Dewiniaeth - Part Two
Part One
He gets away with it for about two months, much to his surprise. In a similar way to his magic, he walks around with the perpetual feeling that someone will notice, but they don't. Gwen shrugs and tells him it's because it happened right before harvest; one more face at court goes ignored in the rush of tasks which need doing, as does the lack of one.
By the time everything's calmed down a bit, and Merlin no longer walks round with scratches on his arms from helping pick fruits, or smelling of the ungents and elixirs Gaius has him mixing, everyone's used to Mary, Merlin's cousin come to take his place at Camelot.
Merlin relaxes and tries to be normal, or as normal as he ever is. He helps Gaius deliver medicines and runs errands, does the thousand and one tasks Arthur manages to find for him (along with attempting to ignore the remarks Arthur sometimes murmurs about his 'cousin' in a tone of voice Merlin can't quite place), and attempts to put into practice some of the things Morgana and Gwen teach him about flirting.
He feels less foolish each time he tries something, because apparently the girls are right about this sort of thing. Gareth gets even more attentive, and each time they part after exchanging breathless kisses Merlin can't help thinking he might manage to get himself out of this without help, and foil Nimueh, which will always be a good thing.
Of course, a plan that works this well can't last without something going wrong.
And it does.
Arthur finds out, or rather works it out, as summer comes to an end. Merlin and Gwen had discussed this eventuality already, so he's mostly prepared. Arthur isn't all that stupid, and because the summer is almost over he's back at the castle for longer between hunts, which means Merlin has had to be extra careful about not letting too much of himself slip when being 'Mary'.
That said, it really isn't his fault that Arthur does work it out.
It's the dress.
Although near autumn, the days are still hot without much of a breeze, so the ladies in Camelot have taken to wearing loose, billowing shirts of cooler cotton underneath their dresses, instead of the fitted sleeves that usually fasten on. The upside is they're cooler, which pretty much everyone is grateful for. The downside is, they aren't fastened at the wrists.
Arthur and he are both in the Prince's chambers after a busy day being roped into helping with any and all tasks that still need doing before autumn hits-being royalty hadn't exempted Arthur from being made to help with preserving the fruit harvests, Merlin had been pleased to see-and Merlin lifts his arm to take down a torch from the wall.
The sleeve slips down to his elbow, and Arthur looks up at the annoyed noise Merlin makes. With a speed he usually reserves for tournaments, sparring and impromptu battles with possibly magical creatures, Arthur is by his side and gripping his wrist tight enough to bruise. Merlin freezes. He knows what Arthur has seen.
It's a scar, and a fairly distinctive one at that. There's no way he can dismiss it as a childhood injury, 'cousins' playing at blood brothers, because Arthur was there when he got the blasted thing.
Arthur is very still. His grip lessens slightly, and he raises his other hand to trace the curved edges of the mark. His eyes close as Merlin tries not to do anything at all, and he sighs deeply. "Merlin?"
"Oh, hell." That about sums it up, really. For Merlin, at least; it appears Arthur has other ideas, like making him explain.
"All this time?"
"Yes."
"How?"
"How do you think?" Arthur's head snaps up and he glares at Merlin, although it isn't really a glare. Merlin pulls his arm out of Arthur's grip and echoes his earlier sigh. "Nimueh, who else."
"Why?" Merlin shrugs, and finds himself vaguely impressed by the way Arthur's eyes don't automatically drop down to his bodice.
"No idea." He's damned if he's going to share that with Arthur.
"Has Gaius-"
"If Gaius had found a way to change me back, believe me, I'd be back." He can't help sounding a little angry, because even though he's adapted (Gaius' word, not his; it makes him feel like an experiment) pretty well to being a girl, he still wants to be a boy again really badly.
"Oh. Right. So." Arthur looks...well, happy, that's the only word for it. Merlin gives him a wary look, because Arthur happy like this usually means pain for him, but Arthur just looks a bit happier, and seems more relaxed than he has in weeks. Merlin's still trying to work out what the hell is going on when Arthur gives him a narrow-eyed look. "Wait, so what's going on with you and Sir Gareth?"
Oh helli>.
He raises an eyebrow. "You really want to go there?" Arthur splutters.
"But, but, you're Merlin."
"Yes?" Merlin likes pretending to be even more obtuse than Arthur thinks he is, because it sends Arthur all sorts of interesting colours as he tries to work out how serious Merlin is. "And?"
"You're a man."
"Not at the moment." And, oh, here's one secret Merlin can share without potentially being beheaded. "And even if I wasn't, it, um, wouldn'tmakethatmuchdifference."
"What do y- oh. Really?" Merlin nods, biting his lip to stop the bubble of hysterical laughter threatening to burst out of his throat. Arthur worries at his own lip for a moment before shrugging. "Heh. Doesn't matter to me." Merlin rolls his eyes and tries not to look pathetically relieved.
"So long as I still pick up after you?"
"Yeah, that's about it." Arthur grins, unrepentant, and this is what Merlin's been missing for so long, the easy banter, treading the line between teasing and insulting, the best kind they can share. Being 'Mary' is fairly easy - she's the means to getting his true self back, after all - but for all the help Gwen and Morgana have given him they couldn't make not being himself around Arthur any easier.
"Can I ask you something?" Merlin shocks himself a little with the question, but keeps his chin up as Arthur looks at him in surprise.
"Uh, sure?" This is treading the line between Prince and servant far more precariously than they have before, at least without insults, but in this moment neither notices.
"What do I look like?"
"Don't you have a mirror?" Merlin stays silent. He does, but it's tiny. Arthur rubs the back of his neck, looking uncomfortable. "What about Gwen? Or Morgana - do they know?"
"Gwen was with me when it happened, and you know how Morgana is." Oh how they do. Many's the time she's interrupted them setting out to pull some sort of prank, because she somehow knew what they were planning. "I sort of wanted a, um, man's opinion?"
"Merlin, I'm not sure-" Merlin contemplates making Arthur stumble his way through saying nothing at all with a lot of words, then takes pity and waves a hand to dismiss the question, moving away to collect up the remains of Arthur's meal.
"Doesn't matter. I'll ask Gareth later on." He sweeps out of the room in a swirl of skirts, technique courtesy of Gwen but the bounce in his step courtesy of Arthur's bemused and faintly shocked expression.
This is going to be fun.
--
Not long after that particular conversation, barely time enough for Merlin to catch his breath and let go of his worries concerning Arthur's reaction, Uther sends out groups of knights to safely escort folk from the outlying villages into Camelot for the upcoming Harvest Festival. Not surprisingly, several of the groups get attacked.
Merlin gives himself no time to mock himself for being such a thorough girl as he hurries to Gareth's quarters. The knight's fellow warriors have told him, not without some gentle teasing, that he's unharmed, but Merlin wants- no, needs to see Gareth for himself. Herself, Merlin thinks as he knocks on the door, I‘m Mary.
"Miss- Mary?" He looks confused but not annoyed, definitely a good sign.
Merlin hopes.
He ducks his head and swallows, suddenly nervous. "I, ah, thought you might need some bruise balm." So pathetic; Morgana would be ashamed of you! He risks a glance up through his lashes, aware that it's something the girls had tried to teach him. Gareth smiles slowly as he steps back to let Merlin inside, courteous as ever.
"Thank you, it is most welcome." His smile takes away any stiffness from the formal words, as does the gentleness of his hands as he takes the small pot away from Merlin to place it on the table. "May I ask a favour, unless you are needed elsewhere?"
"I'm not, go ahead." Curious, Merlin momentarily forgets his nerves.
"Could you help me out of my armour? I took a heavy blow to my arm, and it hurts to twist." Merlin grins; this, at least, is something he can do without feeling awkward.
"Of course, my good sir," he says, grinning in a way that is probably completely inappropriate as he crosses to Gareth's side and starts working at the various buckles holding his armour on. Merlin knows which arm is hurt when Gareth hisses sharply as Merlin removes his chainmail, lowering his left arm with a wince and a pained expression.
"Wait, don't." Merlin stops the knight with a hand on his chest, concerned. "Can you keep it up for a moment while I get your shirt off?" Merlin feels curiously detached, previous worries fading in the intimate atmosphere of the room. He barely waits for Gareth's nod before making short work of the ties on the plain linen shirt, helping Gareth take it off without jostling his arm. Merlin frowns at the vivid bruise spreading across his upper arm and over his shoulder, fingers ghosting over the edges as Gareth simply stands.
"Hold this." Gareth smiles at Merlin's bossiness, but does as he's told, taking the small pot from Merlin and waiting for further orders. "Turn towards the light? Thanks. This will be cold."
"Do you chill this stuff before putting it on unsuspecting knights?" Gareth complains, and Merlin grins.
"If its cold that means it's working, cooling down the bruise." That's not all it's doing; only last week Merlin had finished applying the spell he'd used on the women's elixir to all of Gaius' creations, making them successful by tenfold, or even simply successful-like the anti-pregnancy charm currently around his neck, hidden by his bodice, which he is resolutely not thinking about.
The pungent but not unpleasant smell of herbs fills the air between them as Merlin rubs it into the bruise with tender fingers, mindful of every noise Gareth makes. For all the knight is stoic and apparently trying to hide any discomfort, Merlin has had a lot of practice at interpreting Arthur's reactions after a skirmish, and the prince is much better at it than Gareth.
"Stop trying to be brave, you great idiot. I can't put this balm where it's most needed if I don't know where that is because you're being the strong, silent, stupid knight!"
"Sorry, ma'am." He sounds contrite enough, but when Merlin next touches his arm Gareth lets out a groan of pain more fitting for a broken leg than a mere bruise. Merlin pokes him in the side and gets a wide smile in return.
Nerves are a thing of the past.
He works in silence for another moment or two, stepping back to make sure he's applied the healing ointment to the entire portion of the bruise on Gareth's arm before starting on his shoulder. Gareth shifts restlessly, unused to being immobile for such a long period of time. Even removing his armour hadn't taken this long.
Merlin steps behind him to cover the back of the bruise last, unable to see Gareth's face when he speaks. "My brothers and I had a message from our mother today." Merlin, unsure of what answer to give, and unguided by anything either Gwen or Morgana had said to him, makes a curious noise.
At least, he hopes it's curious.
Gareth seems to think so, and continues. "She informs us that our father has fallen ill, and asks if one of us will return to help carry the burden of the estates while he recovers. As the youngest, it is not my place, but my brothers," he sounds hesitant, "they do not want such responsibility. They ask that I return."
Oh, thinks Merlin with a sense of disappointment, he‘s leaving. Out loud he says "such a duty cannot be avoided, naturally." Moving to pick up the discarded shirt, Merlin feels a hand catch hold of his wrist and turns with the gentle pull. Gareth's face is sad but hopeful; too much a Knight of Camelot to simply take, but too much of a man not to hope.
Merlin barely thinks beyond letting the voice in his head (which sounds annoyingly like Arthur) ask what the hell he thinks he's doing before he steps forward and kisses Gareth.
It's hard yet sweet, impossibly flavoured by the herbs of the balm. Merlin lets the natural instincts his body seems to have guide his movements and hooks his arms behind Gareth's neck, mindful of putting too much pressure on the bruised shoulder. Gareth's hands feel huge at his hips, holding Merlin close as securely as Merlin is holding him.
"Please, I want-" Merlin gasps, barely aware that he's speaking, nuzzling at the line of Gareth's neck in lieu of kissing him, inhaling the sharp scent of male sweat.
Gareth leans back and asks, in a voice barely above a whisper, "are you sure?" It's not even a true question; Merlin's nodding as soon as he sees Gareth forming the words, trying to tug the knight towards the neatly made bed without having to unwind his arms. Merlin laughs, surprised, as Gareth lifts him by the hips and swings him to stand next to his intended destination.
"Are you always this chivalrous, not even making a lady walk to your bed?" Merlin says breathlessly, but if Gareth answers he doesn't hear it. His attention is wholly focused on Gareth's clever fingers making short work of the ties at either side of his bodice. The two parts fall away without sound, leaving Merlin in a plain shift and his skirt, feeling shockingly comfortable.
Definitely unflappable.
As comfortable as Merlin is with his body, there's a big difference between looking at it when alone and looking at it in the company of another. Merlin fights the urge to cover himself up as his skirt pools on the ground, letting his hair fall forward to hide the blush he knows is staining his cheeks. Gareth's soft touch tilts his chin up.
"Mary? I...you don't...I leave tomorrow, you don't have to..." Merlin raises his eyes, past the evidence of how much Gareth wants this that makes his blush deepen, and looks Gareth in the eyes.
"I want to," he says firmly, and shoves any last lingering doubts away. Gareth smiles and captures his lips again, kissing him with an intensity that leaves Merlin feeling embarrassingly weak at the knees.
He vaguely registers being picked up again, and laid out on the bed, but Gareth is doing something delicious to the side of his neck with his tongue and everything else pales into insignificance. Until, that is, he cups Merlin's breast through the thin material of his shift, thumb brushing over the nipple. Gods, Merlin hadn't known they were mean to be that sensitive.
After that things go a bit fuzzy, although never so much so that Merlin loses track of what's going on. It's just, well, Gareth's hands are so careful and soft as they trace contours and places Merlin's sure have never felt so good to be touched before, that feel amazing through cloth but unbelievable against bare skin.
Gareth's breeches go the same way as his shift at some point, although Merlin makes a not-entirely conscious effort to stamp on any rising awkwardness before it could interfere with whatever Gareth's fingers are doing to his nipple, because he never wanted that to stop.
Except for the knight to use his mouth instead, ohh.
Merlin gasps and arches, feeling a little ridiculous as he does so, but doesn't care. Gareth laughs quietly as he leans on one elbow-the bruised arm, Merlin notes vaguely-and hooks the pregnancy charm on one finger. "Planning ahead?" Luckily for him his voice holds only amusement, otherwise, middle of sex (oh gods) or not, Merlin would have some choice words for him.
"Of course. I am apprenticed to the physician, after all." Merlin intends it to be teasing, but Gareth chooses that moment to smile wickedly and lower his mouth to trace the curves of Merlin's breasts with his tongue and it ends up being rather more breathless.
"That is" says Gareth, kissing the soft skin between the soft mounds, "admirable" kiss "intelligent" kiss "and very useful." Merlin squeezes his eyes shut and gathers fistfuls of the sheets as Gareth kisses the inside of first one thigh and then the other, coming perilously close to where most of Merlin's blood seems to be pooling.
Merlin forces his eyes open as Gareth moves back to hover over him, keeping what he probably deems a safe distance from the timid girl beneath him. Merlin reaches up to curl one arm behind Gareth's neck again, and flicks his eyes downwards.
That, at least, he knows what to do with.
Sliding his other hand down the warm planes of the knight's chest, Merlin wraps it around hot flesh and strokes, once, twice, drinking in the burning look of aroused surprise on Gareth's face. The time for talking has passed; apart from Gareth's rough groan, the only sounds come from the crackling of the fire and their combined breathing, uneven and louder than usual.
Gareth catches Merlin's wrist again, eyes warning when Merlin smiles as dirtily as he knows how and tightens his grip before letting go and instead moves his hand to Gareth's neck, pulling him down. This, Merlin has discovered, is a much safer way to achieve the same feeling of being absolutely alive that he gets whenever he uses his magic for something big.
His breathing quickens as Gareth skims a hand down his side, because he knows what point they've reached, and he knows this bit, has done this bit out of curiosity and wonder, but with someone else it's- oh.
It's different, and better. Gareth can reach deeper with his finger, can put pressure where it makes Merlin's toes curl even as he digs his nails into Gareth's back, reacting to the twinge of pain. Merlin laughs breathlessly as Gareth slows, the already gentle slide of his finger falling to barely anything.
Merlin can't, he can't think, can't summon a rational thought, settles for opening his legs a little wider and moving his hips, hoping to convey without words his need for more. Gareth is either telepathic or he's had practice at reading women, because with the gentlest of pressures one finger becomes two, uncomfortable and slightly more painful but intensely better once Merlin figures out how to relax muscles he wasn't aware he had.
It's some unfathomable time later that Merlin nods jerkily, bracing a leg behind Gareth's thigh to pull him down and in, back arching and breaths coming in shuddering gulps as he's filled, it's the only word. Merlin laughs again, blood and magic and happiness singing through his veins, Gareth careful and slow above him, in him, around him.
A flash of vicious amusement strikes Merlin as he rocks his hips more-or-less in time with Gareth; surely Nimueh hadn't meant him to have this much fun and pleasure out of her enchantment? He laughs, the sound cut off partway through by Gareth's hot mouth covering his, tongues sliding against each other as he intensifies the heat coursing through Merlin.
The peak of the sensations sneaks up on him, probably because he isn't used to it. Gareth drops his head to suck at a nipple, the angle awkward for him but so worth it for Merlin. The heat reaches an intensity that makes Merlin shake, Gareth still solid and measured between his legs as the pleasure spikes.
Merlin tries to gasp in a breath, choking as he tries not to flop like a landed fish. His body doesn't feel like his own, and he'll appreciate that irony when he's done being drowned in sensations and just pure bliss, the like of which he's never felt before.
He can't muster any particular feelings as Gareth slows above him, and he feels a warm rush inside, other than a hazy feeling of pride. Drawn out and satisfied, Merlin pulls Gareth down for a lazy, sloppy kiss that gets interrupted as the knight carefully eases out and stretches out alongside him, hand sliding over Merlin's waist to pull him close.
Warm, relaxed and feeling stupidly smug, Merlin stays awake long enough to register Gareth pulling a blanket over them and pressing a soft kiss to his forehead, but anything after that is lost in a rush of comforting darkness that claims him.
--
Morning finds Merlin helping Gareth into his armour, smiling to himself at the much improved condition of the huge bruise. They part with soft kisses and teasing words, a comforting level of camaraderie between them in place of the awkwardness of regrets that Merlin had, irrationally, feared.
Walking back to Gaius' rooms, and hoping he doesn't look too dishevelled, Merlin lets himself feel smug, just for this short time. When he gets back Gaius will no doubt point out that he's still a woman, which means Nimueh hadn't lied, the annoying woman, and he's doomed to be female for the rest of his life. He is not seducing Arthur.
Gaius has already left for his morning rounds, thankfully, which means Merlin doesn't have to go through an interrogation which will no doubt be highly embarrassing, and is free to go straight down to the courtyard and see Gareth off after he's finished with Arthur's chamber. Gwen finds him as he's finishing, looking knowing.
"Is it that obvious?"
"Yup." She smiles brightly and makes a 'tell me' gesture. Merlin sighs and folds Arthur's cloak with meticulous care. Gwen taps her foot.
"What?"
"How was it?" Merlin raises his eyebrows and just looks at her.
"Oh come on, you didn't expect me to not ask?" She raises her eyebrows back.
"Fine." Merlin raises his eyes to he ceiling and smiles to himself. "It was...amazing." His voice conveys much more than the simple phrase. Gwen rushes over and hugs him tightly.
"Was it different?"
Merlin frowns. "Different to what?"
"Bedding a man when you were one yourself. Not that you're not a man, I mean," she adds hurriedly at Merlin's expression, "more a man in a woman's body, but still you. Still...Merlin. Should I not have asked?"
"I-it's, ah, different, yeah. Less...um, there's more...can we really not talk about it?" Gwen pats his arm and smiles understandingly.
"When you're ready, you can talk to me about it. Not that you'd want to, or anything, and you really don't have to at all, but it's nice to have someone talk to about your first, right?"
Merlin makes a strangled noise and tries to shut Gwen up. She means well, but gods is this embarrassing. "Gareth wasn't the first. Well, while I'm a girl, obviously, but not-not otherwise."
Gwen blinks at him and her eyes go very wide, her mouth almost a perfect O of understanding. She opens and closes it several times before nodding jerkily, raising a hand to hide awkward giggles. Merlin smiles self-consciously, and Gwen abruptly hugs him again. Then she lets go, expression dropping slightly.
"This means she was telling the truth, doesn't it, about Arthur being the one to...well."
"Yeah."
"What're you going to do?"
He shrugs. "No idea. Hope Gaius and I can find something, I guess." Gwen simply looks at him, sympathetic, then pulls him towards the door, all awkwardness forgotten.
"Come on, let's say goodbye to your knight." They make it down in time for Merlin to exchange a chaste kiss before Gareth mounts, awkward with his amour and sore arm. Merlin presses a kiss to his hand, feeling less foolish than he'd expected. He stands at the base of the castle's steps as Gareth rides out with his manservant, raising an arm in acknowledgement of Gareth's parting wave.
Merlin catches sight of Arthur as he turns to go back inside. The prince looks...not angry, particularly, more like he can't decide what to be. He avoids Merlin's gaze and strides across to where his knights are waiting for him, the sound as he draws his sword ringing loud in the confined space between Camelot's walls.
Merlin will never understand Arthur, not if he lives beyond a hundred.
--
It's Gwen that thinks of it, which is mortifying for Merlin because of all the people, it should've been him, or at the very least Gaius, to wonder how Nimueh knew they were going to be in the forest on that particular day.
"Because I don't see her hanging around on the off chance we'd be there," says Gwen, "so how did she know?" She looks at Gaius for an answer, who shrugs.
"Most likely she was scrying you, watching and waiting for an opportunity."
"Probably. What a horrible thought, that someone can watch you wherever you are."
"She wasn't." They both turn to look at Merlin, hands frozen in the middle of preparing pale strips of willow bark. "I would've known, since the last time."
Gwen is silent, frowning. Merlin knows exactly what's going through her head, and it's puzzling him as well.
It's Gaius who comes up with a solution.
"Maybe she was using someone in the castle for information?"
And that innocuous sentence is the reason why Arthur ends up fighting a duel for Merlin's honour.
Funny how things work out, isn't it.
What happens is this. Once they've blinked at each other, and silently wondered why the hell it's taken them almost two months to realise that maybe, just maybe, Nimueh had had help with this, they start to wonder who would be willing to risk death to help a sorceress turn an (apparently) insignificant servant into a girl.
Two days later Gwen rushes into Gaius's workroom, flushed and panting. "Sir Owain!"
Merlin blinks. "Who?"
"Sir Owain." Gwen looks impatient, hands waving. "You know, the one with the horse you keep saying tries to eat you every time you go near it."
"With the seven brothers?"
"Yes!"
Merlin isn't trying to be obtuse this time, although Arthur probably wouldn't be able to see the difference.
"What about him."
"It's HIM!" Her voice reaches a shriek. Merlin winces, then-
"Oh! Helping Nimueh?" Gwen nods vigorously, grabbing Merlin's hand and dragging him out into the corridor. She pulls him along, breathlessly explaining.
"I had to go and put some of his clothes away - his manservant is ill, so we're sharing the duties - and I didn't know where they went, so I was opening all the cupboards and things, looking, and there it was!"
Merlin tries desperately not to trip over his dress, and at the same time not crash into a wall as Gwen turns a corner and doesn't make room for him.
Gwen isn't used to dragging people along with her, it seems.
"There what was?!"
"The bowl-thing, for the, you know, oh, for God's sake-!" Merlin steps back from the locked door he's just been spun into, shaking out his wrist. "Sorry," says Gwen, sounding less manic and more sheepish. "Can you open it? You should really see the bowl-thing."
"I gathered that from the way you hauled me up here," Merlin replies dryly, as he checks the corridor carefully before waving a hand over the lock. It turns with a soft click, the metal flashing gold for a brief second.
Gwen pushes him inside, and this time he really does trip over his skirts. On the other side of the room already, Gwen pulls open a large cupboard and waits for his reaction. "Merlin, what - oh. Oops." She hurries back to help pull him upright, brushing him down automatically. Merlin bats her off and goes to take a look at the scrying tool; the damn dress can wait, there are more important things at stake here.
"Huh."
"Good huh or bad huh?"
"In what way could finding a scrying bowl in the room of one of Uther's knights be a good thing?"
"...point."
Merlin leans down and follows the curling patterns along the edges with his finger, careful not to actually touch it. The stone bowl sits passively on the shelf, feeling faintly malevolent for all it's smallness. This is definitely Nimueh's work; the thread of her power bound to his own reacts to it, drawn to the greater power used in the bowl's creation like mist to water.
Gwen leans in and watches how the water doesn't react when Merlin gently blows over it. "We can't just leave it here."
"I think I might be able to break the enchantment on it, but I'll need to speak to Gaius."
"You can't do it now?"
Merlin shakes his head with a wry smile. "I'm not all that great with my magic yet. Little things, like the door, that's fine, but trying to do anything bigger deliberately doesn't tend to work that well."
"We'll have to come back, then." Gwen shuts the cupboard carefully, checking that they disturbed nothing else before leaving. A safe distance down the corridor to Morgana's rooms, Gwen stops suddenly. "The knights will be given three days off starting tomorrow, for the Harvest festival and feasts."
"I know; I'm going be stuck doing my duties with Arthur in the room again, getting in the way. I'm hoping he'll have one of his sudden passions for extended training sessions."
"Merlin!" He shrugs; it's true, after all, although he is starting to miss Arthur's company. They haven't really seen much of each other since Arthur worked out his manservant is still his manservant, just...not. "I mean, Sir Owain is going to have some time on his hands."
"Oh."
"Exactly." With her hands on her hips, and glaring at him the way she is now, Merlin reckons she could give Arthur a run for his money in intimidation. "We can't leave that thing there any longer, Merlin; it's dangerous."
Merlin chews his lip and pulls Gwen (rather more carefully than she had pulled him) into an alcove out of earshot of anyone happening to walk past. "What do you suggest we do then?"
Their voices lower to whispers, an unavoidable effect of being in an alcove, apparently.
"Would Arthur be able to call him for something?" Merlin grimaces.
"Yes, because that'd go down well. 'Hey, Arthur, could you keep this knight occupied while I destroy, with my magic, an enchanted bowl that Nimueh uses to spy on us all?'"
"Fine, fine." Gwen frowns hard, thinking. Merlin takes a less strenuous route and simply waits for a solution to come to him.
Shockingly, it works.
"Isn't he the one who got into trouble over that maid a while ago?"
"Think so," Gwen says distractedly, "apparently he tried to force himself on her and got called up in front of Uther. Nothing came of it."
"But he's got a reputation for that sort of thing?"
He's got her attention now, if not her understanding. "Yes. Most of the maids here have had to deal with him at one time or another. Why Uther lets him stay I can't understand." She straightens abruptly, or as much as she can in the cramped space. "Merlin, what are you thinking?"
"Maybe Arthur can help after all."
---
Getting a man to proposition you in a lewd and unsavoury manner turns out to be far easier than Merlin had imagined it to be. All he has to do is walk into the armoury while Sir Owain is there, and the knight does the rest. The trickiest part of the entire plan is timing it so that Owain has time to work himself up to insult Merlin's honour just as Arthur arrives, although hopefully he'll go a little further than that.
You can‘t trust magic to act like you want it to, but you can trust men thinks Merlin a shade bitterly.
He's leaning backwards slightly, trying to avoid the smell of sweaty and unwashed knight currently wafting over him from Sir Owain. Not surprisingly he finds it repulsive, and catches himself wishing for the fresher scent of a knight who knows what a bath is, like Gareth, or Arthur - not going there not going there this needs to work don‘t get distracted - as he takes a step back.
Sir Owain smiles, gaptoothed and equally repulsive. "Now then, young missy, what's a nice lass like you doin' down 'ere on yer own?"
Merlin chokes down the sarcastic comment that naturally tries to trip off his tongue. "Delivering this armour for cleaning, sir."
"Sure that's all you're 'ere for?"
Ew. Hurry up, Arthur, or I‘ll kill him myself.
"If you would excuse me, sir, I have duties to complete." Heh. Merlin spares a moment to be impressed at how exactly like a castle maid he sounds like.
"I'm sure you do, pretty lass like you." The smile turns into a leer of almost shocking filthiness. On anyone else it might make Merlin laugh, but all it does is make him wish he'd followed Gwen's advice and brought one of the discrete daggers most of the women carry. "'m sure we could find somethin' more interesting to do, eh?"
"Sir, I don't-" The knight grabs Merlin's wrist, puling him sharply forward. The armour falls to the floor in a resounding crash of metal on stone, and Merlin ends up pressed tightly against a man he desperately wants to throw into the lake. "Sir!"
Gods, he hates being a woman, if this is how he gets treated.
A slight tug in the low hum of energy permanently running through his body tells Merlin that Arthur is close, steps even and measured. The thread of Nimueh's magic has it's uses, beyond the whole wanting to kill Arthur thing; he knows exactly how far away Arthur is, knows that a good shout will reach him.
Knowing that means there's only one thing to do.
Merlin screams.
And struggles, and possibly tries to scratch at Sir Owain's eyes, hoping he'll remember to thank Morgana for teaching him how to do that. The tugging intensifies as Arthur's footsteps speed up, and within moments he appears in the doorway, eyes alert and looking for trouble. Merlin very carefully doesn't look at him. Right now Arthur has to see a woman being touched against her will, something not tolerated in this castle.
If he sees his idiot of a manservant getting into another scrape, everything will be for naught.
Sir Owain, perfectly positioned with his back to the door, twists Merlin's wrist and leans right in, breath as foul as the rest of him. "Bet you 'n' me can 'ave some fun, right? Bet you're used to this, workin' for that prince of ours."
For a fleeting moment Merlin considers thanking Owain for doing such a good job of condemning himself.
Then Arthur's there, wrenching Sir Owain back and away, finally, face angry and fierce. The knight stumbles as he turns, making a noise of outrage as he blindly swings a fist at whoever is interrupting him. Arthur ducks to the side and easily dodges the wild punch, drawing his sword with customary speed. He regains his footing and waits for Sir Owain to do the same, the point of his sword ready and levelled at the knight's throat.
Arthur says nothing, waits for Sir Owain to realise who he is. When the shock of recognition crosses Owain's face, followed immediately by horror, Arthur says, tightly, "You will pay for this insult to the lady's honour."
Simple and effective. Merlin approves.
Sir Owain opens his mouth, most probably to make a claim that the 'lady's' honour is far from pure, or something of the sort, but Arthur stops him with an abrupt gesture. "Your reputation precedes you, Sir Owain; regardless, in this instance I am more inclined to believe her word than yours. Now" he lowers the sword and motions for Owain to walk in front of him, one hand tight on a meaty shoulder to discourage any fleeting ideas of escaping, "we shall take this matter to my father."
A jerk of his head indicates Merlin is to follow them, although even he can work that bit out.
Plan accomplished.
--
Part Three
He gets away with it for about two months, much to his surprise. In a similar way to his magic, he walks around with the perpetual feeling that someone will notice, but they don't. Gwen shrugs and tells him it's because it happened right before harvest; one more face at court goes ignored in the rush of tasks which need doing, as does the lack of one.
By the time everything's calmed down a bit, and Merlin no longer walks round with scratches on his arms from helping pick fruits, or smelling of the ungents and elixirs Gaius has him mixing, everyone's used to Mary, Merlin's cousin come to take his place at Camelot.
Merlin relaxes and tries to be normal, or as normal as he ever is. He helps Gaius deliver medicines and runs errands, does the thousand and one tasks Arthur manages to find for him (along with attempting to ignore the remarks Arthur sometimes murmurs about his 'cousin' in a tone of voice Merlin can't quite place), and attempts to put into practice some of the things Morgana and Gwen teach him about flirting.
He feels less foolish each time he tries something, because apparently the girls are right about this sort of thing. Gareth gets even more attentive, and each time they part after exchanging breathless kisses Merlin can't help thinking he might manage to get himself out of this without help, and foil Nimueh, which will always be a good thing.
Of course, a plan that works this well can't last without something going wrong.
And it does.
Arthur finds out, or rather works it out, as summer comes to an end. Merlin and Gwen had discussed this eventuality already, so he's mostly prepared. Arthur isn't all that stupid, and because the summer is almost over he's back at the castle for longer between hunts, which means Merlin has had to be extra careful about not letting too much of himself slip when being 'Mary'.
That said, it really isn't his fault that Arthur does work it out.
It's the dress.
Although near autumn, the days are still hot without much of a breeze, so the ladies in Camelot have taken to wearing loose, billowing shirts of cooler cotton underneath their dresses, instead of the fitted sleeves that usually fasten on. The upside is they're cooler, which pretty much everyone is grateful for. The downside is, they aren't fastened at the wrists.
Arthur and he are both in the Prince's chambers after a busy day being roped into helping with any and all tasks that still need doing before autumn hits-being royalty hadn't exempted Arthur from being made to help with preserving the fruit harvests, Merlin had been pleased to see-and Merlin lifts his arm to take down a torch from the wall.
The sleeve slips down to his elbow, and Arthur looks up at the annoyed noise Merlin makes. With a speed he usually reserves for tournaments, sparring and impromptu battles with possibly magical creatures, Arthur is by his side and gripping his wrist tight enough to bruise. Merlin freezes. He knows what Arthur has seen.
It's a scar, and a fairly distinctive one at that. There's no way he can dismiss it as a childhood injury, 'cousins' playing at blood brothers, because Arthur was there when he got the blasted thing.
Arthur is very still. His grip lessens slightly, and he raises his other hand to trace the curved edges of the mark. His eyes close as Merlin tries not to do anything at all, and he sighs deeply. "Merlin?"
"Oh, hell." That about sums it up, really. For Merlin, at least; it appears Arthur has other ideas, like making him explain.
"All this time?"
"Yes."
"How?"
"How do you think?" Arthur's head snaps up and he glares at Merlin, although it isn't really a glare. Merlin pulls his arm out of Arthur's grip and echoes his earlier sigh. "Nimueh, who else."
"Why?" Merlin shrugs, and finds himself vaguely impressed by the way Arthur's eyes don't automatically drop down to his bodice.
"No idea." He's damned if he's going to share that with Arthur.
"Has Gaius-"
"If Gaius had found a way to change me back, believe me, I'd be back." He can't help sounding a little angry, because even though he's adapted (Gaius' word, not his; it makes him feel like an experiment) pretty well to being a girl, he still wants to be a boy again really badly.
"Oh. Right. So." Arthur looks...well, happy, that's the only word for it. Merlin gives him a wary look, because Arthur happy like this usually means pain for him, but Arthur just looks a bit happier, and seems more relaxed than he has in weeks. Merlin's still trying to work out what the hell is going on when Arthur gives him a narrow-eyed look. "Wait, so what's going on with you and Sir Gareth?"
Oh helli>.
He raises an eyebrow. "You really want to go there?" Arthur splutters.
"But, but, you're Merlin."
"Yes?" Merlin likes pretending to be even more obtuse than Arthur thinks he is, because it sends Arthur all sorts of interesting colours as he tries to work out how serious Merlin is. "And?"
"You're a man."
"Not at the moment." And, oh, here's one secret Merlin can share without potentially being beheaded. "And even if I wasn't, it, um, wouldn'tmakethatmuchdifference."
"What do y- oh. Really?" Merlin nods, biting his lip to stop the bubble of hysterical laughter threatening to burst out of his throat. Arthur worries at his own lip for a moment before shrugging. "Heh. Doesn't matter to me." Merlin rolls his eyes and tries not to look pathetically relieved.
"So long as I still pick up after you?"
"Yeah, that's about it." Arthur grins, unrepentant, and this is what Merlin's been missing for so long, the easy banter, treading the line between teasing and insulting, the best kind they can share. Being 'Mary' is fairly easy - she's the means to getting his true self back, after all - but for all the help Gwen and Morgana have given him they couldn't make not being himself around Arthur any easier.
"Can I ask you something?" Merlin shocks himself a little with the question, but keeps his chin up as Arthur looks at him in surprise.
"Uh, sure?" This is treading the line between Prince and servant far more precariously than they have before, at least without insults, but in this moment neither notices.
"What do I look like?"
"Don't you have a mirror?" Merlin stays silent. He does, but it's tiny. Arthur rubs the back of his neck, looking uncomfortable. "What about Gwen? Or Morgana - do they know?"
"Gwen was with me when it happened, and you know how Morgana is." Oh how they do. Many's the time she's interrupted them setting out to pull some sort of prank, because she somehow knew what they were planning. "I sort of wanted a, um, man's opinion?"
"Merlin, I'm not sure-" Merlin contemplates making Arthur stumble his way through saying nothing at all with a lot of words, then takes pity and waves a hand to dismiss the question, moving away to collect up the remains of Arthur's meal.
"Doesn't matter. I'll ask Gareth later on." He sweeps out of the room in a swirl of skirts, technique courtesy of Gwen but the bounce in his step courtesy of Arthur's bemused and faintly shocked expression.
This is going to be fun.
--
Not long after that particular conversation, barely time enough for Merlin to catch his breath and let go of his worries concerning Arthur's reaction, Uther sends out groups of knights to safely escort folk from the outlying villages into Camelot for the upcoming Harvest Festival. Not surprisingly, several of the groups get attacked.
Merlin gives himself no time to mock himself for being such a thorough girl as he hurries to Gareth's quarters. The knight's fellow warriors have told him, not without some gentle teasing, that he's unharmed, but Merlin wants- no, needs to see Gareth for himself. Herself, Merlin thinks as he knocks on the door, I‘m Mary.
"Miss- Mary?" He looks confused but not annoyed, definitely a good sign.
Merlin hopes.
He ducks his head and swallows, suddenly nervous. "I, ah, thought you might need some bruise balm." So pathetic; Morgana would be ashamed of you! He risks a glance up through his lashes, aware that it's something the girls had tried to teach him. Gareth smiles slowly as he steps back to let Merlin inside, courteous as ever.
"Thank you, it is most welcome." His smile takes away any stiffness from the formal words, as does the gentleness of his hands as he takes the small pot away from Merlin to place it on the table. "May I ask a favour, unless you are needed elsewhere?"
"I'm not, go ahead." Curious, Merlin momentarily forgets his nerves.
"Could you help me out of my armour? I took a heavy blow to my arm, and it hurts to twist." Merlin grins; this, at least, is something he can do without feeling awkward.
"Of course, my good sir," he says, grinning in a way that is probably completely inappropriate as he crosses to Gareth's side and starts working at the various buckles holding his armour on. Merlin knows which arm is hurt when Gareth hisses sharply as Merlin removes his chainmail, lowering his left arm with a wince and a pained expression.
"Wait, don't." Merlin stops the knight with a hand on his chest, concerned. "Can you keep it up for a moment while I get your shirt off?" Merlin feels curiously detached, previous worries fading in the intimate atmosphere of the room. He barely waits for Gareth's nod before making short work of the ties on the plain linen shirt, helping Gareth take it off without jostling his arm. Merlin frowns at the vivid bruise spreading across his upper arm and over his shoulder, fingers ghosting over the edges as Gareth simply stands.
"Hold this." Gareth smiles at Merlin's bossiness, but does as he's told, taking the small pot from Merlin and waiting for further orders. "Turn towards the light? Thanks. This will be cold."
"Do you chill this stuff before putting it on unsuspecting knights?" Gareth complains, and Merlin grins.
"If its cold that means it's working, cooling down the bruise." That's not all it's doing; only last week Merlin had finished applying the spell he'd used on the women's elixir to all of Gaius' creations, making them successful by tenfold, or even simply successful-like the anti-pregnancy charm currently around his neck, hidden by his bodice, which he is resolutely not thinking about.
The pungent but not unpleasant smell of herbs fills the air between them as Merlin rubs it into the bruise with tender fingers, mindful of every noise Gareth makes. For all the knight is stoic and apparently trying to hide any discomfort, Merlin has had a lot of practice at interpreting Arthur's reactions after a skirmish, and the prince is much better at it than Gareth.
"Stop trying to be brave, you great idiot. I can't put this balm where it's most needed if I don't know where that is because you're being the strong, silent, stupid knight!"
"Sorry, ma'am." He sounds contrite enough, but when Merlin next touches his arm Gareth lets out a groan of pain more fitting for a broken leg than a mere bruise. Merlin pokes him in the side and gets a wide smile in return.
Nerves are a thing of the past.
He works in silence for another moment or two, stepping back to make sure he's applied the healing ointment to the entire portion of the bruise on Gareth's arm before starting on his shoulder. Gareth shifts restlessly, unused to being immobile for such a long period of time. Even removing his armour hadn't taken this long.
Merlin steps behind him to cover the back of the bruise last, unable to see Gareth's face when he speaks. "My brothers and I had a message from our mother today." Merlin, unsure of what answer to give, and unguided by anything either Gwen or Morgana had said to him, makes a curious noise.
At least, he hopes it's curious.
Gareth seems to think so, and continues. "She informs us that our father has fallen ill, and asks if one of us will return to help carry the burden of the estates while he recovers. As the youngest, it is not my place, but my brothers," he sounds hesitant, "they do not want such responsibility. They ask that I return."
Oh, thinks Merlin with a sense of disappointment, he‘s leaving. Out loud he says "such a duty cannot be avoided, naturally." Moving to pick up the discarded shirt, Merlin feels a hand catch hold of his wrist and turns with the gentle pull. Gareth's face is sad but hopeful; too much a Knight of Camelot to simply take, but too much of a man not to hope.
Merlin barely thinks beyond letting the voice in his head (which sounds annoyingly like Arthur) ask what the hell he thinks he's doing before he steps forward and kisses Gareth.
It's hard yet sweet, impossibly flavoured by the herbs of the balm. Merlin lets the natural instincts his body seems to have guide his movements and hooks his arms behind Gareth's neck, mindful of putting too much pressure on the bruised shoulder. Gareth's hands feel huge at his hips, holding Merlin close as securely as Merlin is holding him.
"Please, I want-" Merlin gasps, barely aware that he's speaking, nuzzling at the line of Gareth's neck in lieu of kissing him, inhaling the sharp scent of male sweat.
Gareth leans back and asks, in a voice barely above a whisper, "are you sure?" It's not even a true question; Merlin's nodding as soon as he sees Gareth forming the words, trying to tug the knight towards the neatly made bed without having to unwind his arms. Merlin laughs, surprised, as Gareth lifts him by the hips and swings him to stand next to his intended destination.
"Are you always this chivalrous, not even making a lady walk to your bed?" Merlin says breathlessly, but if Gareth answers he doesn't hear it. His attention is wholly focused on Gareth's clever fingers making short work of the ties at either side of his bodice. The two parts fall away without sound, leaving Merlin in a plain shift and his skirt, feeling shockingly comfortable.
Definitely unflappable.
As comfortable as Merlin is with his body, there's a big difference between looking at it when alone and looking at it in the company of another. Merlin fights the urge to cover himself up as his skirt pools on the ground, letting his hair fall forward to hide the blush he knows is staining his cheeks. Gareth's soft touch tilts his chin up.
"Mary? I...you don't...I leave tomorrow, you don't have to..." Merlin raises his eyes, past the evidence of how much Gareth wants this that makes his blush deepen, and looks Gareth in the eyes.
"I want to," he says firmly, and shoves any last lingering doubts away. Gareth smiles and captures his lips again, kissing him with an intensity that leaves Merlin feeling embarrassingly weak at the knees.
He vaguely registers being picked up again, and laid out on the bed, but Gareth is doing something delicious to the side of his neck with his tongue and everything else pales into insignificance. Until, that is, he cups Merlin's breast through the thin material of his shift, thumb brushing over the nipple. Gods, Merlin hadn't known they were mean to be that sensitive.
After that things go a bit fuzzy, although never so much so that Merlin loses track of what's going on. It's just, well, Gareth's hands are so careful and soft as they trace contours and places Merlin's sure have never felt so good to be touched before, that feel amazing through cloth but unbelievable against bare skin.
Gareth's breeches go the same way as his shift at some point, although Merlin makes a not-entirely conscious effort to stamp on any rising awkwardness before it could interfere with whatever Gareth's fingers are doing to his nipple, because he never wanted that to stop.
Except for the knight to use his mouth instead, ohh.
Merlin gasps and arches, feeling a little ridiculous as he does so, but doesn't care. Gareth laughs quietly as he leans on one elbow-the bruised arm, Merlin notes vaguely-and hooks the pregnancy charm on one finger. "Planning ahead?" Luckily for him his voice holds only amusement, otherwise, middle of sex (oh gods) or not, Merlin would have some choice words for him.
"Of course. I am apprenticed to the physician, after all." Merlin intends it to be teasing, but Gareth chooses that moment to smile wickedly and lower his mouth to trace the curves of Merlin's breasts with his tongue and it ends up being rather more breathless.
"That is" says Gareth, kissing the soft skin between the soft mounds, "admirable" kiss "intelligent" kiss "and very useful." Merlin squeezes his eyes shut and gathers fistfuls of the sheets as Gareth kisses the inside of first one thigh and then the other, coming perilously close to where most of Merlin's blood seems to be pooling.
Merlin forces his eyes open as Gareth moves back to hover over him, keeping what he probably deems a safe distance from the timid girl beneath him. Merlin reaches up to curl one arm behind Gareth's neck again, and flicks his eyes downwards.
That, at least, he knows what to do with.
Sliding his other hand down the warm planes of the knight's chest, Merlin wraps it around hot flesh and strokes, once, twice, drinking in the burning look of aroused surprise on Gareth's face. The time for talking has passed; apart from Gareth's rough groan, the only sounds come from the crackling of the fire and their combined breathing, uneven and louder than usual.
Gareth catches Merlin's wrist again, eyes warning when Merlin smiles as dirtily as he knows how and tightens his grip before letting go and instead moves his hand to Gareth's neck, pulling him down. This, Merlin has discovered, is a much safer way to achieve the same feeling of being absolutely alive that he gets whenever he uses his magic for something big.
His breathing quickens as Gareth skims a hand down his side, because he knows what point they've reached, and he knows this bit, has done this bit out of curiosity and wonder, but with someone else it's- oh.
It's different, and better. Gareth can reach deeper with his finger, can put pressure where it makes Merlin's toes curl even as he digs his nails into Gareth's back, reacting to the twinge of pain. Merlin laughs breathlessly as Gareth slows, the already gentle slide of his finger falling to barely anything.
Merlin can't, he can't think, can't summon a rational thought, settles for opening his legs a little wider and moving his hips, hoping to convey without words his need for more. Gareth is either telepathic or he's had practice at reading women, because with the gentlest of pressures one finger becomes two, uncomfortable and slightly more painful but intensely better once Merlin figures out how to relax muscles he wasn't aware he had.
It's some unfathomable time later that Merlin nods jerkily, bracing a leg behind Gareth's thigh to pull him down and in, back arching and breaths coming in shuddering gulps as he's filled, it's the only word. Merlin laughs again, blood and magic and happiness singing through his veins, Gareth careful and slow above him, in him, around him.
A flash of vicious amusement strikes Merlin as he rocks his hips more-or-less in time with Gareth; surely Nimueh hadn't meant him to have this much fun and pleasure out of her enchantment? He laughs, the sound cut off partway through by Gareth's hot mouth covering his, tongues sliding against each other as he intensifies the heat coursing through Merlin.
The peak of the sensations sneaks up on him, probably because he isn't used to it. Gareth drops his head to suck at a nipple, the angle awkward for him but so worth it for Merlin. The heat reaches an intensity that makes Merlin shake, Gareth still solid and measured between his legs as the pleasure spikes.
Merlin tries to gasp in a breath, choking as he tries not to flop like a landed fish. His body doesn't feel like his own, and he'll appreciate that irony when he's done being drowned in sensations and just pure bliss, the like of which he's never felt before.
He can't muster any particular feelings as Gareth slows above him, and he feels a warm rush inside, other than a hazy feeling of pride. Drawn out and satisfied, Merlin pulls Gareth down for a lazy, sloppy kiss that gets interrupted as the knight carefully eases out and stretches out alongside him, hand sliding over Merlin's waist to pull him close.
Warm, relaxed and feeling stupidly smug, Merlin stays awake long enough to register Gareth pulling a blanket over them and pressing a soft kiss to his forehead, but anything after that is lost in a rush of comforting darkness that claims him.
--
Morning finds Merlin helping Gareth into his armour, smiling to himself at the much improved condition of the huge bruise. They part with soft kisses and teasing words, a comforting level of camaraderie between them in place of the awkwardness of regrets that Merlin had, irrationally, feared.
Walking back to Gaius' rooms, and hoping he doesn't look too dishevelled, Merlin lets himself feel smug, just for this short time. When he gets back Gaius will no doubt point out that he's still a woman, which means Nimueh hadn't lied, the annoying woman, and he's doomed to be female for the rest of his life. He is not seducing Arthur.
Gaius has already left for his morning rounds, thankfully, which means Merlin doesn't have to go through an interrogation which will no doubt be highly embarrassing, and is free to go straight down to the courtyard and see Gareth off after he's finished with Arthur's chamber. Gwen finds him as he's finishing, looking knowing.
"Is it that obvious?"
"Yup." She smiles brightly and makes a 'tell me' gesture. Merlin sighs and folds Arthur's cloak with meticulous care. Gwen taps her foot.
"What?"
"How was it?" Merlin raises his eyebrows and just looks at her.
"Oh come on, you didn't expect me to not ask?" She raises her eyebrows back.
"Fine." Merlin raises his eyes to he ceiling and smiles to himself. "It was...amazing." His voice conveys much more than the simple phrase. Gwen rushes over and hugs him tightly.
"Was it different?"
Merlin frowns. "Different to what?"
"Bedding a man when you were one yourself. Not that you're not a man, I mean," she adds hurriedly at Merlin's expression, "more a man in a woman's body, but still you. Still...Merlin. Should I not have asked?"
"I-it's, ah, different, yeah. Less...um, there's more...can we really not talk about it?" Gwen pats his arm and smiles understandingly.
"When you're ready, you can talk to me about it. Not that you'd want to, or anything, and you really don't have to at all, but it's nice to have someone talk to about your first, right?"
Merlin makes a strangled noise and tries to shut Gwen up. She means well, but gods is this embarrassing. "Gareth wasn't the first. Well, while I'm a girl, obviously, but not-not otherwise."
Gwen blinks at him and her eyes go very wide, her mouth almost a perfect O of understanding. She opens and closes it several times before nodding jerkily, raising a hand to hide awkward giggles. Merlin smiles self-consciously, and Gwen abruptly hugs him again. Then she lets go, expression dropping slightly.
"This means she was telling the truth, doesn't it, about Arthur being the one to...well."
"Yeah."
"What're you going to do?"
He shrugs. "No idea. Hope Gaius and I can find something, I guess." Gwen simply looks at him, sympathetic, then pulls him towards the door, all awkwardness forgotten.
"Come on, let's say goodbye to your knight." They make it down in time for Merlin to exchange a chaste kiss before Gareth mounts, awkward with his amour and sore arm. Merlin presses a kiss to his hand, feeling less foolish than he'd expected. He stands at the base of the castle's steps as Gareth rides out with his manservant, raising an arm in acknowledgement of Gareth's parting wave.
Merlin catches sight of Arthur as he turns to go back inside. The prince looks...not angry, particularly, more like he can't decide what to be. He avoids Merlin's gaze and strides across to where his knights are waiting for him, the sound as he draws his sword ringing loud in the confined space between Camelot's walls.
Merlin will never understand Arthur, not if he lives beyond a hundred.
--
It's Gwen that thinks of it, which is mortifying for Merlin because of all the people, it should've been him, or at the very least Gaius, to wonder how Nimueh knew they were going to be in the forest on that particular day.
"Because I don't see her hanging around on the off chance we'd be there," says Gwen, "so how did she know?" She looks at Gaius for an answer, who shrugs.
"Most likely she was scrying you, watching and waiting for an opportunity."
"Probably. What a horrible thought, that someone can watch you wherever you are."
"She wasn't." They both turn to look at Merlin, hands frozen in the middle of preparing pale strips of willow bark. "I would've known, since the last time."
Gwen is silent, frowning. Merlin knows exactly what's going through her head, and it's puzzling him as well.
It's Gaius who comes up with a solution.
"Maybe she was using someone in the castle for information?"
And that innocuous sentence is the reason why Arthur ends up fighting a duel for Merlin's honour.
Funny how things work out, isn't it.
What happens is this. Once they've blinked at each other, and silently wondered why the hell it's taken them almost two months to realise that maybe, just maybe, Nimueh had had help with this, they start to wonder who would be willing to risk death to help a sorceress turn an (apparently) insignificant servant into a girl.
Two days later Gwen rushes into Gaius's workroom, flushed and panting. "Sir Owain!"
Merlin blinks. "Who?"
"Sir Owain." Gwen looks impatient, hands waving. "You know, the one with the horse you keep saying tries to eat you every time you go near it."
"With the seven brothers?"
"Yes!"
Merlin isn't trying to be obtuse this time, although Arthur probably wouldn't be able to see the difference.
"What about him."
"It's HIM!" Her voice reaches a shriek. Merlin winces, then-
"Oh! Helping Nimueh?" Gwen nods vigorously, grabbing Merlin's hand and dragging him out into the corridor. She pulls him along, breathlessly explaining.
"I had to go and put some of his clothes away - his manservant is ill, so we're sharing the duties - and I didn't know where they went, so I was opening all the cupboards and things, looking, and there it was!"
Merlin tries desperately not to trip over his dress, and at the same time not crash into a wall as Gwen turns a corner and doesn't make room for him.
Gwen isn't used to dragging people along with her, it seems.
"There what was?!"
"The bowl-thing, for the, you know, oh, for God's sake-!" Merlin steps back from the locked door he's just been spun into, shaking out his wrist. "Sorry," says Gwen, sounding less manic and more sheepish. "Can you open it? You should really see the bowl-thing."
"I gathered that from the way you hauled me up here," Merlin replies dryly, as he checks the corridor carefully before waving a hand over the lock. It turns with a soft click, the metal flashing gold for a brief second.
Gwen pushes him inside, and this time he really does trip over his skirts. On the other side of the room already, Gwen pulls open a large cupboard and waits for his reaction. "Merlin, what - oh. Oops." She hurries back to help pull him upright, brushing him down automatically. Merlin bats her off and goes to take a look at the scrying tool; the damn dress can wait, there are more important things at stake here.
"Huh."
"Good huh or bad huh?"
"In what way could finding a scrying bowl in the room of one of Uther's knights be a good thing?"
"...point."
Merlin leans down and follows the curling patterns along the edges with his finger, careful not to actually touch it. The stone bowl sits passively on the shelf, feeling faintly malevolent for all it's smallness. This is definitely Nimueh's work; the thread of her power bound to his own reacts to it, drawn to the greater power used in the bowl's creation like mist to water.
Gwen leans in and watches how the water doesn't react when Merlin gently blows over it. "We can't just leave it here."
"I think I might be able to break the enchantment on it, but I'll need to speak to Gaius."
"You can't do it now?"
Merlin shakes his head with a wry smile. "I'm not all that great with my magic yet. Little things, like the door, that's fine, but trying to do anything bigger deliberately doesn't tend to work that well."
"We'll have to come back, then." Gwen shuts the cupboard carefully, checking that they disturbed nothing else before leaving. A safe distance down the corridor to Morgana's rooms, Gwen stops suddenly. "The knights will be given three days off starting tomorrow, for the Harvest festival and feasts."
"I know; I'm going be stuck doing my duties with Arthur in the room again, getting in the way. I'm hoping he'll have one of his sudden passions for extended training sessions."
"Merlin!" He shrugs; it's true, after all, although he is starting to miss Arthur's company. They haven't really seen much of each other since Arthur worked out his manservant is still his manservant, just...not. "I mean, Sir Owain is going to have some time on his hands."
"Oh."
"Exactly." With her hands on her hips, and glaring at him the way she is now, Merlin reckons she could give Arthur a run for his money in intimidation. "We can't leave that thing there any longer, Merlin; it's dangerous."
Merlin chews his lip and pulls Gwen (rather more carefully than she had pulled him) into an alcove out of earshot of anyone happening to walk past. "What do you suggest we do then?"
Their voices lower to whispers, an unavoidable effect of being in an alcove, apparently.
"Would Arthur be able to call him for something?" Merlin grimaces.
"Yes, because that'd go down well. 'Hey, Arthur, could you keep this knight occupied while I destroy, with my magic, an enchanted bowl that Nimueh uses to spy on us all?'"
"Fine, fine." Gwen frowns hard, thinking. Merlin takes a less strenuous route and simply waits for a solution to come to him.
Shockingly, it works.
"Isn't he the one who got into trouble over that maid a while ago?"
"Think so," Gwen says distractedly, "apparently he tried to force himself on her and got called up in front of Uther. Nothing came of it."
"But he's got a reputation for that sort of thing?"
He's got her attention now, if not her understanding. "Yes. Most of the maids here have had to deal with him at one time or another. Why Uther lets him stay I can't understand." She straightens abruptly, or as much as she can in the cramped space. "Merlin, what are you thinking?"
"Maybe Arthur can help after all."
---
Getting a man to proposition you in a lewd and unsavoury manner turns out to be far easier than Merlin had imagined it to be. All he has to do is walk into the armoury while Sir Owain is there, and the knight does the rest. The trickiest part of the entire plan is timing it so that Owain has time to work himself up to insult Merlin's honour just as Arthur arrives, although hopefully he'll go a little further than that.
You can‘t trust magic to act like you want it to, but you can trust men thinks Merlin a shade bitterly.
He's leaning backwards slightly, trying to avoid the smell of sweaty and unwashed knight currently wafting over him from Sir Owain. Not surprisingly he finds it repulsive, and catches himself wishing for the fresher scent of a knight who knows what a bath is, like Gareth, or Arthur - not going there not going there this needs to work don‘t get distracted - as he takes a step back.
Sir Owain smiles, gaptoothed and equally repulsive. "Now then, young missy, what's a nice lass like you doin' down 'ere on yer own?"
Merlin chokes down the sarcastic comment that naturally tries to trip off his tongue. "Delivering this armour for cleaning, sir."
"Sure that's all you're 'ere for?"
Ew. Hurry up, Arthur, or I‘ll kill him myself.
"If you would excuse me, sir, I have duties to complete." Heh. Merlin spares a moment to be impressed at how exactly like a castle maid he sounds like.
"I'm sure you do, pretty lass like you." The smile turns into a leer of almost shocking filthiness. On anyone else it might make Merlin laugh, but all it does is make him wish he'd followed Gwen's advice and brought one of the discrete daggers most of the women carry. "'m sure we could find somethin' more interesting to do, eh?"
"Sir, I don't-" The knight grabs Merlin's wrist, puling him sharply forward. The armour falls to the floor in a resounding crash of metal on stone, and Merlin ends up pressed tightly against a man he desperately wants to throw into the lake. "Sir!"
Gods, he hates being a woman, if this is how he gets treated.
A slight tug in the low hum of energy permanently running through his body tells Merlin that Arthur is close, steps even and measured. The thread of Nimueh's magic has it's uses, beyond the whole wanting to kill Arthur thing; he knows exactly how far away Arthur is, knows that a good shout will reach him.
Knowing that means there's only one thing to do.
Merlin screams.
And struggles, and possibly tries to scratch at Sir Owain's eyes, hoping he'll remember to thank Morgana for teaching him how to do that. The tugging intensifies as Arthur's footsteps speed up, and within moments he appears in the doorway, eyes alert and looking for trouble. Merlin very carefully doesn't look at him. Right now Arthur has to see a woman being touched against her will, something not tolerated in this castle.
If he sees his idiot of a manservant getting into another scrape, everything will be for naught.
Sir Owain, perfectly positioned with his back to the door, twists Merlin's wrist and leans right in, breath as foul as the rest of him. "Bet you 'n' me can 'ave some fun, right? Bet you're used to this, workin' for that prince of ours."
For a fleeting moment Merlin considers thanking Owain for doing such a good job of condemning himself.
Then Arthur's there, wrenching Sir Owain back and away, finally, face angry and fierce. The knight stumbles as he turns, making a noise of outrage as he blindly swings a fist at whoever is interrupting him. Arthur ducks to the side and easily dodges the wild punch, drawing his sword with customary speed. He regains his footing and waits for Sir Owain to do the same, the point of his sword ready and levelled at the knight's throat.
Arthur says nothing, waits for Sir Owain to realise who he is. When the shock of recognition crosses Owain's face, followed immediately by horror, Arthur says, tightly, "You will pay for this insult to the lady's honour."
Simple and effective. Merlin approves.
Sir Owain opens his mouth, most probably to make a claim that the 'lady's' honour is far from pure, or something of the sort, but Arthur stops him with an abrupt gesture. "Your reputation precedes you, Sir Owain; regardless, in this instance I am more inclined to believe her word than yours. Now" he lowers the sword and motions for Owain to walk in front of him, one hand tight on a meaty shoulder to discourage any fleeting ideas of escaping, "we shall take this matter to my father."
A jerk of his head indicates Merlin is to follow them, although even he can work that bit out.
Plan accomplished.
--
Part Three