[fic] The Ivy Crown, 8c/9

[dayari]

In the late afternoon, Merlin watched the long, graceful arcs of folded steel reflect the sunlight from his resting place under a large oak, his fingers idly sifting through the long grass.

The familiar clang of swords had lured him down to Grænn's well-stocked armory earlier, and he'd stepped out into the slowly lengthening shadows to the training grounds. He hadn't been all that surprised to see Gwaine and Leon beat each other with borrowed swords and matching expressions of glee, spurred on by the encouraging cheers of the others. The knights had spent such a long time doing nothing but trudging through an enchanted forest, and they all seemed glad of the chance to blow off some steam and get back into the swing of training.

Feeling slightly tired, Merlin had quietly made his way over to the huge, weather-beaten hulk of an oak tree that stood just off to the side, and gratefully sat down to lean against its sun-warmed trunk. It had been an entire day since he'd last had to beat back the forest's incessant unearthing pull on his mind, but Merlin still felt oddly sore, in a way he couldn't have explained to anyone even if he'd been asked. Now, though, the treeline didn't loom threateningly close to his peripheral vision-it was just there, looking for all the world like ordinary trees.

In this strange, magic-free bubble that seemed to exist around the house, it was easy for him to slowly replenish the drained reserves of his energy, to just let himself rest for a while in the welcoming shade, the oak bowing its branches over him like a protective canopy. He was well aware of the fact that the primal, unearthly magic was just out of reach-but he still felt safe, tucked away from the rest of the world, the forest standing guard at the edges of Grænn's property like a battalion of ancient, battle-hardened soldiers.

Merlin watched through half-lidded eyes as Leon and Gwaine finished their duel, and Elyan stepped up to take Gwaine's place, Gwaine swaggering over to Arthur. His breathing was fast but controlled as he brushed back his sweat-slicked hair so Merlin could see his predatory grin. True to form, Arthur didn't waste any time in stepping up to the challenge, experimentally rotating his wrist to get a better feel of his borrowed sword. They had left their daggers and knives in the armory, and Merlin smiled absently at the thought that Arthur might ask him to polish them later.

The memory of the last time he'd been allowed to do that was hazy around the edges, washed out like an old, weathered canvas. He still remembered the roughness of Arthur's voice-"Get them clean"-and the uncertainty in his eyes that not even his clenched jaw had been able to hide. And he recalled the surge of emotion that had welled up in him, unasked for but as uncontrollable as the tide, at the fact that Arthur let him have this gift once more, the privilege of being allowed to handle his weapons again.

Unbidden, his mind latched on to what had happened earlier today, and Merlin felt his cheeks heat up a little at the thought that he'd obviously been allowed to handle more than just his prince's daggers. Even the memory of Arthur's kiss-bruised lips on his was enough to send a small shock of heat down his spine, and Merlin closed his eyes to the sounds of cheering and the clanging of metal on metal, allowing himself to remember.

"We should go back," Arthur had said, breathlessly, looking even dizzier than Merlin felt when he gazed down at him. His eyes had been wide and dazed and as blue as shards of the sky, golden hair tangling with the grass where Merlin's fingers hadn't entwined in the soft strands. Something heavy and primal pulsed through Merlin's veins with each quickened thud of his heart, a tingle that stirred up a slow, tightening heat in his groin.

It had taken all of his self-control not to climb fully on top of Arthur and let his hands travel down to the laces of his breeches. But there'd been a certain measure of caution darkening Arthur's gaze, too, and so Merlin had torn his gaze away and shifted to let him sit up. The prince was right, after all-anyone could have walked past and seen them, one of the knights or Grænn's servants or, heaven forbid, Grænn himself.

They'd straightened their rumpled clothes and smoothed down their hair in silence, heavy with promised meaning. Arthur had excused himself to go look for the knights, and Merlin had carried his basket back up to the mansion, all the while trying to gather his flitting, unfocused thoughts and forget the burn of frustrated longing at the base of his spine. He'd thought of finding a clothesline to hang up their laundry, but then he'd ran into two of Grænn's servants. He'd fled to his and Arthur's room, and just deposited the basket of wet clothes there with the vague intention of coming back to hang it up later when the hallways were clear of creepy servants.

Letting out a long sigh, Merlin opened his eyes again, squinting a little to let them adjust to the sunlight. Elyan and Lancelot were both trying to sneak past Arthur's defenses now, until Gwaine darted forward to catch a blow that had been meant for the prince with his shield, pivoting on his heel to stand beside Arthur and even out the fight. Even from this distance, Merlin saw Gwaine's cocky grin and the glare Arthur gave him, and he looked beyond them just in time to see Leon and Percival conceal identical smiles.

A shadow detached itself from the treeline, advancing towards the mansion through a scattered copse of beech trees, and it took Merlin a moment to recognize Ragnelle. Her skirts trailed behind her, slightly torn and grass-stained in places. She was carrying a basket filled with shiny fruit, her fingers stained with dark sap, and Merlin guessed that she'd been picking berries in the woods.

Merlin sat up a bit straighter, the tree's rough bark snagging on his shirt as he shifted his weight; he hadn't seen Ragnelle since Grænn had introduced her to them as his wife after breakfast. Not for the first time, Merlin resolved to talk to her at some point before they left, if only just to remind her that far away from Grænn's mansion, she still had a brother who was worried about her-although he knew instinctively that it wouldn't take much reminding. She'd just stood in the shadows behind Grænn, but she had still seemed tense and wary in the dining hall, like she was fervently wishing herself to be far, far away.

Ragnelle didn't stop when she hurried past the knights, but Merlin saw her glance at them despite her demurely lowered eyes. An unreadable expression flickered across her pale face, too quick to decipher, but Merlin thought she looked cautious for a moment, almost scared. Then she dipped her head in greeting, quickening her steps as if to avoid getting roped into a conversation.

Suddenly, though, a large hand lightly caught her elbow, and it took Merlin a dumbfounded moment to realize that Percival had crossed the training grounds to stand next to her. His sudden appearance startled her into looking up, her small figure dwarfed by Percival's bulk; he had his back to Merlin, and they were too far away for him to hear what the knight said to her. But it was fairly clear that Percival had offered to carry the basket for her when he gently tugged it out of her grasp and walked ahead towards the mansion's back door.

It took Ragnelle only a moment to get over her surprise and follow, the astonishment on her features melting into confused discomfort, like she couldn't quite believe that a knight of Camelot had just shown her chivalry. She hitched up her skirts, hurrying to catch up with Percival's longer strides, and Merlin saw her gaze rest on his back before she lowered it to the ground again, her eyes filling for the briefest moment with inexplicable regret.

Merlin was still staring after them when Percival cordially held the door open for her and disappeared into the shady hallway as well, the door falling shut behind his back. The odd interlude struck him as just as strange as it had been unexpected-Percival wasn't one to interrupt a long awaited sparring session just so he could hold open doors for women.

A glance at the knights revealed that they had finished their fight for the moment, and that they'd witnessed the strange exchange as well. Arthur's eyebrows were steadily climbing towards his hairline as he exchanged a probing look with Elyan, like he expected the other knight to explain what he'd just seen. Lancelot just shrugged when Arthur's questioning gaze came to rest on him as well, still seeming too preoccupied with training to care much for the odd scene that had just taken place.

"What the hell was that?" Gwaine said, loudly enough for Merlin to hear. He shook his sweaty hair out of his face with a casual toss of his head, his smile ever-widening, and Merlin half expected him to burst into incredulous laughter at any moment.

Percival was in for a round of exaggerated teasing tonight, if the mirth glittering in Gwaine's eyes was anything to go by. But then again, Gwaine was probably just glad for the chance to think of something else than the ever-present reason why they were here, even if it meant that his fellow knight was going to get ribbed mercilessly.

They stayed outside until the fading light of day made training too dangerous. Merlin stood up at some point, walking a few aimless circles around the oak to ward off the slight chill in the air-sitting around all afternoon had made him long for the fire that was hopefully roaring in the dining hall's fireplace by now. From a distance, he watched the others lower their swords, the breeze carrying bits and pieces of their conversation over to Merlin.

He had just begun to walk towards them when movement caught his eye, a shadow melting out of the twilight much like Ragnelle had earlier-but its movements seemed too fluid, the dark silhouette gliding across the ground without any of the tell-tale bobbing that footsteps would have caused. Merlin froze, a primal, hostile sense of suspicion awakening deep within his mind as his heart suddenly thudded close to his throat. Beneath the cover of the fading light, he raised a hand and shifted forward almost unconsciously-he was still a few paces away, but he knew that his aim would be unerring.

The figure stepped out of a tall birch's shadow, and Merlin sucked in a sharp breath when he recognized one of Grænn's servants, letting his hand fall back to his side. Despite their host's jovial friendliness, Merlin didn't think that Grænn would have taken too kindly to having one of his men incinerated by a jumpy sorcerer. It could just have been his imagination, but for a moment Merlin thought the servant glanced at him, a narrow-eyed coyness briefly flickering across his features before his expression smoothed out again, like he knew exactly what Merlin had been close to doing.

"My lord has returned, and dinner is served," he said to Arthur in a clear, carrying voice, bowing to the prince. "He bids you join him in the dining hall."

"Of course," Arthur replied briskly; to Merlin's surprise, he sounded wary too, like he'd experienced the same flash of distrust that had zapped through Merlin's mind. The servant went still, looking at him with dark, hooded eyes until Arthur gestured at him impatiently. "We'll be right in."

The picture of submission, the servant bowed again, wordlessly, and shifted aside to clear the way for them. Merlin seized the chance to catch up with the others with a couple of long strides, nearly bumping into Elyan in his eagerness to get himself between Arthur and the servant. It wasn't exactly a conscious or even rational decision, and he had no idea what had unsettled him so much about this little scene. All Merlin knew was that a warning bell was still tolling insistently in his head, and he wasn't one to ignore such a strong gut feeling.

The walk back to the mansion barely took a minute; before long, light and warmth spilled out into the yard through the half-open back door. Out of some unnamed inclination, Merlin looked back over his shoulder just before he ducked through the doorway, and was surprised to see the servant still standing where they'd left him in the middle of the training grounds. His tousled hair shone glossy black in the fading daylight, and he seemed to be staring up at them, head cocked in an oddly birdlike gesture of blank curiosity.

Birdlike? Merlin repeated to himself, puzzled, and shrugged the thought away after a moment. He took a deep breath and followed Gwaine into the house, struggling to store his suspiciousness away for later-they would have to sit through a doubtlessly tense dinner with Grænn in a minute, and now was not the time to grow overly distrustful of his servants.

The hallways were well-lit by candles and torches, the warm flickering light leading the way to the dining hall-with all the old shields and colorful draperies adorning the walls, Merlin recognized some of the corridors from this morning. The faint, faraway scent of grilled meat got closer the further they advanced, and they all sped up their steps, noticing only now how hungry they were.

If he hadn't been walking behind Gwaine, Merlin would have missed it completely. They had just rounded a corner-Gwaine was trailing behind the others a bit, his attention sidetracked by a glinting pair of heavy spears mounted to the wall. Then the others were suddenly out of sight; a figure stepped out from beyond the corner, and once again, it took Merlin a moment to recognize Ragnelle.

She had changed out of the well-worn dress and into a more fitting attire. Although the bejeweled dark blue dress would have been more becoming of a princess than of an eccentric lord's wife, it looked strange on her, especially because she wore no jewelry and hadn't made any effort to tame her hair. Still, she looked determined, even if no less uncomfortable than she had this afternoon, as she dipped a quick curtsy, murmuring, "Sir Gwaine," to get his attention.

Gwaine stopped short, blinking in astonishment at her sudden apparition, but this time Ragnelle didn't look down, meeting his gaze with surprising boldness instead. Her eyes were focused completely on Gwaine-Merlin realized that she hadn't even seen him yet, and before he could second-guess his own reaction, he had already stepped back around the corner, ducking behind the stone wall to watch them without being seen. It felt weird to slink back into the shadows like that-Ragnelle didn't strike him as an evil sorceress who was out for all of their blood, but if experience had taught him anything, it was that one could never be too careful.

For a long, tense moment, neither of them said anything, and the earlier burst of courage seemed to desert Ragnelle now. Her gaze skittered across the draperies and the spears in search of something to hold on to, her hands clenching in the rich folds of her dress. Merlin saw that her fingers looked red and raw, like she'd scrubbed them with all her might to remove the berry juice, but there was still a blueish hue to her skin.

"I hope you have enjoyed your stay at my husband's house so far," she said at last, in a somewhat clumsy attempt at small talk. A blotchy, mottled red crawled up her neck and into her cheeks, and Merlin saw her chest heave around two deep breaths as she tried to calm herself and overcome her embarrassment. It was the first time he'd heard her speak, and he thought to himself that her voice was nice, a warm alto instead of the high giggling timbres of the ladies of Camelot's court.

Gwaine just stared at her for a moment, with raised eyebrows as though he was just seconds away from asking, what's that supposed to mean? or, alternatively, are you seriously coming on to me? Have you looked in the mirror? But then some remainders of manners kicked in, and he cleared his throat. "Yes, of course, it's been- wonderful," he replied, flashing her a quick, easy grin that tugged an absent smile onto Merlin's features. He knew that Gwaine had noticed her nervousness, and was doing his best to alleviate it in his own way, although he still looked puzzled.

"Good," Ragnelle mumbled, not looking appeased at all. She was tense from head to toe, her shoulders a rigid line beneath the flowing folds of her dress. It seemed a struggle to hold her head high and lock gazes with Gwaine once more, but she still managed it, swallowing down what seemed to be a mixture of desperation and embarrassment. "I- I have something for you."

She shuffled closer, almost tripping over the hem of her long skirts, and Merlin clenched his hands into fists to keep himself from raising them, the remainders of his distrust flaring up again. She wasn't like the servants, he reminded himself sternly-as far as he could tell, she wasn't even magical, and she was so obviously uncomfortable that he couldn't bear to see her as a threat anymore. Still, there was just something so profoundly odd about this entire situation, a deep sense of danger, of wrongness that clawed at Merlin's instincts.

Gwaine gave her a curious look and leaned towards her, most likely thinking that she'd unclench one of her hands and offer whatever she wanted to give him in an outstretched palm. But then she darted forward, helpless determination in every line of her uneven features, and before Gwaine could jerk back, she had pressed her lips to his in a chaste, clumsy kiss.

Merlin's mouth fell open on its own accord, and he nearly gasped in surprise, although he managed to choke back the sound. It was so unexpected that even Gwaine seemed at a loss for anything to do, and so he just held still save for the way his eyes widened in surprise, until Ragnelle stepped back again.

She'd stood on her tiptoes to reach Gwaine, and she looked even smaller now, hunching her shoulders around her lowered head as though she was expecting a stern rebuke any second. But no matter what Gwaine thought about their host's wife randomly showing up in corridors and kissing him, he didn't look like he was about to snap at her or even let her down gently. He just stared down at her, his hand going to his mouth like he still couldn't believe what she'd done.

"What-," he started, and Ragnelle flinched, startled out of the tense silence by the single word. Her face seemed to glow in the candlelight with the sheer force of her blush, and she seemed unable to look him in the eye again, studying the floor between his boots instead. Before Gwaine could say anything else, Ragnelle had already turned on her heel and hurried back the way she'd come, down a deserted, only dimly lit hallway that Merlin knew for sure did not lead to the dining hall.

Gwaine stared after her for a long moment, and if Merlin hadn't been so taken aback himself, he would have come out of his hiding place just to tease him about the utterly dumbfounded look on his face. As it was, he stayed just out of sight beyond the corner until he heard Gwaine's footsteps pick up again, in a slow, faltering rhythm like he was still not sure what had just happened. Then Merlin caught up with him as quietly as he could, trying to pretend that he'd just been lagging behind. But even if Gwaine noticed his sudden presence, he didn't mention it, and Merlin couldn't exactly blame him.

When they reached the dining hall, the mere sight of the lavish dinner was almost enough to make Merlin forget all about the strange interlude. His mouth watered almost painfully as the scent of roasted meat and fruit, spiced wine and sweet cider hit him like a gust of wind. Candlelight lit the hall, along with a roaring fire that crackled merrily in the fireplace-the last of the daylight seeped in through the small window at the western front of the house.

The furniture was the same, but the room still seemed transformed in comparison to what it had been like in the morning. There was something secretive hidden between the shadowed folds of the curtains, the barest whisper of warmth in the air, in the flickering shadows that danced across the high domed ceiling.

Arthur had already sat down across from Grænn, with Leon to his left and the rest of the knights scattered around the large table. His goblet of wine sat untouched before him, and his eyes skimmed the room like he was looking for something, coming to a rest only when he spotted Merlin in the doorway. The firelight lit up his hair as he straightened up, catching and holding Merlin's gaze with his own as he gestured towards the chair next to his. Taking a deep breath to refocus his thoughts, Merlin found himself smiling suddenly, and crossed the room to Arthur's side.

The taste of the food was every bit as good as the promising odors that had permeated the hallway. His first mouthful of honeyed venison made Merlin's eyes close in bliss, and then he started shoveling food into his mouth in a way that belied every bit of manners that Arthur had ever managed to beat into his country bumpkin head. The food was still so hot that it burned his tongue, but he didn't care, chewing thoroughly around every mouthful of spiced, juicy meat.

Conversation was kept to the barest necessities while they ate, and the others seemed to enjoy the food just as much as Merlin did, if the way they dug in was anything to go by. When he was halfway through his second helping, a corner of his mind that wasn't preoccupied with eating noticed that Ragnelle was nowhere to be seen, and that Percival's gaze kept lingering on the empty chair next to Grænn's like a callused hand catching on fabric. But Merlin didn't want to think about that now, not when every drop of steaming honeyed broth seemed to taste better than the last, and so he just focused on eating for the moment.

Although they were all varying degrees of stuffed, no one turned down at least one slice of berry pie when dessert was brought in. With still-warm dough melting on his tongue, Merlin closed his eyes to blissfully savor the rich, slightly sour flavor of the berries that pierced the sweetness of the dough. At least now he knew why Ragnelle had been picking berries this afternoon. He felt like his stomach might burst any moment, but he still finished off all of his thick slice of pie, not wanting to let any of it go to waste.

Grænn seemed pleased that his guests were enjoying the food so much, his green eyes glittering with amusement when he invited them to relocate at the collection of plush, embroidered armchairs around the fireplace. Arthur stood up and stretched, looking slightly put out when he realized just how much all of them had eaten-he frowned in Grænn's general direction, and Merlin knew that he was thinking that this would be a perfect moment for their host to attack them, sleepy and sated as they were with food and drink. Grænn didn't look at all inclined to do anything of the sort, though. He was bent over the fireplace, stoking the fire back to its full crackling heat.

Gwaine didn't sway when he got up, but the merry flush on his face was enough of a giveaway for Merlin to realize that he'd had quite a lot of wine. Apparently he had used everyone's distraction with the food to get quietly but insistently drunk, not that Merlin blamed him. It was the first time they'd had any decent wine since they had entered the forest, after all.

Merlin leaned back in his chair, watching as Gwaine sauntered over to the bookshelves that lined the far wall, his gaze resting appreciatively on the decorative swords mounted above the fireplace. They framed an ancient-looking battered shield, painted in dark, faded colors. It could just have been a trick of the flickering light, but Merlin found himself curiously unable to make out the coat of arms.

Percival and Lancelot had walked over to the fireplace as well. Sleepy contentment thickened the air, but there was an undercurrent of tension there as well, some expectant thrill in the atmosphere that didn't allow Merlin to quietly doze off like his body demanded him to do. Arthur and Leon seemed to feel it too-they were talking in hushed tones, looking at their host every-so-often, their eyes awake and alert and unclouded by alcohol. What they didn't notice, though, was that Grænn kept sneaking glances at them as well, eyes gone narrow and amused like he was entertaining a private joke.

With an uneasy feeling settling into the pit of his stomach, he watched Grænn's smile widen, and wasn't at all surprised when he set the poker aside and turned around to face them again. "Sir Gwaine," he spoke up, quietly, but some undefinable commanding quality in his voice still hushed all conversation in the room. "Surely you remember the little game we agreed on this morning?"

Interrupted in his contemplation of an ancient tome, Gwaine carefully put the book back on its shelf before he turned around to face their host. To Merlin's surprise, he still looked relaxed and completely at ease, unlike Arthur and Leon, who were looking between Grænn and Gwaine with matching expressions of wariness.

Gwaine took his time walking over to them, probably going for a dramatic effect just as much as he wanted to keep his gait steady. "Oh, I do," he replied lightly, a slow smile spreading across his features. The glint in his eyes made Merlin sit up a bit straighter-he knew that look, and it usually heralded mayhem of some sort.

Grænn didn't seem to notice the abrupt change in the atmosphere. He gestured at the table where the remains of their dinner were still laid out, waiting for one of the strange servants to take them away. "Today I have brought you this dinner," he said, the formal words posing an odd contrast to the easy, jovial smile that was still lighting up his features. "I hunted this deer far into the heart of the forest until my arrow at last found its mark. I hope that you enjoyed tasting its blood."

In an uncharacteristic display of courtly manners, Gwaine bowed in response, and Percival gave him an appreciative look when he didn't so much as stumble with the sudden movement. Merlin's heart sank when he caught sight of the mischievousness still lodged in the corners of Gwaine's smile.

For the first time, Grænn seemed to realize that his guest wasn't honoring his words with quite the proper kind of decorum, but he didn't appear angry-he just looked at Gwaine for a long moment, his gaze calm and calculating. Merlin found himself swallowing hard against the apprehension that tightened his chest, and nearly flinched when Grænn inquired, "May I ask, then, what you have won during the day?"

"Of course, sir," Gwaine answered, still with the same nonchalant ease. But there was something akin to determination in his movements as he stepped around the cluster of chairs and closer to Grænn.

He was still grinning, his eyes bright with wine and wicked cheer, and a second later, Merlin understood why. Stepping right up into their host's personal space, Gwaine crushed his lips to Grænn's in a fierce, insistent kiss.

Merlin felt his jaw drop on its own accord, but he couldn't quite summon the presence of mind to close his mouth again. On the other side of the table, Elyan quietly choked on the last of his wine; Leon just stared at the odd scene in dull surprise, like this was exactly the kind of outrageous foolhardiness that he'd expected of Gwaine.

Hazily, Merlin thought that Ragnelle hadn't kissed Gwaine quite like that. She hadn't moved her hands to cradle his face with a gentle but insistent hold, and she certainly hadn't plunged her tongue into his mouth as if to chase away the taste of wine there. An eternity seemed to pass before Gwaine broke the kiss and stepped back, and it was only then that Merlin realized he'd been staring at them, and felt an uneasy blush crawl up his neck.

"That's what I have received today," Gwaine said with perfect politeness, his voice a little rough, eyes a bit brighter than before, but his movements were steady when he let go of Grænn and stepped back.

From the corner of his eye, Merlin saw Arthur's features draw tight with tension as he half-rose from his armchair. His eyes had hardened into battle-ready steel, and Merlin knew that he expected Grænn to lash out at Gwaine any moment now, either punching him in the face for his insolence or leaping over to the table to grab a discarded knife.

But after a long, stunned moment of silence, Grænn threw his head back and laughed, an infectious, deep sound of honest mirth that startled all of them. Percival stared at their host like he feared the man had lost his mind, and Merlin couldn't blame him. Of all the ways Merlin had thought he might react, this genuine happiness had been the one farthest from his mind.

"Well played, good sir," Grænn exclaimed, his eyes sparkling with barely-contained amusement as he pounded Gwaine on the back as if Gwaine had just passed some sort of extraordinary test. "I see you are a far more worthy contestant than I ever dreamed you would be!"

For a moment, Gwaine's smile turned sly, and Merlin knew that he wanted to say, Dreamed of me, have you? But then rational thought seemed to kick in for the first time tonight-or maybe he'd caught sight of Arthur's unforgiving glare over Grænn's shoulder-because he just nodded in response.

Grænn reached for his and Gwaine's goblets, abandoned on the table, and moved to refill them, claiming that he had never had such an entertaining guest in all the time he'd lived in the forest. Merlin released a long, slow breath, allowing the tension to flow out of his stiff shoulders with the movement. He felt faintly nauseous now that the intense moment was over, and tried not to think of how horribly wrong this could have gone. Grænn could have felt genuinely insulted-he might have thrown them out into the night. Or he could have summoned his scary servants to flay all of them alive for the offense.

Wiping his sweaty hands on his trousers, Merlin found himself suddenly catching Arthur's eye across the room, and saw his own thoughts mirrored in the prince's tight, drawn features. There was a clang as Gwaine and Grænn's goblets clinked and they downed they their wine in far too few gulps. They wore matching jovial smiles when they put their goblets down again, but although the tension had dissipated from the air, Merlin still felt jittery inside.

It would be a long time until he'd forget the long, tense moment of silence when he'd thought Grænn would strike out at Gwaine, and looking at the tense set of Arthur's jaw, Merlin got the feeling that he was thinking the same thing.



The bad side of hangovers, Gwaine thought the next day, was that they didn't care that you only had about two days left to live. They were just there.

He was sitting on the sun-warmed steps that led down to Grænn's backyard, squinting through the afternoon sunlight at where Percival and Arthur were engaging in one hell of a duel, kicking up clouds of dust in the training grounds. He'd sat down because his stomach had given a slow, unsettling lurch at the mere thought of joining the others, and now he was well and truly stuck. If he walked down to the training grounds, the others would expect him to grab a sword and join in, but if he went back inside to the blessedly cool, shadowy guest wing, he'd be in for a round of merciless teasing later.

"Are you sure you're alright?" Merlin asked from beside him, for the fifth time in as many minutes. He'd sat down next to Gwaine half an hour ago, under the pretense of going through their coats to see if anything needed mending.

Each clang of borrowed swords sent a bright fissure of pain through Gwaine's skull, centering in a dull throb around his left eye. Somehow, he suspected that Percival and Arthur were letting their swords meet as often as possible just to annoy him. But he figured he'd had it coming-he'd been unfazed by the stern glare Arthur had been fixing him with for the better part of the day, probably in memory of last night's dinner, and now the prince had resorted to more drastic measures to make an impression on him.

"Yes, Merlin," Gwaine droned, digging the heel of his hand into his left eye socket until he saw tiny stars. He waved the other hand expansively, indicating the gently swaying trees. "All of this... light is going to make my eyes fall out, and my guts feel like they've shriveled up and died, but I'm perfectly fine."

Merlin snorted, a sound of surprised, reluctant mirth. To be fair, he'd sounded like he truly meant every ounce of tentative concern that had colored his tone, like he'd really wanted an honest answer. But Gwaine wasn't one to... unburden his hungover mind, or whatever it was that Merlin was gently trying to coax him into. He was the kind of person that shrugged things off, a laugh in store for pretty much everything that life decided to throw at him, and a vicious headache wasn't going to change that now.

It had been so easy to deflect Merlin's concern at the inn in Cogeltone. For some inexplicable reason, he'd still felt like he would come out on top of everything back then-he'd hardly spared a thought to his compact with the Green Knight, more occupied with sampling the village's breweries and tagging along on their journey. Now, though, the thought of the challenge seemed to lurk behind every corner of his mind, a continuous, inescapable nagging at the back of his head.

"So," Merlin said, mercifully cutting short that train of thought. He sounded awkward but determined, although he pretended to be picking at the seams of what looked like Elyan's threadbare coat. "What do you think the Green Chapel will be like?"

"Merlin," Gwaine groaned tiredly, barely refraining from rolling his eyes. "Your attempts at subtlety are not working. Have I taught you nothing at all?"

"You certainly never taught me to be subtle," Merlin pointed out, the corners of his mouth lifting in a hesitant smile. He still wasn't looking at Gwaine, probably to... give him space, or something of that sort. Gwaine hid a grimace and was rewarded with another stab of pain directly behind his left eye.

"Seriously, though," Merlin said, not letting himself get distracted no matter how much Gwaine wished he would. He glanced over at him and immediately wished he hadn't-Merlin was fixing him with an earnest stare, his blue eyes dark with concern. "How are you holding up?"

Sighing loudly, Gwaine rubbed his hands across his face in an attempt to keep his eyelids from drooping. "I don't-," he started, and raked his fingers through his hair in frustration, wincing when his temples gave a protesting throb. "I'm tired and hungover and- please just go talk to your pretty prince if you want to have deep, soul-searching conversations about impending doom."

Merlin flushed at the mention of Arthur-not much, but enough to be noticeable-and Gwaine felt the not-hungover part of his mind perk up with interest. He might get some good teasing ammunition if he probed further, but right then he didn't really feel like it, because Merlin mostly looked confused, rather than flustered. There was no way to deny the twinge of guilt that went through him at the sight. Gwaine knew he was being a bit too snappish, especially since this was Merlin he was talking to, who was his friend and just wanted to help.

Gwaine let out a slow breath and rubbed at his eyes again, struggling to ignore the incessant pounding ache that had started up in his forehead. "I just keep thinking that this is not how it was supposed to go," he said, a bit startled when his voice came out rough and gravelly. He rested his chin on his folded hands and tried to alleviate the tension in the air with a chuckle, but it sounded mirthless even to his own ears. "I never thought I'd die nobly upholding the chivalric code."

To his credit, Merlin didn't immediately reassure him that he wouldn't die. He just nodded, silently accepting the uncomfortable confession for what it was, pulling at the sleeve of the coat in his lap to check for tears in the fabric. Down in the backyard, Percival and Arthur were taking a break, wiping their sweaty faces with plush white towels that a servant had brought out earlier, and Gwaine couldn't help a sudden, fierce stab of envy. Hungover or not, he should have been down there with them, instead of lounging about and moping about his drastically shortened lifespan. It wasn't like him at all, but that didn't mean he could just switch off the way his stomach clenched at the thought, sending a shock of nausea through him.

"You wouldn't have to die," Merlin said at last, quietly, leaning a bit closer to Gwaine to avoid being overheard by anyone else. He didn't pretend to busy himself with the coat anymore-he was staring right at Gwaine, determination shining in his eyes, but it wasn't quite the inspired, passionate look that Gwaine was so used to seeing from him. "If I could- do something to get you out of this bargain-"

It was a fiercer sort of resolve, Gwaine suddenly realized-more unyielding, hardened by the absolute conviction that there actually was something he could do. He wanted to shake his head and pat Merlin on the back, thank him for how valiantly he was trying to cheer him up. But all of Gwaine's thoughts had stuttered to a stop at the look in Merlin's eyes, and he could only stare at his friend in stunned surprise.

Merlin's throat worked as he swallowed, and he quickly glanced around before he leaned even closer, their shoulders brushing. "Listen," he went on, in a near whisper now, as if he hadn't had Gwaine's full attention before. "I- I wish I could tell you everything, but-"

He took a deep breath to steady himself, uncertainty flickering across his features, quick but harrowing, like a summer storm. Gwaine frowned and opened his mouth, almost reaching out a hand to put it on Merlin's shoulder, ready to tell him that he didn't want to hear anything that Merlin didn't feel ready to tell him, whatever it might be.

"There's something that the Green Knight needs me to do for him," Merlin explained, interrupting Gwaine even before he could speak. The old, faded pain left his gaze as swiftly as it had come, pushed away to the back of Merlin's mind with the kind of ease that came with practice. "I can't tell you what it is, but- I could promise him to do it, under the condition that he releases you from your promise."

His heart suddenly pounding hard in his throat, Gwaine just looked at Merlin for a long minute, letting silence stretch between them. Unbidden, an incredulous hope welled up in him before he could squash it. It would be so laughably easy to say yes-Merlin would understand, and more than that, he already understood, if the concern that still shimmered in his gaze was anything to go by.

Merlin wouldn't judge him. Merlin knew him, and even though Gwaine had been trying his best to hide it, his friend was probably well aware of the fact that it was getting harder and harder for him to keep his thoughts from circling around his promise to the Green Knight. He had to know that the only thing that kept the mounting dread at bay was the tight hold Gwaine had on his thoughts, reinforced by alcohol whenever he could get it. And all of that could end right now, Gwaine realized-he could take Merlin up on his offer, he'd think of a story to tell the others, and nobody else would ever have to know.

Nobody but the Green Knight, Gwaine realized, with a sickening lurch of his stomach. The Green Knight would know if Gwaine let Merlin use whatever advantage he had as a bargaining chip on his behalf, and more than that, he would remember. They might not see each other ever again, but something told Gwaine that the Green Knight would never forget him, just like Gwaine was sure that he'd remember the man's ageless, piercing green eyes until the day he died. And if there was one thing that made Gwaine's skin crawl and his very being recoil in disgust, it was the thought of being remembered as a coward.

Sweat was beading on his brow, chilling his forehead with the slight breeze that ruffled his hair. Merlin hadn't said anything to hurry along Gwaine's decision-he was just waiting, waiting and watching. Sunlight spilled over his impassive face, his skin almost seeming to glow in the gentle afternoon light. There was nothing at all in his expression that might have swayed Gwaine in favor of one option or the other, and for that, Gwaine was grateful.

With a kind of dull surprise that told him that his subconscious mind had known this all along, Gwaine realized that he couldn't-wouldn't-do it. It made no sense to him, the feeling of revulsion that washed over him when he imagined it-Merlin sneaking away from the mansion in the middle of the night, going to the Green Knight to plead for Gwaine's life. He should have seized the opportunity to save himself, hell, he should have welcomed it by now, thanked Merlin wholeheartedly and told him that he owed him big time.

But he couldn't cheat his way out of this situation. He was the wanderer, the outcast, the reckless scoundrel whose only priority was to live life to the fullest and never turn down a goblet of mead, the self-serving jester who would say or do anything to save his hide. But whether he liked it or not, the months in Camelot had forged him into something else as well, something more, and he couldn't run away now. He'd given his word that he would face the Green Knight's challenge. He had promised, and if there was one thing he knew about Sir Gwaine of Camelot, it was that his word was his bond.

Moreover, he couldn't understand anymore why plain old Gwaine had ever thought that promises were made to be broken.

He swallowed hard against the obstruction in his throat, and it took all of his sapped energy to meet Merlin's concerned gaze. "No," he said, hoarsely-and it wasn't much, it was just a word that belied the tumultuous thoughts that were tumbling through his head like scattered leaves.

It was just a word, but to his own surprise, he felt his stomach settle and his heartbeat slow down. The air wasn't quite as thick in his lungs, his blood not as hot and sluggish, and he took a deep breath that felt oddly like his first. He could smell the summery scent of crushed grass and sun-warmed earth, of moss and bark and everything that made up the forest around them. Nothing was safe-hell, he wasn't safe and he knew it. He would still have to face the Green Knight, but Gwaine's chest felt lighter, his head not as stuffed and weary, like that single "no" alone had been enough to strengthen him.

Merlin let out a sigh, deflating visibly as he dropped his gaze back to the coat lying forgotten on his lap. "I thought so," he murmured, a sad kind of conviction in his voice that pulled uncomfortably at something deep within Gwaine's chest. But he seemed to have expected that answer, because he didn't argue.

"Thank you," Gwaine said quietly, before he could stop himself. The words were raw with some unnamed emotion, and although Merlin gave him a slightly puzzled look, Gwaine couldn't take them back. Merlin wasn't throwing all of his passionate conviction at him, wasn't even trying to change his mind about this, and Gwaine found himself so grateful that his throat closed up for a moment.

After a pause, Merlin nodded, a tired smile lifting the corners of his mouth. He bumped Gwaine's shoulder with his own, his warm weight lingering there for just a moment before he pulled back again. Gwaine hadn't explained himself, hadn't even really found the words to thank Merlin for his offer yet in the first place, but Merlin understood him anyway.

There wasn't anything else to be said, and so they subsided into silence again. Merlin took out a thin silver needle and a spool of black thread and began to mend a tear in the collar of Elyan's coat. From the way he kept flinching whenever the needle pricked his fingers, Gwaine could tell that his mind wasn't fully focused on his task. But he saw that Merlin was doing his best to hide the look of bleak sorrow that Gwaine had briefly seen in his eyes, and if Merlin could honor his decision, the least Gwaine could do was to to leave him alone when he clearly didn't want to talk any more.

He averted his gaze to the backyard, narrowing his eyes against the sunlight. The knights were taking a break, and judging from the way Arthur had his back turned to the mansion, Gwaine deduced that he'd been watching them from the corner of his eye until just a moment ago. He found himself smiling absently, wondering what the prince had thought-he couldn't have heard their conversation, but he must have seen their thighs touch on the warm stone of the stairs, heads bent closely together.

Making a mental note to keep an eye on Arthur for any other signs of entertaining jealousy, Gwaine shifted his weight away from Merlin, scooting over just a bit. It wouldn't do to aggravate the prince to the point where he might go back to snapping at Merlin on a daily basis just to spite him. There had been a strange shift in his attitude towards his manservant lately-for a while, Gwaine had been suspicious, ready to chalk it up to natural concern about Merlin's strange... illness, or whatever that had been.

But then he'd begun to suspect that there might be something more to it, and by now he was ready to assume that some of the things he had shouted at Arthur about the other night might have pounded their way through his thick skull. The mental image made his smile grow, and he latched on to it, grateful for the respite from the thoughts of his promise to the Green Knight.

"You know," he remarked, keeping his tone casual to show that he didn't mean to steer their conversation back to the murky waters they had just left behind. Merlin hummed to show that he was listening, his tongue peeking out between his teeth as he worked on Elyan's coat. "All we've been talking about is me," Gwaine stated, wrinkling his nose in mock offense, "but what about you?" He shifted around to sit with his back against the stone balustrade that framed the stairs, squinting into the light to see Merlin more clearly. "You seem to be feeling better than you did yesterday. Or since we entered the forest, really."

Merlin hissed when the needle pricked his thumb, and he quickly stuck his finger into his mouth to suck away the drop of blood. He seemed fully occupied with grimacing at the taste for a moment, and Gwaine waited patiently, settled comfortably against the bricks. Although it had been cast in shadow, he was surprised to find the balustrade just as warm as the steps.

"Yeah," Merlin said, belatedly. He bent over the coat again, but Gwaine didn't miss the flash of apprehension in his eyes, the way his gaze skittered to the side. "I felt... bad before, but now I'm fine."

He flashed a quick smile at him, a smile that seemed to plead with Gwaine not to question him further. His mouth already opened to speak, Gwaine paused as he tried to make sense of what he should do-he hadn't expected Merlin to clam up like this, to get defensive the minute Gwaine brought up the strange ailment he'd been suffering from in the forest. He'd thought it would be a safe topic to talk about, but apparently Merlin didn't think so.

"Well, that's... good," Gwaine replied at last, trying to keep his tone light. Merlin's smile became bland, and he glanced over at the training grounds like he couldn't help himself, like he was hoping for someone to come along and interrupt this conversation. Gwaine frowned, realizing that he didn't like the cornered look on Merlin's face at all, and liked it even less that he had put it there. "I was- worried."

Just like that, Merlin's face fell, and he closed his eyes for a moment. "I'm sorry," he said, his voice as hollow as if he'd already said those exact words too many times to count in his life. His shoulders seemed to droop under an impossible weight, and Gwaine watched in alarm as sadness tightened his friend's features. "I never wanted to make you feel bad."

"Hey, no," Gwaine murmured, pitching his voice low so as not to carry, and gently nudged Merlin with his foot, trying for a reassuring smile when Merlin glanced at him, his eyes dark and tired. "None of that. I'm not trying to make you feel guilty." I'm not Arthur, he didn't add, because even he had to admit that the prince had come a long way. "I'm just glad you're better now."

Merlin nodded, looking contrite now, like he was scolding himself for his own reaction-probably scared that he'd given too much away. Gwaine clamped down hard on the concerned questions that wanted to force themselves out of his mouth, and nudged Merlin again, to show that whatever Merlin had given him, he would never use it against him.

He obviously couldn't probe any further now, and settled for watching as Merlin turned back to the coat with even less concentration than before-his fingers were going to be quite sore by the time he was done with it. There was something Merlin wasn't telling him, Gwaine knew that much at least, but what truly bothered him was that Merlin seemed to want to tell him. He knew that look on his face all too well, the weary darkness in his eyes, the held-back secrets in his trembling frown and clenched jaw. He'd seen it countless times ever since his fallout with Arthur so many months ago, but Gwaine had never thought he'd ever see it directed at himself.

The thought made him uncomfortable, his hand itching to place itself on the slightly sunburned back of Merlin's neck, just to reassure him that as far as Gwaine was concerned, there was nothing that Merlin couldn't tell him, nothing he wouldn't want to hear. But something in the bow of Merlin's spine held him back. He didn't know how he knew, but if there was one thing he was sure about, it was that Merlin was far too used to guarding his secrets close to himself. It wasn't the time to poke and prod at him until he spilled them at Gwaine's feet. The right time was something that Merlin needed to figure out for himself, and if Gwaine could help him with backing off a little, he would do it.

He stood up with a fluid motion that lost all its grace when he stumbled against the balustrade, knocked off balance by a wave of dizziness. Clutching his head at the renewed pounding in his skull, Gwaine forced a smile for Merlin, who was staring up at him with a worried look on his face-he'd had too many hangovers in his day to be defeated by one now. And as far as he was concerned, now was as good a time as any to find a couple of gallons of water to drink and get rid of his headache.

Merlin looked a bit confused by his abrupt departure when Gwaine bid him goodbye, but didn't protest; maybe he needed a breather as well. He just watched him go, and the last thing Gwaine saw before the back door swung shut behind him was Merlin turning back to Elyan's coat.

It was markedly cooler inside, and he let out a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding-only now, Gwaine noticed how much of his discomfort had come from the heat. Blinking to let his eyes adjust to the dim light, he slowly walked down the corridor, the sound of his boots echoing through the empty corridors. Memorizing the way to the dining hall hadn't been an issue last night, since the way had been lit by torches and candles, but now he found it hard to remember where it was.

The house seemed completely deserted. Not even a stray servant was rushing about tending to the draperies or whatever it was they did all day, and Gwaine couldn't even hear faraway sounds of chatter or any other sign of life. He knew that Grænn had gone hunting again, but even with their lord gone for the day, the servants couldn't just have vanished into thin air.

The thought alone was enough to make him step more lightly, trying to make less noise as he advanced further through the hallways, tiny specks of dust dancing in the sunlight that streamed in through the windows. Discomfort crawled down his spine, although he told himself that the house's staff was probably outside lounging around in the sun. There was something off about the silence, an expectant crackle in the still afternoon air that he didn't like at all.

His senses sharpened on their own accord, his awareness of his headache receding to the back of his mind with the slow stir of adrenalin in his gut. But even though he stepped more carefully now, he still ran head-first into Ragnelle when she suddenly strode right into his path from a corridor to his left.

Something hard and unyielding hit Gwaine in the stomach even as he reached out instinctively to steady Ragnelle when she stumbled into him. Then he realized that the thing that he'd bumped into was a basket full of wet laundry, tilting precariously in her grasp before she regained her balance.

"Hello there," Gwaine said, too surprised to even summon a smirk at the memory of their last encounter. Ragnelle, on the other hand, seemed to remember it just fine. She didn't appear surprised to see him at all, but the moment their eyes met, a blotchy flush crawled up her neck, staining her pale cheeks. She dropped her gaze like she'd been burned, and just stood there for a moment, holding the basket in front of herself as though for protection.

A moment passed, and Ragnelle visibly shook herself out of her thoughts to dip a quick, clumsy curtsy at him. Gwaine just nodded in response, trying to look as unthreatening as possible-he even took a step back to give her more space, well aware that being towered over by a knight of Camelot couldn't be the safest of feelings. He wasn't sure if the way she refused to meet his gaze stemmed from uncertainty or embarrassment, but he hated to think it might be fear.

But Ragnelle didn't move, didn't hurry past him although he'd made more than enough room for her to continue on her way even with the basket held in front of herself like a shield. She just stood there, her shoulders tense and hunched as though she wanted to run but couldn't, sinking her teeth into her lower lip to help herself stay still. For a brief moment, Gwaine wanted to tell her to stop that, since her lips were already far too chapped, but the unkind impulse was squashed easily.

Suddenly, he found himself thinking of Percival, and of how dumbfounded he'd been when the other knight had hurried over to help Ragnelle with her basket of berries yesterday. Gwaine hadn't gotten the chance to tease him about that yet, but remembering the stunned look on Ragnelle's face, he wasn't sure if he ever would. The thought stirred at something else in his mind, though, and Gwaine looked down at the basket she was carrying now, wondering why the lady of the house was doing laundry.

"Nice day," he finally remarked, lamely, when he felt that the silence had stretched for far too long.

Ragnelle just shook her head, not buying his attempt at smalltalk. Still, Gwaine saw the minute relief that flickered through her gaze, like she'd expected to be ridiculed within an inch of her life for what she'd done last night. His unexpected politeness seemed to give her some strength, because she straightened up, her head held high although she was still blushing, and said, "You must think me mad."

"Well," Gwaine hedged, not quite having expected such a straightforward statement. He didn't think she was mad, exactly, just up to something that he didn't understand.

Against his will, the memory of the kiss pushed itself to the front of his mind once more, and what struck him as odd about it was that she hadn't seemed to enjoy it. Ragnelle had looked like she was walking to her own funeral when she'd leaned in, and she had kept her chapped lips pressed shut, her eyes closed but not in excitement or pleasure. Even then, Gwaine had thought that she hadn't looked at him because she didn't want to see surprise or even revulsion on his face.

She sighed when he didn't have the heart to deny what she'd said, but didn't look offended. Her movements were slow and deliberate when she bent down, her hair trailing limply over her shoulders as she set the basket down on the floor. Gwaine watched in puzzled silence when she took a step closer, and then another, as though she were trying not to scare off a skittish animal. The thought would have made him laugh in any other situation, but now, the sound just stuck in his throat.

Ragnelle stepped closer still, the sun casting an unfamiliar glow on her thin hair until she stopped right in front of Gwaine, close enough to touch. "Think of me whatever you want," she said, her voice quiet and tightly under control-for the first time, Gwaine could see the bleakness in her small eyes, the clench of her fingers in the folds of her dress. "But please, I must do this."


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