Chemistry Of (1/1)
I meant to update my WiPs, I really did, but this just kept demanding to be written a little louder than everything else I should be writing.
I also spent ages poring over style guides once again, and I'm fairly sure 'of' shouldn't be capitalised in the title here. It looked stupid in lowercase, though...
Fandom: Merlin
Title: Chemistry Of (1/1)
Pairing: Merlin/Arthur pre-slash
Rating: PG-13
Length: approx. 4150 words
Disclaimer: Not mine. Everything belongs to the BBC.
Summary: Arthur hadn't mentioned Merlin's condition once in the days since they'd returned from slaying the unicorn, and Merlin had been lulled into a false sense of security, believing it forgotten. Unfortunately, Arthur had simply been biding his time.
Author's note: Sequel to Rarer Than, because I'm easily influenced. This is now part two in what will be a four part series.
Oh, and I named Sir Tristan before Saturday's episode. He is not that Sir Tristan.
Arthur beckoned for Merlin to attend him, but placed his hand over the top of his cup before Merlin could refill it.
"What is it, Ar-" Merlin began, but caught himself when Arthur frowned. "What is it, sire?" he amended.
Arthur's frown softened into something that was almost a smile, and then he nodded towards a servant girl who was approaching the table carrying a large platter of roast venison. She looked vaguely familiar, and Merlin thought he might have seen her talking to Gwen once, although he couldn't be certain.
"Well, what do you think?" Arthur asked.
"About what?"
"About the girl, you dolt," Arthur said, rolling his eyes,
The girl seemed to sense that Merlin and Arthur were watching her, and she looked over at them and smiled, her round cheeks dimpling.
Merlin returned the smile, and the girl's dimples grew even more pronounced. "Erm, she seems nice," he said.
"Nice?" Arthur snorted softly. "I wasn't asking for your opinion of her character, Merlin. Do you think she's attractive?"
Merlin cursed inwardly. Arthur hadn't mentioned Merlin's condition once in the days since they'd returned from slaying the unicorn, and Merlin had been lulled into a false sense of security, believing it forgotten. Clearly, Arthur had simply been trying to decide how best to deal with it, however.
"She's not my type," Merlin said, blurting out the first excuse that came to mind which sounded even remotely plausible. To be honest, he didn't think he actually had a type, but he didn't want to encourage Arthur by showing any interest whatsoever.
"Not your type? Really? But she's so…" Arthur paused, his brow furrowing, obviously at a loss as to how to describe the girl. Instead, he swept his hands through the air, tracing curves no real woman could possess whilst still being able to stand upright. "She's pretty," he added. "For a servant, anyway."
"Just not my type," Merlin said through gritted teeth. Thankfully, the girl had turned her head aside and missed seeing Arthur's gesture; Merlin could only hope she was standing far enough away that she also wouldn't have been able to hear what he'd said.
Arthur gave the girl one last lingering look, shook his head slowly as though baffled, and then cast his eye over the rest of the hall. His gaze finally settled on a finely dressed woman sitting several seats to Morgana's right - a woman whom Merlin did recognise - and he inclined his head in her direction.
"Arthur, she's the wife of one of your knights!" Merlin spluttered, shock making him forget propriety yet again.
"Nevertheless, she often… dallies with servants," Arthur said, apparently too distracted to upbraid Merlin for his slip of the tongue.
"But her husband -"
"Has his own interests which keep him from the marital bed most nights." Arthur's face was blank, and his voice was almost level, but Merlin could hear some faint emotion bleeding through. He thought it might be disapproval. "Well?"
"No," Merlin said, firmly.
Even if the lady had been the most beautiful in all Camelot, he still would have had no desire to be dallied with, nor to make a cuckold of Sir Tristan. There was every chance that his apathy - and, indeed, his lady's infidelities - were simply the product of castle gossip, which could be vicious, especially where attractive women and knights currently enjoying the Prince's particular favour were concerned.
"Not your type, either?" Arthur asked.
"No."
"You obviously have very exacting standards, Merlin," Arthur said with a sigh. "It's no wonder you're… the way you are."
He dismissed Merlin with a brusque wave of his hand.
***
"Are you sure Gwen's not interested in you?" Arthur asked. "It's always seemed that way to me."
Arthur kept returning to Gwen whenever other avenues were closed to him. Merlin was glad for the excuse of cleaning Gaius' workbench - a task he was affecting complete absorption in - so he could pretend not to hear the question yet again.
"It also seemed as though her interest was reciprocated," Arthur continued, apparently oblivious to Merlin's determined attempt to ignore him.
Merlin scrubbed the stained wood with unnecessary violence, idly imagining it was Arthur's head. He had hoped that busying himself in Gaius' rooms would have dissuaded Arthur from pestering him, at least for a few hours, but for the past few days Arthur had been acting like his hounds did when they caught a scent: stubborn and relentless.
He appeared unable to spend any time in Merlin's company without bringing up the subject of women, or, more specifically, Merlin's taste in them. Merlin had tried not talking to Arthur at all, save for what little was actually expected of him as a servant, but it hadn't helped.
'Fetch me my boots, Merlin,' would be followed by 'Blonde hair or brown, Merlin?', 'Polish my armour, Merlin,' by 'Tall or short, Merlin?', and when he'd exhausted all other possibilities, "What do you think about Gwen, Merlin?".
Merlin couldn't even remember how he'd answered the questions - he'd simply said whatever popped into his head at the time, and had probably contradicted himself more than once - but he was sick of hearing them, and sorely tempted to tell Arthur that he wasn't interested in women, full stop, and intended to live a life of celibacy, so could Arthur please just shut up about it right now? Instead, he breathed deeply, slowly counted to ten in his head, and scrubbed the workbench even harder.
Merlin heard Arthur get up from his stool, but whatever fledgling hopes might have fluttered deep in his belly died half-formed when Arthur didn't walk towards the door and simply leaned against the bench, his shoulder brushing Merlin's briefly. "I think you'd be very well suited," he said.
Suddenly, Merlin felt physically incapable of holding his tongue for even one second longer, and he'd blurted out, "We're just friends," almost before he realised he was speaking. "Nothing more."
Merlin thought that Gwen had felt they could be more at one point, but it was something he'd only pieced together in retrospect, as those feelings appeared to have fizzled out long before Merlin had even begun to suspect they'd ever existed.
"You could have just told me that, days ago," Arthur said, sounding a little annoyed. "You're impossible, Merlin. How am I supposed to help you if you don't tell me these things?" He held up one finger when Merlin opened his mouth to protest. "And don't tell me you don't need my help when it's plain that you do."
Merlin threw down his cloth and started gathering together Gaius' books, dread settling over him like a pall. Arthur's idea of help - no matter how well-intentioned - was tiring, and Merlin wasn't sure how much more of it he could take.
***
"Please tell Gaius that my sister's recovering well," Eleanor said as she handed Merlin fresh linens for Arthur's bed.
Merlin smiled as he took the sheets, careful not to crumple them as Arthur would only complain about it later. "He'll be glad to hear it," he said.
"We thought she'd never regain the use of her leg, but he's a miracle worker!"
Merlin heard the door to Arthur's chamber open behind him, and then he could feel Arthur watching him. The skin on the back of his neck heated, and the muscles across his shoulders tightened almost painfully. "He certainly is," he said.
"And thank you for all your help, too, Merlin," Eleanor said, touching Merlin's arm briefly. Her fingers lingered a little longer, lightly brushing the inside of Merlin's wrist. "You've been a great comfort to our family through all this."
"It's the least I could do," Merlin mumbled. He shuffled his feet in an attempt to move out from under the weight of Arthur's stare, to no avail.
"Well, I'll see you tomorrow, then." Eleanor lifted her hand slightly, as though she were going to reach out for Merlin again, but dropped it down to her side again as she turned away. "Take care."
Merlin watched her walk down the corridor until she was lost from view in an attempt to delay the inevitable; one which obviously tried Arthur's patience, as Merlin could hear him shifting his weight restlessly, and then a sharp indrawn breath which sounded like a nascent insult.
Merlin turned before Arthur could give voice to it, and began walking towards him. Arthur's lips were drawn into something that looked like a smile from a distance, but that resembled one less and less the closer Merlin got.
Merlin found his steps slowing involuntarily; his feet obviously having more sense than the rest of him. The next hour or so of his life was going to be deeply uncomfortable, as so many of his hours that week had been, as Arthur grilled him about Eleanor. Trying to ignore him hadn't helped; in fact, it only seemed to encourage him. He seemed to relish the challenge.
Merlin decided that it was probably time to change tack, as his studied indifference had been such a resounding failure to date. Perhaps showing a little interest would help. If nothing else, Arthur wouldn't be able to keep up the same litany of questions that had been his only attempts at conversation lately.
Arthur looked down the corridor in the direction Eleanor had taken, and raised one eyebrow. "She seems -"
"Yes, she's very nice," Merlin said, pushing past Arthur to enter the bedchamber. "Lovely, in fact."
Arthur hesitated in the doorway for a moment before following Merlin. "I thought you said you didn't like brown hair," he said, his tone questioning.
Merlin knew he should have been keeping better track of his answers.
"I like that shade of brown," Merlin said as he carefully placed the clean linens on a chair and then began stripping the bedclothes from Arthur's bed. "That exact shade. The colour of Eleanor's hair."
Arthur leaned against the bed frame, his arms crossed over his chest. "And isn't she a little short…?"
"She's just the right height," Merlin insisted.
Arthur watched Merlin work in silence for a time, his expression thoughtful. Merlin could only hope that he'd managed to jolt those thoughts out of the deep rut they'd occupied recently.
"There's a fair in town next week. You should go. And ask Eleanor if she wants to accompany you," Arthur said eventually, his voice halting as though he were unsure of the wisdom of his own words.
Merlin froze, the pillow slipping from his suddenly lax fingers. He should have anticipated that once he showed any preference towards a particular woman, Arthur would start insisting he court her.
After his initial surprise had worn off, and he'd taken a moment to think about the suggestion more calmly, however, it did start to seem like a sensible one. Eleanor was nice, and Merlin thought he would enjoy spending the day with her. Fairs were always much more fun with company, anyway.
More than likely, nothing romantic would come of it, but at least Merlin would be making an effort in that direction, which would doubtless mollify Arthur to some extent.
"Yes," he said, picking up the pillow again. "Yes, I think I will."
***
Merlin had always loved fairs.
When he was a child, they'd always felt like a tantalising glimpse of the possibilities that lay beyond the stultifying confines of his village, where everything seemed to be painted in dull shades of grey and mud brown, and the horizon he could see from his front door defined very edge of the world. Those fairs had been only been held at a neighbouring village, however, and now appeared staid and lifeless affairs compared to the fair in Camelot.
He and Eleanor had toured the stalls first, buoyed along by an exuberant press of townsfolk eager to part with their money. Merlin had bought something gooey, and no doubt unhealthy, that Gaius probably wouldn't approve of from one of the stalls, and he and Eleanor shared it as they chatted easily about her family, Merlin's work, and life in the castle.
When they'd drained those topics of conversation dry, they stopped to watch a troupe of acrobats and jugglers. They were entertaining enough, but their performance was nowhere near as polished as those Merlin had seen at the castle.
"There's dancing in the town square," Eleanor said, just as Merlin's attention was beginning to wander.
Merlin chuckled, and fully intended to tell Eleanor that he'd rather spend yet another afternoon in the stocks than dancing until he noticed how hopeful she looked, her eyes bright and her lips parted slightly as though caught on the cusp of a broad smile.
"Oh. Would you… Would you care to dance, Eleanor?" Merlin asked, praying that he'd misread her expression somehow, and the thought of dancing in public actually appalled her fully as much as it did him.
Eleanor's answering smile was dazzling, however, and she'd grabbed hold of his arm and started dragging him along behind her before he could gather his wits sufficiently to mount a protest.
"I'm not a very good dancer," he said, as he stumbled along in her wake, half hoping that he'd lose his footing, fall over, and break his leg.
"That's all right. No one will expect you to be an expert. It isn't like the dancing they do in the castle, you know. This is just for fun."
Eleanor's voice was light and breathy with barely-controlled laughter, and Merlin suspected that she didn't really appreciate the gravity of their situation. "No, I don't think you understand," he said. "I'm not a good dancer, at all. In fact, it's probably safe to say I'm bad. Dreadful, even."
Eleanor simply giggled in response, as though Merlin had just told her a joke. If she thought he was simply being modest about his abilities, she would be sorely disappointed.
***
Dancing always made Merlin feel as though he had too many joints. Or too many limbs. Or perhaps both.
He'd also come to understand that he apparently lacked a functioning sense of rhythm. It didn't help that the music he was attempting to dance to was almost completely drowned beneath the sounds of booted feet striking cobblestones, excited chatter, and laughter.
Merlin gloomily believed that at least a portion of that laughter was directed towards him, no matter what Eleanor might say to the contrary. He squeezed Eleanor's hand a little tighter, and tried again.
This time, he managed five steps before losing track of where his feet were meant to be - which nevertheless beat his previous record by quite a large margin - and crashing into the couple behind him.
He apologised to them, and then to Eleanor. Again.
"It's all right," Eleanor said, stiffly. Her smile had become rather forced-looking, and her face was flushed with what Merlin suspected might be annoyance. Considering the amount of times he'd stood on her toes, or accidentally pulled her hair, however, it could just as easily be due to pain.
"Why don't we try an easier dance? I could even lead, if you like," she suggested.
Merlin supposed it would probably be perceived as some sort of slur on his manhood if he allowed Eleanor to lead, but he didn't care. He couldn't possibly look more like a fool than he already did. "Please," he said.
Eleanor nodded once, and then shifted her grip on Merlin's hand, her other hand dropping to his waist. "This one's really simple," she said, her face relaxing slightly. "Just follow me."
The dance was so simple that Merlin had to do little more than walk with Eleanor, putting in an extra, short step on every fourth beat. After a couple of false starts - Merlin's feet insisted on skipping twice instead of once at first, and he found himself almost overtaking Eleanor - they finally managed to make a full circuit of the square, to the accompaniment of some rather facetious-sounding cheers and applause from the small crowd of onlookers, and several of the other dancers.
Merlin was too proud of his accomplishment to feel embarrassed, and he bowed as though the praise had been genuine. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Eleanor was following his lead now, and had curtseyed. When he straightened up to share a smile with Eleanor, he spotted a figure at the very edge of the crowd that caught his attention.
The figure was dressed in plain, drab clothes, and was wearing a hat pulled down low over their ears which cast their entire face in shadows. Nevertheless, there was something very familiar about the shape of their body and the way they were standing. Merlin groaned.
"I've got to go, Eleanor," he said, already backing away from her. "I don't think I'll be long. Just wait here for me."
Eleanor looked slightly taken aback. "Merlin, I -"
The rest of her words were swallowed by the press of bodies as Merlin pushed his way through the crowd. By the time he'd fought free of it, Arthur had moved on, but Merlin caught sight of him slipping down an alleyway between two houses at the far end of the square. Merlin nearly tried to hail him, but choked down the name almost as soon as it rose in his throat when he realised that Arthur's unusual outfit might mean that he didn't want anyone else to recognise him.
The alleyway was deserted, but Merlin managed to catch up with Arthur in the almost-deserted street at the end of it. Arthur was leaning against a nearby wall, his eyes fixed on the street's only other current resident: a small, over-excited dog, which was running around in circles, yapping wildly.
"Arthur, has something happened?" Merlin asked, anxiously. "Do you need my help?"
Arthur didn’t even look up at him. "No, nothing's happened. I was just… I was just patrolling."
"Without your armour? Or a weapon?" Merlin knew Arthur's schedule better than Arthur knew it himself, and he knew Arthur wasn't meant to go on patrol that day. Something was definitely going on.
"Just drop it, Merlin," Arthur said, his voice a little sharp. "Go back and dance with Eleanor."
If Arthur had meant to get rid of Merlin, then he was going about it in entirely the wrong way. Merlin didn't like the idea of Arthur wandering around the town unescorted and unarmed, and he liked the idea of more dancing even less. He leaned against the wall next to Arthur; it was hardly a decision at all.
Arthur glanced at Merlin, frowned, and then tipped his head back, closing his eyes. Merlin mirrored his posture, the strange sense of ease he often experienced in Arthur's company - when they weren't fighting, at least - wrapping itself around him. The sense of rightness, which he tended to think of as destiny unfurling, of time spooling ahead of him, following the correct track. He simply existed for a time, listening to Arthur's steady breathing and feeling his magic ebb and flow inside him, a pulse that seemed as natural and reassuring as his own heartbeat. It was all very peaceful, apart from the occasional intrusive, and annoying, bark from the dog.
"What you were doing could hardly be called dancing, anyway," Arthur said suddenly, scattering Merlin's thoughts to the four winds, which was something Merlin was equally used to experiencing in his company. "I don't know how you expect to impress her doing… whatever it was you were doing. It looked as if you were having some sort of seizure."
Merlin opened his eyes a slit, and scowled at Arthur. "Some of us haven't the advantage of years of private dancing lessons. I was doing the best I can."
"That really is all very tragic, but I think even you can do better than that," Arthur said, and then he grabbed hold of Merlin's hand.
"What are you doing, Arthur?" Merlin asked, nervously. Physical contact rarely ended well between them, and more often than not left Merlin nursing weapon-shaped bruises for weeks afterwards.
"I haven't got enough time to teach you to dance well," Arthur said, pulling Merlin away from the wall. "I don't think a lifetime would be enough time for that. I can show you a few steps, though, before you rejoin Eleanor. You're my servant, Merlin. Every time you make an ass of yourself in public, it reflects badly on me."
Arthur's hand was much bigger than Eleanor's, and didn't fit Merlin's quite so well. His palm was also slightly sweaty, and Merlin had to fight the impulse to pull his own hand away and wipe it down the front of his trousers.
Arthur's other hand fluttered around in the air for a moment, almost touching Merlin's waist in several different spots and then moving away again, before finally coming to rest on Merlin's hip. He began to draw Merlin closer, but then stopped, swallowing loudly.
"Arthur, are you all right?" Merlin asked, a little concerned.
Arthur made a small motion with his head, but Merlin couldn't tell whether he was trying to shake or nod it. His expression was the same one he'd worn in the forest, just before they killed the unicorn, and, unfortunately, Merlin was no closer to being able to decipher its meaning than he had been then.
Arthur's fingers tightened on Merlin's hip, their tips digging against the bone uncomfortably. "Merlin, you -"
"Oh, there you are, Merlin. I got tired of waiting, and -"
Arthur flinched at the sound of Eleanor's voice, and dropped Merlin's hand as though it had burnt him at the same moment as Eleanor gasped. She had turned on her heel before Merlin had chance to call out her name, rushing back down the alleyway towards the square.
"Follow her," Arthur said, his hand slipping from Merlin's hip to push lightly against the small of his back.
Arthur looked pale and a little shocked, and his hand was shaking against Merlin's back. Merlin didn't really want to leave him alone. "Arthur, I -"
"Follow her," Arthur said, firmly. "I'll… I'll wait here for you."
Merlin nodded, and then hurried after Eleanor.
She was standing at the mouth of the alley, her eyes downcast and her hands clenched together in front of her. "Thank you for a lovely day, Merlin," she said quietly as Merlin joined her. "I think I'm going to return to the castle now, though."
"You don't have to leave," Merlin said. "I can understand if you don't want to dance with me again, but we can go and watch a puppet show or something, instead. I've just got to talk to Ar- to the Prince first, but we can do whatever you like after that."
"I thought that maybe…." Eleanor sighed. "You're the Prince's man. You belong to him."
"He doesn't own me," Merlin said, horrified by the thought.
"I don't think you truly understand how Court works yet." Eleanor shook her head, and stepped away from Merlin's side. "But, believe me, he doesn't need to. I like you, Merlin, I really do, but it's not worth it."
***
Arthur was pacing up and down the street, mumbling under his breath, seemingly having an argument with himself. From his dark expression, it appeared he was losing.
"You don't own me," Merlin informed Arthur as he fell into stride with him.
Arthur looked startled for a moment, but regained his composure quickly. "The thought never crossed my mind," he said with a brief grin. "Did you manage to talk to Eleanor?"
"It didn't go very well," Merlin admitted. He thought it best to discuss what Eleanor had said with Gwen before he mentioned anything to Arthur. He had the uncomfortable suspicion that her words didn't mean exactly what he currently understood them to mean.
Arthur's attempt at a sympathetic expression was entirely unconvincing. "I'm sorry to hear that," he said. "You'll know what not to do next time, though."
The thought of there being a next time unsettled Merlin. He thought it would probably be a long time before he tried something like this again; he obviously just wasn't all that good with women, something he'd always suspected, but hadn't really needed to have reinforced. "I guess so," he said.
"You need cheering up, and I know just the thing to do it," Arthur said.
If Arthur suggested anything to do with women, Merlin was going to hit him. It would be more than worth it, even considering the broken jaw and night in the cells he was bound to receive in return.
"Thanks, Arthur, but I think I want to -"
"I noticed that someone's just broached a cask of ale over there," Arthur said, jerking his thumb towards the end of the street. "I believe I still owe you a drink, don't I?"
Merlin grinned. That was definitely the only sensible thing Arthur had said all week.
Continued in: Home From
I also spent ages poring over style guides once again, and I'm fairly sure 'of' shouldn't be capitalised in the title here. It looked stupid in lowercase, though...
Fandom: Merlin
Title: Chemistry Of (1/1)
Pairing: Merlin/Arthur pre-slash
Rating: PG-13
Length: approx. 4150 words
Disclaimer: Not mine. Everything belongs to the BBC.
Summary: Arthur hadn't mentioned Merlin's condition once in the days since they'd returned from slaying the unicorn, and Merlin had been lulled into a false sense of security, believing it forgotten. Unfortunately, Arthur had simply been biding his time.
Author's note: Sequel to Rarer Than, because I'm easily influenced. This is now part two in what will be a four part series.
Oh, and I named Sir Tristan before Saturday's episode. He is not that Sir Tristan.
Arthur beckoned for Merlin to attend him, but placed his hand over the top of his cup before Merlin could refill it.
"What is it, Ar-" Merlin began, but caught himself when Arthur frowned. "What is it, sire?" he amended.
Arthur's frown softened into something that was almost a smile, and then he nodded towards a servant girl who was approaching the table carrying a large platter of roast venison. She looked vaguely familiar, and Merlin thought he might have seen her talking to Gwen once, although he couldn't be certain.
"Well, what do you think?" Arthur asked.
"About what?"
"About the girl, you dolt," Arthur said, rolling his eyes,
The girl seemed to sense that Merlin and Arthur were watching her, and she looked over at them and smiled, her round cheeks dimpling.
Merlin returned the smile, and the girl's dimples grew even more pronounced. "Erm, she seems nice," he said.
"Nice?" Arthur snorted softly. "I wasn't asking for your opinion of her character, Merlin. Do you think she's attractive?"
Merlin cursed inwardly. Arthur hadn't mentioned Merlin's condition once in the days since they'd returned from slaying the unicorn, and Merlin had been lulled into a false sense of security, believing it forgotten. Clearly, Arthur had simply been trying to decide how best to deal with it, however.
"She's not my type," Merlin said, blurting out the first excuse that came to mind which sounded even remotely plausible. To be honest, he didn't think he actually had a type, but he didn't want to encourage Arthur by showing any interest whatsoever.
"Not your type? Really? But she's so…" Arthur paused, his brow furrowing, obviously at a loss as to how to describe the girl. Instead, he swept his hands through the air, tracing curves no real woman could possess whilst still being able to stand upright. "She's pretty," he added. "For a servant, anyway."
"Just not my type," Merlin said through gritted teeth. Thankfully, the girl had turned her head aside and missed seeing Arthur's gesture; Merlin could only hope she was standing far enough away that she also wouldn't have been able to hear what he'd said.
Arthur gave the girl one last lingering look, shook his head slowly as though baffled, and then cast his eye over the rest of the hall. His gaze finally settled on a finely dressed woman sitting several seats to Morgana's right - a woman whom Merlin did recognise - and he inclined his head in her direction.
"Arthur, she's the wife of one of your knights!" Merlin spluttered, shock making him forget propriety yet again.
"Nevertheless, she often… dallies with servants," Arthur said, apparently too distracted to upbraid Merlin for his slip of the tongue.
"But her husband -"
"Has his own interests which keep him from the marital bed most nights." Arthur's face was blank, and his voice was almost level, but Merlin could hear some faint emotion bleeding through. He thought it might be disapproval. "Well?"
"No," Merlin said, firmly.
Even if the lady had been the most beautiful in all Camelot, he still would have had no desire to be dallied with, nor to make a cuckold of Sir Tristan. There was every chance that his apathy - and, indeed, his lady's infidelities - were simply the product of castle gossip, which could be vicious, especially where attractive women and knights currently enjoying the Prince's particular favour were concerned.
"Not your type, either?" Arthur asked.
"No."
"You obviously have very exacting standards, Merlin," Arthur said with a sigh. "It's no wonder you're… the way you are."
He dismissed Merlin with a brusque wave of his hand.
***
"Are you sure Gwen's not interested in you?" Arthur asked. "It's always seemed that way to me."
Arthur kept returning to Gwen whenever other avenues were closed to him. Merlin was glad for the excuse of cleaning Gaius' workbench - a task he was affecting complete absorption in - so he could pretend not to hear the question yet again.
"It also seemed as though her interest was reciprocated," Arthur continued, apparently oblivious to Merlin's determined attempt to ignore him.
Merlin scrubbed the stained wood with unnecessary violence, idly imagining it was Arthur's head. He had hoped that busying himself in Gaius' rooms would have dissuaded Arthur from pestering him, at least for a few hours, but for the past few days Arthur had been acting like his hounds did when they caught a scent: stubborn and relentless.
He appeared unable to spend any time in Merlin's company without bringing up the subject of women, or, more specifically, Merlin's taste in them. Merlin had tried not talking to Arthur at all, save for what little was actually expected of him as a servant, but it hadn't helped.
'Fetch me my boots, Merlin,' would be followed by 'Blonde hair or brown, Merlin?', 'Polish my armour, Merlin,' by 'Tall or short, Merlin?', and when he'd exhausted all other possibilities, "What do you think about Gwen, Merlin?".
Merlin couldn't even remember how he'd answered the questions - he'd simply said whatever popped into his head at the time, and had probably contradicted himself more than once - but he was sick of hearing them, and sorely tempted to tell Arthur that he wasn't interested in women, full stop, and intended to live a life of celibacy, so could Arthur please just shut up about it right now? Instead, he breathed deeply, slowly counted to ten in his head, and scrubbed the workbench even harder.
Merlin heard Arthur get up from his stool, but whatever fledgling hopes might have fluttered deep in his belly died half-formed when Arthur didn't walk towards the door and simply leaned against the bench, his shoulder brushing Merlin's briefly. "I think you'd be very well suited," he said.
Suddenly, Merlin felt physically incapable of holding his tongue for even one second longer, and he'd blurted out, "We're just friends," almost before he realised he was speaking. "Nothing more."
Merlin thought that Gwen had felt they could be more at one point, but it was something he'd only pieced together in retrospect, as those feelings appeared to have fizzled out long before Merlin had even begun to suspect they'd ever existed.
"You could have just told me that, days ago," Arthur said, sounding a little annoyed. "You're impossible, Merlin. How am I supposed to help you if you don't tell me these things?" He held up one finger when Merlin opened his mouth to protest. "And don't tell me you don't need my help when it's plain that you do."
Merlin threw down his cloth and started gathering together Gaius' books, dread settling over him like a pall. Arthur's idea of help - no matter how well-intentioned - was tiring, and Merlin wasn't sure how much more of it he could take.
***
"Please tell Gaius that my sister's recovering well," Eleanor said as she handed Merlin fresh linens for Arthur's bed.
Merlin smiled as he took the sheets, careful not to crumple them as Arthur would only complain about it later. "He'll be glad to hear it," he said.
"We thought she'd never regain the use of her leg, but he's a miracle worker!"
Merlin heard the door to Arthur's chamber open behind him, and then he could feel Arthur watching him. The skin on the back of his neck heated, and the muscles across his shoulders tightened almost painfully. "He certainly is," he said.
"And thank you for all your help, too, Merlin," Eleanor said, touching Merlin's arm briefly. Her fingers lingered a little longer, lightly brushing the inside of Merlin's wrist. "You've been a great comfort to our family through all this."
"It's the least I could do," Merlin mumbled. He shuffled his feet in an attempt to move out from under the weight of Arthur's stare, to no avail.
"Well, I'll see you tomorrow, then." Eleanor lifted her hand slightly, as though she were going to reach out for Merlin again, but dropped it down to her side again as she turned away. "Take care."
Merlin watched her walk down the corridor until she was lost from view in an attempt to delay the inevitable; one which obviously tried Arthur's patience, as Merlin could hear him shifting his weight restlessly, and then a sharp indrawn breath which sounded like a nascent insult.
Merlin turned before Arthur could give voice to it, and began walking towards him. Arthur's lips were drawn into something that looked like a smile from a distance, but that resembled one less and less the closer Merlin got.
Merlin found his steps slowing involuntarily; his feet obviously having more sense than the rest of him. The next hour or so of his life was going to be deeply uncomfortable, as so many of his hours that week had been, as Arthur grilled him about Eleanor. Trying to ignore him hadn't helped; in fact, it only seemed to encourage him. He seemed to relish the challenge.
Merlin decided that it was probably time to change tack, as his studied indifference had been such a resounding failure to date. Perhaps showing a little interest would help. If nothing else, Arthur wouldn't be able to keep up the same litany of questions that had been his only attempts at conversation lately.
Arthur looked down the corridor in the direction Eleanor had taken, and raised one eyebrow. "She seems -"
"Yes, she's very nice," Merlin said, pushing past Arthur to enter the bedchamber. "Lovely, in fact."
Arthur hesitated in the doorway for a moment before following Merlin. "I thought you said you didn't like brown hair," he said, his tone questioning.
Merlin knew he should have been keeping better track of his answers.
"I like that shade of brown," Merlin said as he carefully placed the clean linens on a chair and then began stripping the bedclothes from Arthur's bed. "That exact shade. The colour of Eleanor's hair."
Arthur leaned against the bed frame, his arms crossed over his chest. "And isn't she a little short…?"
"She's just the right height," Merlin insisted.
Arthur watched Merlin work in silence for a time, his expression thoughtful. Merlin could only hope that he'd managed to jolt those thoughts out of the deep rut they'd occupied recently.
"There's a fair in town next week. You should go. And ask Eleanor if she wants to accompany you," Arthur said eventually, his voice halting as though he were unsure of the wisdom of his own words.
Merlin froze, the pillow slipping from his suddenly lax fingers. He should have anticipated that once he showed any preference towards a particular woman, Arthur would start insisting he court her.
After his initial surprise had worn off, and he'd taken a moment to think about the suggestion more calmly, however, it did start to seem like a sensible one. Eleanor was nice, and Merlin thought he would enjoy spending the day with her. Fairs were always much more fun with company, anyway.
More than likely, nothing romantic would come of it, but at least Merlin would be making an effort in that direction, which would doubtless mollify Arthur to some extent.
"Yes," he said, picking up the pillow again. "Yes, I think I will."
***
Merlin had always loved fairs.
When he was a child, they'd always felt like a tantalising glimpse of the possibilities that lay beyond the stultifying confines of his village, where everything seemed to be painted in dull shades of grey and mud brown, and the horizon he could see from his front door defined very edge of the world. Those fairs had been only been held at a neighbouring village, however, and now appeared staid and lifeless affairs compared to the fair in Camelot.
He and Eleanor had toured the stalls first, buoyed along by an exuberant press of townsfolk eager to part with their money. Merlin had bought something gooey, and no doubt unhealthy, that Gaius probably wouldn't approve of from one of the stalls, and he and Eleanor shared it as they chatted easily about her family, Merlin's work, and life in the castle.
When they'd drained those topics of conversation dry, they stopped to watch a troupe of acrobats and jugglers. They were entertaining enough, but their performance was nowhere near as polished as those Merlin had seen at the castle.
"There's dancing in the town square," Eleanor said, just as Merlin's attention was beginning to wander.
Merlin chuckled, and fully intended to tell Eleanor that he'd rather spend yet another afternoon in the stocks than dancing until he noticed how hopeful she looked, her eyes bright and her lips parted slightly as though caught on the cusp of a broad smile.
"Oh. Would you… Would you care to dance, Eleanor?" Merlin asked, praying that he'd misread her expression somehow, and the thought of dancing in public actually appalled her fully as much as it did him.
Eleanor's answering smile was dazzling, however, and she'd grabbed hold of his arm and started dragging him along behind her before he could gather his wits sufficiently to mount a protest.
"I'm not a very good dancer," he said, as he stumbled along in her wake, half hoping that he'd lose his footing, fall over, and break his leg.
"That's all right. No one will expect you to be an expert. It isn't like the dancing they do in the castle, you know. This is just for fun."
Eleanor's voice was light and breathy with barely-controlled laughter, and Merlin suspected that she didn't really appreciate the gravity of their situation. "No, I don't think you understand," he said. "I'm not a good dancer, at all. In fact, it's probably safe to say I'm bad. Dreadful, even."
Eleanor simply giggled in response, as though Merlin had just told her a joke. If she thought he was simply being modest about his abilities, she would be sorely disappointed.
***
Dancing always made Merlin feel as though he had too many joints. Or too many limbs. Or perhaps both.
He'd also come to understand that he apparently lacked a functioning sense of rhythm. It didn't help that the music he was attempting to dance to was almost completely drowned beneath the sounds of booted feet striking cobblestones, excited chatter, and laughter.
Merlin gloomily believed that at least a portion of that laughter was directed towards him, no matter what Eleanor might say to the contrary. He squeezed Eleanor's hand a little tighter, and tried again.
This time, he managed five steps before losing track of where his feet were meant to be - which nevertheless beat his previous record by quite a large margin - and crashing into the couple behind him.
He apologised to them, and then to Eleanor. Again.
"It's all right," Eleanor said, stiffly. Her smile had become rather forced-looking, and her face was flushed with what Merlin suspected might be annoyance. Considering the amount of times he'd stood on her toes, or accidentally pulled her hair, however, it could just as easily be due to pain.
"Why don't we try an easier dance? I could even lead, if you like," she suggested.
Merlin supposed it would probably be perceived as some sort of slur on his manhood if he allowed Eleanor to lead, but he didn't care. He couldn't possibly look more like a fool than he already did. "Please," he said.
Eleanor nodded once, and then shifted her grip on Merlin's hand, her other hand dropping to his waist. "This one's really simple," she said, her face relaxing slightly. "Just follow me."
The dance was so simple that Merlin had to do little more than walk with Eleanor, putting in an extra, short step on every fourth beat. After a couple of false starts - Merlin's feet insisted on skipping twice instead of once at first, and he found himself almost overtaking Eleanor - they finally managed to make a full circuit of the square, to the accompaniment of some rather facetious-sounding cheers and applause from the small crowd of onlookers, and several of the other dancers.
Merlin was too proud of his accomplishment to feel embarrassed, and he bowed as though the praise had been genuine. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Eleanor was following his lead now, and had curtseyed. When he straightened up to share a smile with Eleanor, he spotted a figure at the very edge of the crowd that caught his attention.
The figure was dressed in plain, drab clothes, and was wearing a hat pulled down low over their ears which cast their entire face in shadows. Nevertheless, there was something very familiar about the shape of their body and the way they were standing. Merlin groaned.
"I've got to go, Eleanor," he said, already backing away from her. "I don't think I'll be long. Just wait here for me."
Eleanor looked slightly taken aback. "Merlin, I -"
The rest of her words were swallowed by the press of bodies as Merlin pushed his way through the crowd. By the time he'd fought free of it, Arthur had moved on, but Merlin caught sight of him slipping down an alleyway between two houses at the far end of the square. Merlin nearly tried to hail him, but choked down the name almost as soon as it rose in his throat when he realised that Arthur's unusual outfit might mean that he didn't want anyone else to recognise him.
The alleyway was deserted, but Merlin managed to catch up with Arthur in the almost-deserted street at the end of it. Arthur was leaning against a nearby wall, his eyes fixed on the street's only other current resident: a small, over-excited dog, which was running around in circles, yapping wildly.
"Arthur, has something happened?" Merlin asked, anxiously. "Do you need my help?"
Arthur didn’t even look up at him. "No, nothing's happened. I was just… I was just patrolling."
"Without your armour? Or a weapon?" Merlin knew Arthur's schedule better than Arthur knew it himself, and he knew Arthur wasn't meant to go on patrol that day. Something was definitely going on.
"Just drop it, Merlin," Arthur said, his voice a little sharp. "Go back and dance with Eleanor."
If Arthur had meant to get rid of Merlin, then he was going about it in entirely the wrong way. Merlin didn't like the idea of Arthur wandering around the town unescorted and unarmed, and he liked the idea of more dancing even less. He leaned against the wall next to Arthur; it was hardly a decision at all.
Arthur glanced at Merlin, frowned, and then tipped his head back, closing his eyes. Merlin mirrored his posture, the strange sense of ease he often experienced in Arthur's company - when they weren't fighting, at least - wrapping itself around him. The sense of rightness, which he tended to think of as destiny unfurling, of time spooling ahead of him, following the correct track. He simply existed for a time, listening to Arthur's steady breathing and feeling his magic ebb and flow inside him, a pulse that seemed as natural and reassuring as his own heartbeat. It was all very peaceful, apart from the occasional intrusive, and annoying, bark from the dog.
"What you were doing could hardly be called dancing, anyway," Arthur said suddenly, scattering Merlin's thoughts to the four winds, which was something Merlin was equally used to experiencing in his company. "I don't know how you expect to impress her doing… whatever it was you were doing. It looked as if you were having some sort of seizure."
Merlin opened his eyes a slit, and scowled at Arthur. "Some of us haven't the advantage of years of private dancing lessons. I was doing the best I can."
"That really is all very tragic, but I think even you can do better than that," Arthur said, and then he grabbed hold of Merlin's hand.
"What are you doing, Arthur?" Merlin asked, nervously. Physical contact rarely ended well between them, and more often than not left Merlin nursing weapon-shaped bruises for weeks afterwards.
"I haven't got enough time to teach you to dance well," Arthur said, pulling Merlin away from the wall. "I don't think a lifetime would be enough time for that. I can show you a few steps, though, before you rejoin Eleanor. You're my servant, Merlin. Every time you make an ass of yourself in public, it reflects badly on me."
Arthur's hand was much bigger than Eleanor's, and didn't fit Merlin's quite so well. His palm was also slightly sweaty, and Merlin had to fight the impulse to pull his own hand away and wipe it down the front of his trousers.
Arthur's other hand fluttered around in the air for a moment, almost touching Merlin's waist in several different spots and then moving away again, before finally coming to rest on Merlin's hip. He began to draw Merlin closer, but then stopped, swallowing loudly.
"Arthur, are you all right?" Merlin asked, a little concerned.
Arthur made a small motion with his head, but Merlin couldn't tell whether he was trying to shake or nod it. His expression was the same one he'd worn in the forest, just before they killed the unicorn, and, unfortunately, Merlin was no closer to being able to decipher its meaning than he had been then.
Arthur's fingers tightened on Merlin's hip, their tips digging against the bone uncomfortably. "Merlin, you -"
"Oh, there you are, Merlin. I got tired of waiting, and -"
Arthur flinched at the sound of Eleanor's voice, and dropped Merlin's hand as though it had burnt him at the same moment as Eleanor gasped. She had turned on her heel before Merlin had chance to call out her name, rushing back down the alleyway towards the square.
"Follow her," Arthur said, his hand slipping from Merlin's hip to push lightly against the small of his back.
Arthur looked pale and a little shocked, and his hand was shaking against Merlin's back. Merlin didn't really want to leave him alone. "Arthur, I -"
"Follow her," Arthur said, firmly. "I'll… I'll wait here for you."
Merlin nodded, and then hurried after Eleanor.
She was standing at the mouth of the alley, her eyes downcast and her hands clenched together in front of her. "Thank you for a lovely day, Merlin," she said quietly as Merlin joined her. "I think I'm going to return to the castle now, though."
"You don't have to leave," Merlin said. "I can understand if you don't want to dance with me again, but we can go and watch a puppet show or something, instead. I've just got to talk to Ar- to the Prince first, but we can do whatever you like after that."
"I thought that maybe…." Eleanor sighed. "You're the Prince's man. You belong to him."
"He doesn't own me," Merlin said, horrified by the thought.
"I don't think you truly understand how Court works yet." Eleanor shook her head, and stepped away from Merlin's side. "But, believe me, he doesn't need to. I like you, Merlin, I really do, but it's not worth it."
***
Arthur was pacing up and down the street, mumbling under his breath, seemingly having an argument with himself. From his dark expression, it appeared he was losing.
"You don't own me," Merlin informed Arthur as he fell into stride with him.
Arthur looked startled for a moment, but regained his composure quickly. "The thought never crossed my mind," he said with a brief grin. "Did you manage to talk to Eleanor?"
"It didn't go very well," Merlin admitted. He thought it best to discuss what Eleanor had said with Gwen before he mentioned anything to Arthur. He had the uncomfortable suspicion that her words didn't mean exactly what he currently understood them to mean.
Arthur's attempt at a sympathetic expression was entirely unconvincing. "I'm sorry to hear that," he said. "You'll know what not to do next time, though."
The thought of there being a next time unsettled Merlin. He thought it would probably be a long time before he tried something like this again; he obviously just wasn't all that good with women, something he'd always suspected, but hadn't really needed to have reinforced. "I guess so," he said.
"You need cheering up, and I know just the thing to do it," Arthur said.
If Arthur suggested anything to do with women, Merlin was going to hit him. It would be more than worth it, even considering the broken jaw and night in the cells he was bound to receive in return.
"Thanks, Arthur, but I think I want to -"
"I noticed that someone's just broached a cask of ale over there," Arthur said, jerking his thumb towards the end of the street. "I believe I still owe you a drink, don't I?"
Merlin grinned. That was definitely the only sensible thing Arthur had said all week.
Continued in: Home From