Merlin: Getting to Know You (PG)
Title: Getting to Know You
Author:
mad_maudlin
Fandom: Merlin (AU)
Characters: Merlin and Arthur
Rating: PG
Warning: AU
Spoilers: None
Summary: Merlin has three conversations about Arthur.
A/N: Sequel to You Can Pick Your Friends...
Getting to Know You
By Mad Maudlin
Merlin didn't see Arthur again for a couple of days, and in the meantime he had a couple of enlightening conversations. The first came during his spell in the stocks-the king's idea of fit punishment for striking a knight, apparently, though Arthur had got off with nothing but a scolding. Merlin had still been spitting the taste of rotten turnip from his mouth when a soft voice said near his elbow, "I'm Guinivere."
He turned his head to see a dark girl in a pink dress and a red cloak, lingering at the edge of the stocks now that the initial barrage was over. "Most people call me Gwen," she added. "I'm Princess Morgana's maid."
"Right," Merlin said, wondering if that made this Gwen extra special or something. "I'm Merlin, although most people just call me 'Idiot.'"
She laughed a little, and shook his hand as best they could around the chains and clamps. "No, no, no…I saw what you did." Her smiled widened a bit. "It was brave."
"It was stupid," Merlin corrected, showing off the raw skin of his knuckles as proof.
"It's great that you stood up to Sir Maleagant and his cronies," Gwen clarified. "He's a nasty piece of work, and everyone thought you were a real hero."
"Oh yeah?" That was nice to hear, though not quite enough to offset the dungeon and the stocks and the angry look on Gaius's face. And then Merlin asked, "What do they think about Arthur?"
"Oh, him," Gwen said, and her mouth twisted. "He's…Arthur, I suppose."
"That means he can't be a hero, too?" Merlin asked.
Gwen sighed. "Look, you probably heard about…what he is. Probably from him. He acts like he's proud of it or something."
"Well, you can't help how you're born, can you?" Merlin pointed out.
"That doesn't mean he has to be so…" Gwen broke off with an expressive gesture. "I know it's rough for him, and the king practically encourages it, but Arthur acts like he doesn't even care. Like he enjoys it, even. It makes him hard to pity."
Merlin thought of Arthur's raised chin, his wry and crazy smile. "Maybe pity's not what he wants."
The other conversation was with Gaius, who had clearly decided that a staggering workload was the only thing that was going to keep Merlin out of trouble. Two days after the stocks, Gaius handed him a basket and detailed a schedule of deliveries, finishing off with, "…and this lineament is for Sir Ewan. When you deliver it, you might also apologize for your part in that scuffle a few days ago."
"He was one of the ones beating up Arthur, then?" Merlin asked, looking at the greenish oil in the crystal bottle.
"Arthur could've escaped quite unharmed if he could keep a civil tongue in his head," Gaius declared.
"He was trying," Merlin pointed out. "Maleagant and that lot were going to have at him whatever Arthur did."
"And you know that how?" Gaius asked.
Merlin knew because he knew people like that around Ealdor-the ones who'd decided he was unlucky, weird, a changeling, no matter how he tried to keep his magic leashed. They were the reason his mum sent him away, because he could fight off one or even two with bare knuckles and a spot of help from Will; but eventually they both knew there would be more, and then Merlin would have to use magic, and then he'd be done.
But at least Merlin had the option of magic; Arthur didn't even have that. It didn't seem like he had anything at all. Instead of blurting all this out to Gaius, Merlin asked, "Is he really…I mean, Arthur…he's really a bastard?"
Gaius went stiff and silent for a moment. "Uther declared it so," he said finally. "He said that Queen Ygraine confessed it on her deathbed. He showed mercy on the boy by allowing him to stay in the castle as a servant."
"He thinks that's mercy?" Merlin asked.
Gaius just gave him the eyebrow again. "It would be a great deal less merciful to send the boy away, wouldn't you say? Think about the dangers a royal bastard would face in the open country. Think of how less scrupulous guardians might seek to use him."
"Why not send him away in secret?"Merlin said. "Find some farm family or somebody who'd just lost a baby and let them raise him as theirs. Nobody would ever have to know the truth."
Gaius rolled his eyes. "Honestly, Merlin, what have you been reading? Now get on with you, you've work to do."
It took him almost until lunch to distribute all the medicines, and he found excuses to leave Ewan for last. Of course, that meant that instead of visiting the knight in his quarters, Merlin had to go hunt him down on the training fields, where Sir Cador was lecturing the assembled knights and chasing them into some kind of training configuration. Even if Merlin had the first idea which one Ewan was, he had no intention of getting into the middle of that, and he scanned the area for some place he could wait it out.
That was when he saw Arthur again, standing at the door of a shed on the edge of the field. He had a broom, and he was making movements that suggested he meant to sweep something out of the shed and onto the grass, except his eyes were glued on the knights. When Cador called them into formation, Arthur-barely concealed in the shadow of the doorway-suddenly straightened and gripped his broom, down near the head, both hands tightly together.
Merlin edged around the perimeter of the field, as quiet as he could be, but he kept his eyes on Arthur.
The knights raised their swords in the first motion of some drill, and in perfect synchronization Arthur raised his broom. He couldn’t hold it at quite the same angle, because the twigs of the head were so much longer than the handle of a sword, but he got as close as he could even though it was wedged tight against his stomach. (Merlin noted Arthur had got himself a new shirt, black and whole and already a bit of a mess.) The knights brought their swords down, stepping into the movement; Arthur copied the downward swing, but just shuffled his feet rather than leave the protection of the shed.
Swords back up, in a cross-the-body guard position. A lateral sweep. Another overhand. Guard. Thrust. Arthur's shoulders were square against his imaginary target and he mimicked every stroke like he knew it by heart, like he could be out there, one of them, shining in mail and plate. The handle of the broom made a little whistling sound as it lashed the air, so much wider than a blade but wielded with just as much force.
Guard. Lateral. Parry. Guard. Overhand.
And Arthur's face-his eyes were locked on the drilling knights, as sharp as glass, and his jaw clenched with tension. He never missed a stroke, never dropped the broom or hit the door frame or jabbed himself on accident in the stomach; but he also didn't step out of the shelter of the shed, didn't do more than suggest the footwork. He was as focused on Cador's commands as any other man on the field, perhaps more than any other, but he was also the furthest away.
The drill ended, and the knights let their swords drop. Arthur let the broom fall back to the ground, just a broom again, his hands folded loosely over the end of the handle. His shoulders drooped again, the intensity went out of his face.
Merlin was careful to circle all the way behind him before he said, "You're pretty good, yeah?"
Arthur yelped and spun around so quickly it was amazing he kept his feet; he had the broom back up and back the guard position, but his eyes were wide and his face had just two spots of color, high in his cheeks. "Merlin!" he said, making it sound like an insult. "What the hell are you doing here?"
He rattled the basket in Arthur's direction. "Deliveries for Gaius. You know which one Ewan is?"
Arthur seemed to relax again, a little, and let the broom fall a second time, though he still looked a bit like a spooked horsed. "Ewan," he said. "Right. Dark bloke in the green tabard. I think you put your elbow in his ear on Tuesday."
"That's what Gaius said." Merlin squinted across the field; the knights were forming up in another configuration, but Arthur clearly wasn't going to be practicing anything if he knew he had an audience. Ewan was on the edge of the formation and didn't seem to be any worse for wear from Merlin's alleged elbow assault. "Maybe I can just pretend I gave him his medicine. Chuck the bottle in a well or something."
"Ewan's not so bad," Arthur muttered, to Merlin's disbelief, which must've been written across his face because he added defensively, "By comparison, I mean. He's mostly talk, even with…you know, servants." Me, Arthur had nearly said.
"As opposed to Maleagant?" Merlin asked.
"Maleagant's a whiny little bitch," Arthur proclaimed with so much gravity that Merlin couldn't help but chuckle. "Bruenor," Arthur added, pointing across the field with the end of his broom, "does whatever Maleagant tells him. Caradoc…well, there's a reason his nickname is Strong-Arm and not Big-Brain…and Kai has despised me ever since someone told him that his honorable father Sir Ector is widely rumored to be my sire." He shrugged. "Nobody else seems to consider me a worthy opponent."
Merlin thought about the damage Arthur had done with a shovel and the precision of his drill. "Bet they'd be in for a hell of a surprise if they ever put that to the test," he opined.
Arthur prodded at the streaks of dust on the lintel without really pushing them anywhere. "Yeah, well, it's never going to happen," he said flatly. "Knights don't waste their time on common servants."
"Unless they've got four of their mates to back them up, you mean?" Merlin asked.
"Is there something you wanted, or are you annoying me for fun?" Arthur said, prissy as a prince. He also deliberately swept a cloud of dust at Merlin's boots.
And there wasn't anything Merlin had wanted, except to say hello to his friend, and he was starting to understand what Gwen had meant about Arthur making himself hard to pity. But he also wasn't giving up that easily. "There's a thing tonight, yeah?" he asked. "A feast with a singer and stuff?"
"Yes," Arthur said. "It's only common knowledge throughout the entire castle and all."
"I was just wondering if you were going to be there," Merlin said. "Gaius says we have to help out, and I think it'll be dead boring if he's the only one there that I know."
"'Course I'll be there," Arthur said. And then, while studying the handle of the broom, "And I know where to get a cask of the good wine, you know, where they won't notice it's gone until later. A lot later."
It took Merlin a few moments to interpret this. "By which point we'll have drunk it all, yeah?"
"Well, I don't know about any we," Arthur said. "Have you ever even had proper wine before, or do you country people only drink pigs' piss?"
"You know," Merlin said, "you might want to get two casks of wine. You'll need something to drink when you eat those words, after all."
"Oh ho, now here's a challenge," Arthur said. "I'll see you in my room after the feast, Merlin of Ealdor. May the best man win."
"Now, don't go jinxing yourself before we even start," Merlin said, and ran away laughing as Arthur tried to swat him on the arse with the broom.
Author:
mad_maudlin
Fandom: Merlin (AU)
Characters: Merlin and Arthur
Rating: PG
Warning: AU
Spoilers: None
Summary: Merlin has three conversations about Arthur.
A/N: Sequel to You Can Pick Your Friends...
Getting to Know You
By Mad Maudlin
Merlin didn't see Arthur again for a couple of days, and in the meantime he had a couple of enlightening conversations. The first came during his spell in the stocks-the king's idea of fit punishment for striking a knight, apparently, though Arthur had got off with nothing but a scolding. Merlin had still been spitting the taste of rotten turnip from his mouth when a soft voice said near his elbow, "I'm Guinivere."
He turned his head to see a dark girl in a pink dress and a red cloak, lingering at the edge of the stocks now that the initial barrage was over. "Most people call me Gwen," she added. "I'm Princess Morgana's maid."
"Right," Merlin said, wondering if that made this Gwen extra special or something. "I'm Merlin, although most people just call me 'Idiot.'"
She laughed a little, and shook his hand as best they could around the chains and clamps. "No, no, no…I saw what you did." Her smiled widened a bit. "It was brave."
"It was stupid," Merlin corrected, showing off the raw skin of his knuckles as proof.
"It's great that you stood up to Sir Maleagant and his cronies," Gwen clarified. "He's a nasty piece of work, and everyone thought you were a real hero."
"Oh yeah?" That was nice to hear, though not quite enough to offset the dungeon and the stocks and the angry look on Gaius's face. And then Merlin asked, "What do they think about Arthur?"
"Oh, him," Gwen said, and her mouth twisted. "He's…Arthur, I suppose."
"That means he can't be a hero, too?" Merlin asked.
Gwen sighed. "Look, you probably heard about…what he is. Probably from him. He acts like he's proud of it or something."
"Well, you can't help how you're born, can you?" Merlin pointed out.
"That doesn't mean he has to be so…" Gwen broke off with an expressive gesture. "I know it's rough for him, and the king practically encourages it, but Arthur acts like he doesn't even care. Like he enjoys it, even. It makes him hard to pity."
Merlin thought of Arthur's raised chin, his wry and crazy smile. "Maybe pity's not what he wants."
The other conversation was with Gaius, who had clearly decided that a staggering workload was the only thing that was going to keep Merlin out of trouble. Two days after the stocks, Gaius handed him a basket and detailed a schedule of deliveries, finishing off with, "…and this lineament is for Sir Ewan. When you deliver it, you might also apologize for your part in that scuffle a few days ago."
"He was one of the ones beating up Arthur, then?" Merlin asked, looking at the greenish oil in the crystal bottle.
"Arthur could've escaped quite unharmed if he could keep a civil tongue in his head," Gaius declared.
"He was trying," Merlin pointed out. "Maleagant and that lot were going to have at him whatever Arthur did."
"And you know that how?" Gaius asked.
Merlin knew because he knew people like that around Ealdor-the ones who'd decided he was unlucky, weird, a changeling, no matter how he tried to keep his magic leashed. They were the reason his mum sent him away, because he could fight off one or even two with bare knuckles and a spot of help from Will; but eventually they both knew there would be more, and then Merlin would have to use magic, and then he'd be done.
But at least Merlin had the option of magic; Arthur didn't even have that. It didn't seem like he had anything at all. Instead of blurting all this out to Gaius, Merlin asked, "Is he really…I mean, Arthur…he's really a bastard?"
Gaius went stiff and silent for a moment. "Uther declared it so," he said finally. "He said that Queen Ygraine confessed it on her deathbed. He showed mercy on the boy by allowing him to stay in the castle as a servant."
"He thinks that's mercy?" Merlin asked.
Gaius just gave him the eyebrow again. "It would be a great deal less merciful to send the boy away, wouldn't you say? Think about the dangers a royal bastard would face in the open country. Think of how less scrupulous guardians might seek to use him."
"Why not send him away in secret?"Merlin said. "Find some farm family or somebody who'd just lost a baby and let them raise him as theirs. Nobody would ever have to know the truth."
Gaius rolled his eyes. "Honestly, Merlin, what have you been reading? Now get on with you, you've work to do."
It took him almost until lunch to distribute all the medicines, and he found excuses to leave Ewan for last. Of course, that meant that instead of visiting the knight in his quarters, Merlin had to go hunt him down on the training fields, where Sir Cador was lecturing the assembled knights and chasing them into some kind of training configuration. Even if Merlin had the first idea which one Ewan was, he had no intention of getting into the middle of that, and he scanned the area for some place he could wait it out.
That was when he saw Arthur again, standing at the door of a shed on the edge of the field. He had a broom, and he was making movements that suggested he meant to sweep something out of the shed and onto the grass, except his eyes were glued on the knights. When Cador called them into formation, Arthur-barely concealed in the shadow of the doorway-suddenly straightened and gripped his broom, down near the head, both hands tightly together.
Merlin edged around the perimeter of the field, as quiet as he could be, but he kept his eyes on Arthur.
The knights raised their swords in the first motion of some drill, and in perfect synchronization Arthur raised his broom. He couldn’t hold it at quite the same angle, because the twigs of the head were so much longer than the handle of a sword, but he got as close as he could even though it was wedged tight against his stomach. (Merlin noted Arthur had got himself a new shirt, black and whole and already a bit of a mess.) The knights brought their swords down, stepping into the movement; Arthur copied the downward swing, but just shuffled his feet rather than leave the protection of the shed.
Swords back up, in a cross-the-body guard position. A lateral sweep. Another overhand. Guard. Thrust. Arthur's shoulders were square against his imaginary target and he mimicked every stroke like he knew it by heart, like he could be out there, one of them, shining in mail and plate. The handle of the broom made a little whistling sound as it lashed the air, so much wider than a blade but wielded with just as much force.
Guard. Lateral. Parry. Guard. Overhand.
And Arthur's face-his eyes were locked on the drilling knights, as sharp as glass, and his jaw clenched with tension. He never missed a stroke, never dropped the broom or hit the door frame or jabbed himself on accident in the stomach; but he also didn't step out of the shelter of the shed, didn't do more than suggest the footwork. He was as focused on Cador's commands as any other man on the field, perhaps more than any other, but he was also the furthest away.
The drill ended, and the knights let their swords drop. Arthur let the broom fall back to the ground, just a broom again, his hands folded loosely over the end of the handle. His shoulders drooped again, the intensity went out of his face.
Merlin was careful to circle all the way behind him before he said, "You're pretty good, yeah?"
Arthur yelped and spun around so quickly it was amazing he kept his feet; he had the broom back up and back the guard position, but his eyes were wide and his face had just two spots of color, high in his cheeks. "Merlin!" he said, making it sound like an insult. "What the hell are you doing here?"
He rattled the basket in Arthur's direction. "Deliveries for Gaius. You know which one Ewan is?"
Arthur seemed to relax again, a little, and let the broom fall a second time, though he still looked a bit like a spooked horsed. "Ewan," he said. "Right. Dark bloke in the green tabard. I think you put your elbow in his ear on Tuesday."
"That's what Gaius said." Merlin squinted across the field; the knights were forming up in another configuration, but Arthur clearly wasn't going to be practicing anything if he knew he had an audience. Ewan was on the edge of the formation and didn't seem to be any worse for wear from Merlin's alleged elbow assault. "Maybe I can just pretend I gave him his medicine. Chuck the bottle in a well or something."
"Ewan's not so bad," Arthur muttered, to Merlin's disbelief, which must've been written across his face because he added defensively, "By comparison, I mean. He's mostly talk, even with…you know, servants." Me, Arthur had nearly said.
"As opposed to Maleagant?" Merlin asked.
"Maleagant's a whiny little bitch," Arthur proclaimed with so much gravity that Merlin couldn't help but chuckle. "Bruenor," Arthur added, pointing across the field with the end of his broom, "does whatever Maleagant tells him. Caradoc…well, there's a reason his nickname is Strong-Arm and not Big-Brain…and Kai has despised me ever since someone told him that his honorable father Sir Ector is widely rumored to be my sire." He shrugged. "Nobody else seems to consider me a worthy opponent."
Merlin thought about the damage Arthur had done with a shovel and the precision of his drill. "Bet they'd be in for a hell of a surprise if they ever put that to the test," he opined.
Arthur prodded at the streaks of dust on the lintel without really pushing them anywhere. "Yeah, well, it's never going to happen," he said flatly. "Knights don't waste their time on common servants."
"Unless they've got four of their mates to back them up, you mean?" Merlin asked.
"Is there something you wanted, or are you annoying me for fun?" Arthur said, prissy as a prince. He also deliberately swept a cloud of dust at Merlin's boots.
And there wasn't anything Merlin had wanted, except to say hello to his friend, and he was starting to understand what Gwen had meant about Arthur making himself hard to pity. But he also wasn't giving up that easily. "There's a thing tonight, yeah?" he asked. "A feast with a singer and stuff?"
"Yes," Arthur said. "It's only common knowledge throughout the entire castle and all."
"I was just wondering if you were going to be there," Merlin said. "Gaius says we have to help out, and I think it'll be dead boring if he's the only one there that I know."
"'Course I'll be there," Arthur said. And then, while studying the handle of the broom, "And I know where to get a cask of the good wine, you know, where they won't notice it's gone until later. A lot later."
It took Merlin a few moments to interpret this. "By which point we'll have drunk it all, yeah?"
"Well, I don't know about any we," Arthur said. "Have you ever even had proper wine before, or do you country people only drink pigs' piss?"
"You know," Merlin said, "you might want to get two casks of wine. You'll need something to drink when you eat those words, after all."
"Oh ho, now here's a challenge," Arthur said. "I'll see you in my room after the feast, Merlin of Ealdor. May the best man win."
"Now, don't go jinxing yourself before we even start," Merlin said, and ran away laughing as Arthur tried to swat him on the arse with the broom.