Merlin Fic: Improvement
I DEFEATED MY WRITER'S BLOCK. HUZZAH. \o/
In celebration, I have decided to start writing fic again (after I finished my short story for my creative writing class, of course, which I'm kind of weirdly in love with) and this popped out.
Nothing much to say about this, except WHY HELLO, OT3, I WILL PROBABLY WRITE MORE FOR YOU SOON. ♥
Title: Improvement
Rating: PG
Characters/Pairing: Merlin, Arthur, Gawain.
Warnings: None, except for my shameless use of the correct spelling of Gawain's name.
Summary: After almost two years of being consistently the best swordsman in Camelot, Arthur is noticeably improving. Merlin wants to know why. (pre-Season 3 Finale)
- - -
“You’re getting better, you know,” Merlin said with a smile, pausing in his polishing to glance over at Arthur, who was practicing on his own in the training field.
Arthur froze in his patterns, sword extended. “I beg your pardon?”
Now it was Merlin’s turn to freeze. And look guilty. “I, er. I said you’re getting better. With the sword. Lately.”
Arthur swung the sword down to his side and turned to face his manservant, one pale eyebrow raised. “Do you mean to say that I was not good before?”
“No!” Merlin squawked. “No, no, of course not. I just mean that you’ve gotten even better. Smoother and… and… more creative. Or something. I mean, you were always good -”
“Merlin.”
“- probably the best in Camelot, actually -”
“Merlin.”
“- definitely very talented -”
“Merlin!”
“What?”
“Do shut up.”
“Right.” Merlin went sheepishly back to his polishing. Arthur shook his head before going back into his formations, but he paused after a moment and glanced at his manservant.
“Thanks for noticing,” he said. Merlin looked up, slightly startled.
“You’re welcome,” he replied, and started polishing with a bit more enthusiasm.
- - -
It was only after he noticed Arthur’s improvement that Merlin began to wonder how that improvement had come about. He had known Arthur for almost two years without noticing any dramatic change in his combat abilities, so why now?
He was puzzling over the issue while getting Arthur’s bed ready one evening when the prince strode into the room in a temper.
“I’m leaving tomorrow morning on a training mission,” he declared, stripping his shirt off and throwing it at Merlin’s face. “I’m sick of court.”
Merlin made a face and bundled the shirt up, tossing it into the basket of laundry on the table.
“Very well, sire,” he said. “What time are we leaving?”
Arthur peeked out from around his changing screen, frowning. “Uh, no. Sorry, but I’m going alone.”
“Alone, alone?” Merlin asked, looking dubious.
“Yes, Merlin,” Arthur said, rolling his eyes and ducking back behind the screen. “I can take care of myself, you know.”
“That’s debatable,” Merlin muttered.
“What did you say?”
“I asked if this is advisable,” Merlin said.
“Of course it is,” Arthur said, emerging from behind the screen in his sleeping pants and tossing his other breaches at Merlin, who barely managed to catch them before they hit his face. “I have done this before.”
“Oh really? When?”
“About a fortnight ago,” Arthur said. “And about a month or so before that.”
“Wha - where was I?” Merlin demanded, baffled.
“Uh… sick once, and I ditched you the other time.”
Merlin sputtered a little, and Arthur sighed, lying back into his pillows.
“Good night, Merlin. I will see you in a couple of days.”
“Yeah, we’ll see about that,” said Merlin under his breath as he left the room.
“What did you say?” Arthur called from the bed.
“I said I almost stepped on a cat!” Merlin answered, and slammed the door behind him.
- - -
Arthur left early the next morning, but not quite early enough to keep Merlin from riding out a few minutes after him. He kept a fair distance behind, not trusting himself to be sneaky on a horse, but he fully intended to discover where Arthur went on his secret “training missions.”
They rode for a good two hours until they reached a small town Merlin did not recognize. He hung back in the trees and watched as Arthur rode right up to what looked like the local tavern, dismounted, and headed inside.
“Idiot,” Merlin grumbled. “Nothing good ever happens when you go into taverns.”
He waited, but there came no ruckus from inside the tavern, and when Arthur came out he had a man with him and they were both laughing. At first Merlin could not tell who the other man was, but then he threw an arm around Arthur’s shoulders and the pair of them turned towards a nearby field and Merlin saw the man’s face clear as a bell.
It was Gawain.
Quite intrigued, Merlin rode around the village a bit until he found an empty horse post, then dismounted and hurried to follow Arthur and Gawain into the field.
They had their swords out by the time he got there and he had to duck into some spruce trees to avoid being seen as they began to circle each other. If he listened hard (and used a little magic), he could just make out their conversation.
“- I’d be home in two days,” Arthur was saying, spinning his sword in one hand. He never took his eye off of his companion, and appeared much more tense than the casual, swaggering Gawain, who laughed a little and tossed his sword from hand to hand.
“And how did you get Merlin not to come?”
“I just told him I was going on my own. And I left early.”
“Right. Because that’ll stop him.”
Arthur grunted, clearly in agreement. “Look, he does listen to me sometimes. Maybe this is one of those times.”
“I doubt it,” Gawain said. “You told him no specifics about this trip, and you went on your own.” He shrugged. “That’s not going to make him very confident in your return.”
“Yeah, well, maybe he should trust me.”
“Maybe.” Gawain raised his arms in a leonine stretch, sword twirling in his fingers. “You about ready?”
Arthur grinned. “Do your worst.”
They lunged at each other and the clang of blades echoed through the field. Merlin watched the fight nervously, not quite sure who he expected (or wanted) to emerge victorious. The swords flashed in the morning sunlight, and then suddenly Arthur was on the ground. Merlin almost - almost - ran from his hiding place, but then Gawain lowered his blade and stepped over, holding a hand out to help the prince rise.
“See that?” Gawain said, heaving Arthur to his feet. “You have to be able to predict when I’m faking a parry. If we had really been fighting, you would have lost an arm. Try it again.”
They faced each other once more, Arthur’s face grimly determined, and began to fight. It went well for both of them for almost three minutes, but Merlin looked away briefly (a beetle was crawling up his arm) and by the time he looked back they were frozen in a tableau of defeat, Arthur on his knees, both Gawain’s sword and his own pressed to his throat. Merlin did not care how much he trusted Gawain; the sight made his stomach turn and his palms itch with the need to save his prince.
“What did you do wrong?” Gawain asked, without removing the blades.
“I was predictable,” Arthur answered through gritted teeth.
“And?”
“And sloppy.”
Gawain stepped away and offered his hand once more, and Merlin was shocked when Arthur took it.
“Again,” the prince said, taking his sword back, and they began to fight.
The morning continued in this manner, and neither man seemed to tire until it was far past noon. Merlin was relieved when Arthur finally suggested they pause for a repast; he was getting a cramp from crouching in the tree for so long.
“You go on ahead and get us a table at the inn,” Gawain said, patting Arthur’s shoulder. “I’m going to cool down a bit.”
Arthur waved a hand in acquiescence and headed back to the village. Merlin held his breath when the prince passed his hiding place, but he was not spotted.
“You can come out now, Merlin,” Gawain called after Arthur was out of earshot. Merlin froze, eyes wide, but then Gawain looked directly at him and said, “Merlin, I know you’re there. Come out.”
Feeling sillier than he had in a very long time, Merlin clambered out of the tree and trudged over to where Gawain was waiting.
“Greetings,” Gawain grinned when Merlin approached. “How’d you like the show?”
“So this is how Arthur’s been training,” Merlin said, trying (and failing) to sound nonchalant and wishing his cheeks were not quite so flushed.
“Aye,” said Gawain, squinting in the direction of Arthur’s departure. “He contacted me after I was banished and asked if I could help him with his swordsmanship. Claimed he didn’t want to be predictable anymore. And since I can’t come to Camelot…” Gawain shrugged. “He comes to me.”
“Well I must admit, this is better than I had hoped for. Usually when he goes out on his own he almost gets himself killed.”
“And that’s why you followed him.” Merlin’s blush darkened, but Gawain just laughed it off. “Ah, come on, Merlin!” He clapped a hand to Merlin’s shoulder. “It’s a redeeming quality, both in you and Arthur. The fact that he has a friend so determined to keep him safe is enough for me to give him the time of day.”
“So he’ll be staying here with you until his return to Camelot?” Merlin asked, feeling a bit lighter than he had earlier that day.
“Yes. If that’s all right.”
“Are you kidding? That’s fantastic. It means I get a day off,” Merlin said with a grin. Gawain chuckled.
“Glad to hear it. And don’t worry, I’ll keep your prince safe. He will return to Camelot in one piece.” He paused, a mischievous glint in his eye, and added, “Mostly.”
- - -
Merlin quite enjoyed his day off. He took a nap, of all things, and helped Gaius mix some elixirs before reading by candlelight and dozing off at an early hour.
The next day Arthur returned to Camelot, dirtied and exhausted. He handed his armor and sword to Merlin, mumbled something about a bath, and collapsed into his bed already half asleep.
Smiling slightly, Merlin carefully arranged all of the armor in the corner, then - when he was sure Arthur was asleep - removed the prince’s boots and drew some covers over his slumbering form.
Arthur slept in until almost noon the next day, which meant that Merlin got to sleep in, too. And by the time the prince awoke he was bright and cheerful and actually ruffled Merlin’s hair before going out to the training yards and properly trouncing each knight in the castle.
Merlin watched with pride, noting the new improvement and increased confidence, and made a mental note to send him off to Gawain more often.
- - -
THE END. \o/
That's all for now. But I'm determined to start writing more, and that includes the Supernatural/Dresden Files crossover, some more Temeraire fic, and possibly some more Inception since I haven't written any since my big bang.
On a completely different note, SUPER BOWL TOMORROW, WOO HOO. GO PACK GOOOO. \o/
This is my official anthem for the next two days.
"I'm a cheesehead, ya'll niggas CheezWhiz." <-- BEST. LYRIC. EVERRR. LIL WAYNE, I LOVE YOU. ♥
On a completely different different note, I have been watching the Tudors lately and Henry Cavill is SEX. That is all.
In celebration, I have decided to start writing fic again (after I finished my short story for my creative writing class, of course, which I'm kind of weirdly in love with) and this popped out.
Nothing much to say about this, except WHY HELLO, OT3, I WILL PROBABLY WRITE MORE FOR YOU SOON. ♥
Title: Improvement
Rating: PG
Characters/Pairing: Merlin, Arthur, Gawain.
Warnings: None, except for my shameless use of the correct spelling of Gawain's name.
Summary: After almost two years of being consistently the best swordsman in Camelot, Arthur is noticeably improving. Merlin wants to know why. (pre-Season 3 Finale)
- - -
“You’re getting better, you know,” Merlin said with a smile, pausing in his polishing to glance over at Arthur, who was practicing on his own in the training field.
Arthur froze in his patterns, sword extended. “I beg your pardon?”
Now it was Merlin’s turn to freeze. And look guilty. “I, er. I said you’re getting better. With the sword. Lately.”
Arthur swung the sword down to his side and turned to face his manservant, one pale eyebrow raised. “Do you mean to say that I was not good before?”
“No!” Merlin squawked. “No, no, of course not. I just mean that you’ve gotten even better. Smoother and… and… more creative. Or something. I mean, you were always good -”
“Merlin.”
“- probably the best in Camelot, actually -”
“Merlin.”
“- definitely very talented -”
“Merlin!”
“What?”
“Do shut up.”
“Right.” Merlin went sheepishly back to his polishing. Arthur shook his head before going back into his formations, but he paused after a moment and glanced at his manservant.
“Thanks for noticing,” he said. Merlin looked up, slightly startled.
“You’re welcome,” he replied, and started polishing with a bit more enthusiasm.
- - -
It was only after he noticed Arthur’s improvement that Merlin began to wonder how that improvement had come about. He had known Arthur for almost two years without noticing any dramatic change in his combat abilities, so why now?
He was puzzling over the issue while getting Arthur’s bed ready one evening when the prince strode into the room in a temper.
“I’m leaving tomorrow morning on a training mission,” he declared, stripping his shirt off and throwing it at Merlin’s face. “I’m sick of court.”
Merlin made a face and bundled the shirt up, tossing it into the basket of laundry on the table.
“Very well, sire,” he said. “What time are we leaving?”
Arthur peeked out from around his changing screen, frowning. “Uh, no. Sorry, but I’m going alone.”
“Alone, alone?” Merlin asked, looking dubious.
“Yes, Merlin,” Arthur said, rolling his eyes and ducking back behind the screen. “I can take care of myself, you know.”
“That’s debatable,” Merlin muttered.
“What did you say?”
“I asked if this is advisable,” Merlin said.
“Of course it is,” Arthur said, emerging from behind the screen in his sleeping pants and tossing his other breaches at Merlin, who barely managed to catch them before they hit his face. “I have done this before.”
“Oh really? When?”
“About a fortnight ago,” Arthur said. “And about a month or so before that.”
“Wha - where was I?” Merlin demanded, baffled.
“Uh… sick once, and I ditched you the other time.”
Merlin sputtered a little, and Arthur sighed, lying back into his pillows.
“Good night, Merlin. I will see you in a couple of days.”
“Yeah, we’ll see about that,” said Merlin under his breath as he left the room.
“What did you say?” Arthur called from the bed.
“I said I almost stepped on a cat!” Merlin answered, and slammed the door behind him.
- - -
Arthur left early the next morning, but not quite early enough to keep Merlin from riding out a few minutes after him. He kept a fair distance behind, not trusting himself to be sneaky on a horse, but he fully intended to discover where Arthur went on his secret “training missions.”
They rode for a good two hours until they reached a small town Merlin did not recognize. He hung back in the trees and watched as Arthur rode right up to what looked like the local tavern, dismounted, and headed inside.
“Idiot,” Merlin grumbled. “Nothing good ever happens when you go into taverns.”
He waited, but there came no ruckus from inside the tavern, and when Arthur came out he had a man with him and they were both laughing. At first Merlin could not tell who the other man was, but then he threw an arm around Arthur’s shoulders and the pair of them turned towards a nearby field and Merlin saw the man’s face clear as a bell.
It was Gawain.
Quite intrigued, Merlin rode around the village a bit until he found an empty horse post, then dismounted and hurried to follow Arthur and Gawain into the field.
They had their swords out by the time he got there and he had to duck into some spruce trees to avoid being seen as they began to circle each other. If he listened hard (and used a little magic), he could just make out their conversation.
“- I’d be home in two days,” Arthur was saying, spinning his sword in one hand. He never took his eye off of his companion, and appeared much more tense than the casual, swaggering Gawain, who laughed a little and tossed his sword from hand to hand.
“And how did you get Merlin not to come?”
“I just told him I was going on my own. And I left early.”
“Right. Because that’ll stop him.”
Arthur grunted, clearly in agreement. “Look, he does listen to me sometimes. Maybe this is one of those times.”
“I doubt it,” Gawain said. “You told him no specifics about this trip, and you went on your own.” He shrugged. “That’s not going to make him very confident in your return.”
“Yeah, well, maybe he should trust me.”
“Maybe.” Gawain raised his arms in a leonine stretch, sword twirling in his fingers. “You about ready?”
Arthur grinned. “Do your worst.”
They lunged at each other and the clang of blades echoed through the field. Merlin watched the fight nervously, not quite sure who he expected (or wanted) to emerge victorious. The swords flashed in the morning sunlight, and then suddenly Arthur was on the ground. Merlin almost - almost - ran from his hiding place, but then Gawain lowered his blade and stepped over, holding a hand out to help the prince rise.
“See that?” Gawain said, heaving Arthur to his feet. “You have to be able to predict when I’m faking a parry. If we had really been fighting, you would have lost an arm. Try it again.”
They faced each other once more, Arthur’s face grimly determined, and began to fight. It went well for both of them for almost three minutes, but Merlin looked away briefly (a beetle was crawling up his arm) and by the time he looked back they were frozen in a tableau of defeat, Arthur on his knees, both Gawain’s sword and his own pressed to his throat. Merlin did not care how much he trusted Gawain; the sight made his stomach turn and his palms itch with the need to save his prince.
“What did you do wrong?” Gawain asked, without removing the blades.
“I was predictable,” Arthur answered through gritted teeth.
“And?”
“And sloppy.”
Gawain stepped away and offered his hand once more, and Merlin was shocked when Arthur took it.
“Again,” the prince said, taking his sword back, and they began to fight.
The morning continued in this manner, and neither man seemed to tire until it was far past noon. Merlin was relieved when Arthur finally suggested they pause for a repast; he was getting a cramp from crouching in the tree for so long.
“You go on ahead and get us a table at the inn,” Gawain said, patting Arthur’s shoulder. “I’m going to cool down a bit.”
Arthur waved a hand in acquiescence and headed back to the village. Merlin held his breath when the prince passed his hiding place, but he was not spotted.
“You can come out now, Merlin,” Gawain called after Arthur was out of earshot. Merlin froze, eyes wide, but then Gawain looked directly at him and said, “Merlin, I know you’re there. Come out.”
Feeling sillier than he had in a very long time, Merlin clambered out of the tree and trudged over to where Gawain was waiting.
“Greetings,” Gawain grinned when Merlin approached. “How’d you like the show?”
“So this is how Arthur’s been training,” Merlin said, trying (and failing) to sound nonchalant and wishing his cheeks were not quite so flushed.
“Aye,” said Gawain, squinting in the direction of Arthur’s departure. “He contacted me after I was banished and asked if I could help him with his swordsmanship. Claimed he didn’t want to be predictable anymore. And since I can’t come to Camelot…” Gawain shrugged. “He comes to me.”
“Well I must admit, this is better than I had hoped for. Usually when he goes out on his own he almost gets himself killed.”
“And that’s why you followed him.” Merlin’s blush darkened, but Gawain just laughed it off. “Ah, come on, Merlin!” He clapped a hand to Merlin’s shoulder. “It’s a redeeming quality, both in you and Arthur. The fact that he has a friend so determined to keep him safe is enough for me to give him the time of day.”
“So he’ll be staying here with you until his return to Camelot?” Merlin asked, feeling a bit lighter than he had earlier that day.
“Yes. If that’s all right.”
“Are you kidding? That’s fantastic. It means I get a day off,” Merlin said with a grin. Gawain chuckled.
“Glad to hear it. And don’t worry, I’ll keep your prince safe. He will return to Camelot in one piece.” He paused, a mischievous glint in his eye, and added, “Mostly.”
- - -
Merlin quite enjoyed his day off. He took a nap, of all things, and helped Gaius mix some elixirs before reading by candlelight and dozing off at an early hour.
The next day Arthur returned to Camelot, dirtied and exhausted. He handed his armor and sword to Merlin, mumbled something about a bath, and collapsed into his bed already half asleep.
Smiling slightly, Merlin carefully arranged all of the armor in the corner, then - when he was sure Arthur was asleep - removed the prince’s boots and drew some covers over his slumbering form.
Arthur slept in until almost noon the next day, which meant that Merlin got to sleep in, too. And by the time the prince awoke he was bright and cheerful and actually ruffled Merlin’s hair before going out to the training yards and properly trouncing each knight in the castle.
Merlin watched with pride, noting the new improvement and increased confidence, and made a mental note to send him off to Gawain more often.
- - -
THE END. \o/
That's all for now. But I'm determined to start writing more, and that includes the Supernatural/Dresden Files crossover, some more Temeraire fic, and possibly some more Inception since I haven't written any since my big bang.
On a completely different note, SUPER BOWL TOMORROW, WOO HOO. GO PACK GOOOO. \o/
This is my official anthem for the next two days.
"I'm a cheesehead, ya'll niggas CheezWhiz." <-- BEST. LYRIC. EVERRR. LIL WAYNE, I LOVE YOU. ♥
On a completely different different note, I have been watching the Tudors lately and Henry Cavill is SEX. That is all.
