking of the horse underneath him didn’t do his rolling stomach any favors, and he could see Gwaine throwing him concerned glances at his lackluster responses compared to their typical banter. He should put more effort into reassuring him, but it was all he could do to keep his breathing steady and even. Throwing up would be a poor start to this conversation.

At least the spot he’d picked for their picnic was pretty. It was quiet, only birdsong and the humming of insects following them through the dappled shadows cast by the trees overhead, a warm breeze sending waves through the tall grass. They dismounted at the edge of a small meadow, a lovely view before them while keeping the shade of the forest at their backs. Merlin set about unpacking their stuff with gusto.

The blanket was first, spread out on the flattest bit of ground he could find and carefully brushed free of dirt. He slapped Gwaine’s hands away from the baskets he’d brought and unloaded them himself; bread and cheese, candied carrots and dried plums, strips of ham and, of course, the goblets for Gwaine’s favorite wine. And if the attention he paid to making sure everything was laid out with a perfect symmetry bordered on the obsessive, Gwaine was polite enough not to mention it.

“Merlin.”

Well, maybe not.

“Are you alright?”

“Mhmm, fine,” he replied, voice noticeably higher pitched than usual. He cleared his throat. “Why do you ask?”

Gwaine let out a little huff, circling around Merlin and collapsing on the blanket, the goblets wobbling dangerously. Merlin snatched them up.

“You seem a little jumpy,” he said dryly, before batting his lashes. “Is there something you wanted to ask me?”

He was obviously teasing, but it might be the best opening Merlin would get. Would it be better to wait until after they ate? More food in his stomach might just increase his chances of throwing up, but it would also be nice to enjoy one last meal together before everything went to hell.

Gwaine’s eyes widened, the teasing smile slipping off his face, and Merlin realized he’d already shown his hand.

“Not ask you,” he said quickly, hoping speed alone would help get the words out. Willpower wasn’t really doing it for him. “But I did want to tell you something.”

Gwaine straightened, and Merlin grasped fistfuls of the blanket to keep himself from jumping up and pacing.

“Whatever it is, I’m sure I’ve done worse,” Gwaine said, clearly trying to lighten the mood. Oh, I doubt that.

In the end action had always come more easily to him than words, so he moved his carefully arranged plates out of the way, scooted closer, took a deep breath, and held out his hand. It took little more than a thought to conjure up a flame in his palm, but still he hunched over it like it was fragile, in need of protection.

Maybe that was just him.

Gwaine said nothing, and Merlin didn’t have the courage to look at his face. “I’m a sorcerer,” he said, and then winced at how unnecessarily redundant that was. “I mean, I thought you deserved to know, since you’re kind of committing treason by proxy. Not that that’s the only reason!” he hurried, looking up at Gwaine for the first time since he’d begun, but too panicked to notice the gentle look on his face. “It’s just that it’s important to me, and I really do trust you and—”

“Merlin.”

Gwaine reached out and gently cupped the hand holding the flame between his own. Merlin’s rambling trailed off. “You’re not angry?” he asked, sounding meek to his own ears.

“Angry? Of course not,” Gwaine said, and the irrational ball of terror Merlin had been desperately fighting off for days now finally dissipated. Being without it made him feel like a stranger in his own skin. “I know a thing or two about secrets, and this is a bigger one than I’ve ever had to keep. I’m glad you told me.”

Gwaine rolled forward onto his knees, the flame blowing out when their hands separated, and crawled forward until he was sat by Merlin’s side. Merlin let himself fall against Gwaine’s chest, grateful for the support it gave his trembling limbs.

“You know, that actually makes a lot of sense, looking back,” Gwaine said, so casually they could have been talking about the weather. Merlin almost cried with relief. “Better than the theory I had, anyway.”

Merlin laughed, a bit weakly, but still a laugh. “You had theories about me?”

“Oh, yeah. Thought you were a spy, actually.”

“A spy?” he asked, and that was just ridiculous enough to make his laughter truly genuine. “What made you think that?”

Gwaine ran his fingers through Merlin’s fringe. “Love, I’ve seen your scars,” he said gently, and the smile on Merlin’s face faded. Right, his scars. Gwaine had been so good about never mentioning them that Merlin had almost been able to forget they were even there. “And only an idiot could miss that Camelot has no official spymaster, and that you always seem to know everything about everything. I figured that was your real job, and the whole manservant thing was just a cover.”

That was a lot to take in. “I don’t know everything,” he finally managed. Gwaine laughed, tackling Merlin so he was flat on his back and trailing kisses along his jawline.

“You’re smarter than you give yourself credit for,” he murmured, lips pressed against his ear. Merlin flushed.

Gwaine pulled back after a moment, his face hovering a few inches above Merlin’s own. “But magic is a much better explanation. No one could be that dedicated to their cover story.”

“Actually, Arthur doesn’t know. About me, I mean,” he said, frowning at the thought. “I guess being a manservant is my cover story.”

“Oh, Merlin,” Gwaine sighed, but Merlin brushed him off. Pity was the last thing he wanted.

“You’re sure you don’t mind?” he asked instead, determined to be the voice of reason. “Because I wouldn’t blame you if you did. This isn’t exactly what you signed on for.”

“I signed on for you.” Really, what gave him the right to say things like that? The things it did to Merlin’s heart just weren’t fair.

“You might want to rethink that. I’m kind of a bad luck charm.”

“I’m sure Arthur would disagree.”

Merlin scoffed. “Arthur almost dies every other week. Half the problems we attract are mine.”

Gwaine frowned. “Gwen?”

“I almost got her executed a few weeks after I met her.”

“Gaius?”

“The first thing he did when I came to Camelot was fall off a balcony.”

“Well,” Gwaine said, leaning in close, “you saved my life, so I disagree.”

Gwaine rolled them over so Merlin was resting on his chest, dragging the plates close enough that they could snack as they spoke. He had questions, of course he did, but the grace with which he accepted Merlin's answers made all of his fears seem suddenly irrational. How had he ever been afraid of this man, of what he might say?

A persistent voice in the back of his mind kept insisting that this was temporary, an illusion he'd cooked up to keep himself sane. He was still a sorcerer in a hostile land, his future was precarious and uncertain. This kind of happiness couldn't be normal.  

In that moment, he thought of Gwen of all people, of her earnest happiness on his behalf, and of Gaius's steadfast support. Maybe he should follow their lead. Even if the future was uncertain, even if they’d still made no promises to each other, maybe he could allow himself to grasp at happiness in spite of it all. 

Because Gwaine loved him, magic and all, and with a little time he just might be able to convince himself that he was worthy of it.