[fic] The Ivy Crown, 8d/9
As close calls went, Merlin was sure that this hadn't been the last one by far, but he was still shaky with nerves an hour later, when he'd finally remembered the still-damp laundry from the previous day.
The basket's weight was heavy but welcome in his arms, something to focus on besides the skittish, half-formed thoughts that flickered through his mind. His conversation with Gwaine had left him feeling confused and off kilter, his skin crawling with guilty discomfort. It wasn't just that his offered help had been declined-in a way, Merlin suspected that a part of him had known all along that Gwaine wouldn't want to be bailed out like that. But if Merlin was completely honest with himself, what had left him imbalanced was how close Gwaine had come to prying Merlin's secret from his weakening grasp.
It was slightly cooler in the shade of a couple of tall birches, and Merlin sighed in relief when he finally got out of the sun's glare. Several clotheslines were tied between the trees' lower branches, completely empty for now. Merlin set his basket down with a thump as he looked around, but no servants were in sight, and he felt something relax within his chest.
Picking up a damp pair of trousers from the basket, Merlin shook out the creases in the fabric before he hung it up between the trees. The chance to just be by himself for a while was achingly welcome after his talk with Gwaine. He still felt shaky and painfully vulnerable, scraped raw by his friend's open concern that had never wavered even when Merlin hadn't explained to him what was wrong.
Gwaine could never know how close he'd come to unraveling him just with the unabashed warmth in his smile, and the only thing that had held Merlin back was the thought of seeing that warmth disappear. He'd wanted to tell him then, the overwhelming desire to just drag his secret out in the open and be done with it forming a hot lump in his throat.
Merlin took a deep, calming breath to banish those thoughts, and busied himself with sorting out the tangled laces of a dark red tunic. It was no use turning the matter over and over in his head, since he knew that he'd just arrive at the same conclusion again and again. It hadn't been the right time to tell him, although Merlin suspected that there really was no such thing as a right time anyway.
Firmly steering his mind away from the matter, Merlin proceeded to fill the clotheslines with wet pants, socks, shirts, and vests. He hadn't really noticed how much dirty laundry had piled up during their journey-but well, they needed clean clothes to be presentable now, since they were in more or less civil company. He doubted Grænn would be impressed if they showed up for dinner in travel-worn, mud-splattered garments.
He didn't realize that he was humming to himself until he recognized the melody, and for a moment he stopped, quickly glancing around to search for prying eyes. The back of his neck prickled with discomfort. He might be safe from the forest's magic for now, but he was still in the middle of the Green Knight's realm, and singing that song, even absently and under his breath, might not be the best way to ensure that he remained safe.
But there was no one around to hear save for the trees, and somehow, Merlin didn't think they minded very much. He couldn't even hear any sounds from the training grounds, sheltered as he was by the copse of trees, and so he took a deep breath and kept on, feeling strangely reckless. It wasn't all that hard to think back to the hazy days of his childhood when he'd first heard the song, although he couldn't remember all of the words.
"His hawks they fly so eagerly, down a down, hey down, hey, down," he sang, as quietly as he could-Merlin was well aware that he couldn't carry a tune to save his life, and that his version of the melody was more than a little off-key.
But nothing happened. No clouds suddenly collected on the horizon to let loose a thunderstorm that would strike him where he stood, and the Green Knight didn't jump out from behind a tree, demanding him to stop recounting his life story to all and sundry.
Feeling a bit stupid for his reservations, Merlin straightened out a trouser leg that had somehow been turned inside out, and carried on. His hawks they fly so eagerly, with a down." He hadn't really seen any hawks yet, but he didn't doubt that they'd been there, tracking them with their sharp eyes ever since they'd entered the forest. "His hawks they fly so eagerly, there's no fowl dare come him nigh, with a down, derry, derry, derry down, down."
He dropped the trousers in shock when he heard a voice join him, just as wavering and hesitant as his own. Spinning around so quickly that he nearly overbalanced, he saw Ragnelle step out from behind a tree, carrying a basket of her own, for once not looking cowed, but wearing a hesitant smile.
Merlin stared at her, unblinking, while he waited for his heartbeat to slow down again and lowered his right hand back to his side. His first thought had been that one of the servants might have sneaked up on him to incinerate him here, away from prying eyes; Ragnelle's appearance was so unexpected that he couldn't even greet her properly. He just watched as she walked over to one of the empty clotheslines and set her burden down with a thump.
"A beautiful song," Ragnelle said conversationally, glancing at him from the corner of her eye as she sorted through the laundry in her basket. "Sad, though."
"Yeah," Merlin agreed belatedly, hurrying to erase the suspicious frown from his features. It didn't have to mean anything that she knew the story-Merlin had known it as well, after all, without being aware of the grain of truth in what he'd thought was a mere legend.
Bending down to retrieve the trousers he'd dropped, Merlin busied himself with the laundry for a while. Away from the others, Ragnelle seemed more at ease than he had ever seen her, and Merlin did his best to imitate her relaxed expression. It wasn't her fault that he was so on edge that he'd been ready to blast her to pieces just because he'd thought she might be one of the servants.
The thought of them stirred up something else in Merlin's mind, and he paused on the act of untangling a shirt's sleeves to look at Ragnelle again. She was clearly preparing to hang up a load of laundry as well, and he frowned at her in confusion. "What are you doing?" he asked before he could think better of it, gesturing at the basket. "You've got servants for that."
Ragnelle paused in shaking out a white nightgown, her face falling as a reluctant frown creased her forehead. "I don't like Grænn's- my husband's servants," she answered, each word slow and careful, like she was wondering whether to tell Merlin that even as she spoke. "They scare me."
Merlin hummed noncommittally, keeping his gaze on his own dwindling supply of wet clothes. It didn't seem like the right time to tell her that he quite agreed with her on that. Coolness seeped through the knees of his trousers as he knelt, rummaging through his laundry for more shirts and trousers. He found himself thinking of the odd way she'd been acting, of the kiss, and of the first day when he'd first seen her, fidgeting uneasily behind her husband's broad back.
More than that, he could still recall the worry etched deeply into her brother's features when he'd told the story of how she had gone to find herself a husband to provide for them. He remembered how Erik had insisted that she was not ugly, and now, in the gentle shade under a canopy of leaves, Merlin could see that she wasn't. Her features still looked mismatched and too small for her face, her hair was still thin and limp, but it shone in the daylight, and the physical exertion gave a rosy tint to her sallow skin.
Abruptly, Merlin rose, determination fueling his movements. He hadn't been able to settle things with Gwaine, but that didn't mean he couldn't at least try to find out what was going on here anyway. He cleared his throat to get Ragnelle's attention, feeling strangely nervous. "May I speak with you openly?"
"You're already speaking to me," Ragnelle pointed out, and turned around to face him, brushing her hair back from her face with a tired smile. "I'm not a lady," she added when she caught sight of his expression, and her gaze drifted to the side as though she'd noticed the bitterness in her own voice. "You don't need to mince your words."
Merlin wanted to say that just because she was no lady didn't mean he wouldn't be polite, but he knew instinctively that she wouldn't react well to that either. He settled for just looking at her for a long moment, waiting until the strain had left her features again, and said, carefully, "You don't seem happy here."
Ragnelle looked surprised rather than offended or frightened, and Merlin mentally patted himself on the back-it seemed he could be subtle, no matter what Gwaine said. But although his words had disarmed her for a moment, she quickly schooled her features back into a blank-if slightly strained-expression. "Well," she replied, slowly, selecting each of her words with great care. "You don't always get to choose where you end up in life."
There was a pause, and Merlin felt dread coil into a cold ball in his stomach despite the forced nonchalance in Ragnelle's voice. She was doing her best to keep herself from giving anything away, but he still saw that her hands shook slightly when she absently tugged the wrinkles out of a piece of laundry. With all of his attention focused on her, Merlin caught the way her brow furrowed in thought, and he imagined that she was rethinking her own words and berating herself for them.
"What is he doing to you?" Merlin asked quietly, subtlety going out the proverbial window with the straightforward question. But he couldn't beat around the bush anymore now, not with the sudden memory of the kiss pushing its way to the front of his mind. The dull mask of her expression wasn't anything he could just shove away-she had looked like she'd had no choice but go through with whatever strange scheme had been hidden behind the kiss.
Ragnelle flinched, caught off-guard, and just stared at him for a moment. "Nothing," she said, her voice blank with surprise. But Merlin simply gazed back at her, not needing to voice his disbelief, and he saw the flicker in her eyes as she seemed to consider her options. She could try to laugh it off or play up the persona of a haughty high-born lady to get Merlin to drop the subject. But somehow, Merlin doubted that she was a good enough actress to pull that off.
She looked away to the house for a moment, as if she hoped for some sort of support to rush to her aid. "You've got the completely wrong idea," she insisted, trying to keep her voice calm and collected although her eyes were wide when she met Merlin's gaze again, seeming to beg him to stop asking. "Grænn has been the kindest, most thoughtful-"
Something in Merlin's expression stopped the string of words, and Ragnelle took a deep breath, her hands twitching as though she wanted to clench her fingers around the folds of her dress for support. "No," she said, almost to herself, a reprimand rather than an affirmation of the truth. Her movements were jerky when she bent down to retrieve her basket of laundry, and Merlin watched in befuddled silence as she prepared herself to leave.
"I shouldn't talk to you," she told Merlin, her voice barely above a whisper. Her gaze skittered over his shoulder, and somehow, he knew she was keeping watch for any servants that might be headed their way. "I'm sure this is already breaking some sort of magical rule-"
"Magical rule?" Merlin repeated, more sharply than he'd intended, and stepped forward to block her passage before she could escape. He barely realized that he was all but towering over her now, and that she shrunk back from him. He put a hand on her basket to keep her from weaving around him and running off. "What are you doing? You and Grænn, you're planning something-"
"I'm not!" Ragnelle protested, incredulity edging into her voice, like she couldn't believe that Merlin continued to pry, and that she was so close to spilling the secret at his feet. "I'm just part of the plan-"
Merlin noticed that he was practically looming over her, and took a hurried step back even as the basket slipped from Ragnelle's fingers, shock dawning on her face as she realized what she'd said. He didn't let up, though-he'd already gotten past most of her defenses, and there was no telling when he'd next get the chance to find out more about this.
"So Grænn is planning something," he prompted, trying to keep his tone gentle and trustworthy now, rather than threatening. "And he's using you for it?"
Ragnelle stared at him for a long moment, her face pale, before she took a step back, reaching behind her back to steady herself against the solid trunk of a tree. But she seemed to realize that Merlin just wanted information from her, and that he wouldn't resort to threats to pry it out of her. The wet laundry was lying forgotten in the grass, spilled from the upended basket, but she made no move to pick it up.
"At first I was just so relieved that he wanted me," she said, her voice so quiet that Merlin had to strain his ears to hear her. She wasn't looking at him, but stared down at the patch of grass between her feet instead. "I thought he could provide for me and my brother, that he might even help my brother become a knight."
She glanced at him then, hesitantly, but the look on Merlin's face seemed to confirm her worst suspicions. Pushing away from the tree with some difficulty, Ragnelle held his gaze with wide, suspiciously bright eyes that seemed to plead with him not to judge her. "Our father died," she blurted out, the words torn from her in her haste to correct whatever assumptions she thought Merlin had made about her, "and I had to find a husband, I didn't know what else to do to make sure we survive, but- but then I found out about Grænn's- about what he-"
Apparently the memory was enough to stop the uncoordinated torrent of words. Merlin watched as she swallowed and her gaze darted away, her expression torn between apprehension and confusion, and felt his hands grow cold. He didn't ask; a part of him didn't even want to. He just waited for her to go on, and wondered distantly if the whole thing would turn out to be another yet another magical problem for him to take care of.
"I wanted to travel back to Torpelei to get Erik-my brother," Ragnelle added as an afterthought, her voice steadier now, "and Grænn said I couldn't." She took a deep, calming breath; when she looked up at Merlin again, her gaze was less over-bright. But her eyes were filled with dull fatigue, and Merlin knew that she had probably turned this particular memory over and over in her head during sleepless nights. "And he really has been nothing but kind to me, but I'm not allowed to go until this test is over."
"Test?" Merlin repeated, tonelessly. The back of his neck prickled like someone was watching him, but Merlin knew that it was just his wariness getting the better of him. "Of what?"
Ragnelle closed her eyes and sunk back against the tree again, passing a hand over her forehead as though she felt tired, now that the most difficult part of the conversation seemed to be over. "Of Gwaine's honesty."
Suddenly, the last of the puzzle pieces fell into place for Merlin-he remembered the first morning at Grænn's house, when their host had invited Gwaine to take part in his little game. He hadn't thought anything of it back then, especially since he'd been too busy relishing in the fact that after all that time spent in the forest, his mind was finally his own again. But now the memory was back, crystal clear in front of his mind's eye.
He sighed heavily and raked a hand through his hair, suddenly feeling like he might need the support of a tree as well. One day, he would really have to ask Gwaine what he had done to piss off the fates-no matter where they stopped on this journey, everyone seemed out to get him. First he'd agreed to a possibly lethal bargain with the Green Knight, and now Grænn had roped him into another compact, and while that seemed like just a bit of fun to pass the time on long summer evenings, Merlin had the distinct feeling that there was something more behind it.
"I just want to go home," Ragnelle said dully, breaking through Merlin's train of thought. She was staring down at her hands when he looked up at her again, scrutinizing her fingers as though she was wondering how the hell she had ended up here, in this situation. "I don't even care that none of the men there want me-I'll find another way to provide for my brother."
Although the sunlight revealed no lines on her face, she looked strangely old then, weighed down with a kind of responsibility that was unfamiliar to Merlin, but that didn't mean he couldn't understand. "You should go home," he told her, softly, and resolutely pushed the thought of Gwaine to the back of his mind. He would have to think about that later-now he had a distressed lady to reassure. "As soon as you can, I mean. Erik misses you."
Her head jerked up as if she'd been struck, and Merlin silently commended himself for having broken through her morose mood. "You met Erik?"
Merlin nodded, and let himself smile, albeit hesitantly. "I did," he confirmed. "He let us stay at the hunting lodge for a night." He wisely left out the fact that Erik had tried to challenge the crown prince of Camelot to a duel-somehow, he didn't think Ragnelle would find that reassuring. "He's a brave kid-he'd make a great squire, you know."
Ragnelle snorted, bitterness dropping like a veil across her features, but Merlin continued to talk-he didn't want to hear that Erik wouldn't get to be a squire anytime soon, being the son of the lord who had neglected the village assigned to his care so much. "Look," he said quickly, leaning forward to hold Ragnelle's gaze, "why don't the two of you just leave, if life in Torpelei is so awful for you?"
That took the wind out of her sails for a moment. She stared at Merlin through narrowed eyes, almost like she was seeing him clearly for the first time. But although she didn't reply, she didn't snap at him to keep his nose out of her and her brother's lives either, and Merlin counted it as a win anyway.
Silence stretched between them, only interrupted by the rustling of leaves overhead as a slight breeze played with the damp clothes they had hung up already. Ragnelle's absent gaze trailed over her upturned basket of laundry, and with a sigh, she bent down to pick it back up off the ground. Blades of grass clung to the wet fabric, but she didn't seem to notice or care; she just scooped the clothes back into the basket.
She obviously didn't want to continue the conversation-probably because Merlin had pried a secret from her grasp and then suggested that she and her brother uproot their entire lives to move away from Torpelei. Merlin watched in indecisive silence as Ragnelle turned back to the clotheslines with an air of resolution about her, like she wanted to put this whole talk behind herself.
Impulsively, Merlin reached out a hand to hold her back for a moment longer, trying not to notice the way she flinched at his touch. "Don't just brush this off, okay?" he implored, keeping his voice low. He couldn't help but think of Erik in his father's too-large armor, of his eagerness to become a knight, and of the way he'd talked about the villagers. "I know you don't know me, and I don't really have any right to tell you what to do with your life and your brother's, of course, but... just think about it," he finished, a bit lamely.
But he still seemed to have gotten through to Ragnelle, because she nodded after a moment, her forehead creased in an uncomfortable frown. She was probably thinking of Erik as well, and Merlin let go of her arm, hoping that she would remember his words.
This time, he let her turn back to the laundry, and just watched for a moment as she shook out a pair of trousers and sent blades of grass flying. The dread was still there at the back of his mind, but it felt oddly appeased, like talking to Ragnelle had been enough to calm him a bit. In a way, the situation wasn't all that different from the whole thing with the Green Knight-he would just have to stay on his toes and keep an eye on Gwaine, whether his friend liked it or not. He didn't really think that Grænn harbored any ill will towards them, but until Merlin figured out what was truly going on here, he would have to be careful.
In the late afternoon, Gwaine found himself sauntering down a dimly lit corridor he had never seen before, and finally admitted that he was well and truly lost.
After he had run into Ragnelle, he'd just wanted some time to himself to sort out his confused thoughts-because of course, she had kissed him again. In retrospect, he didn't really know why he'd been surprised. He had recognized the focused look of determination from the night before, and so he hadn't stepped back when she'd pressed her lips to his in a quick, chaste peck.
It was probably just his hangover that was mellowing his spirit, but Gwaine hadn't even had the heart to tease her when she'd gathered her basket of laundry and practically ran away down the hallway afterwards. Whatever strange game she was playing, he couldn't help but think that she was thoroughly uncomfortable with it, unwilling to even wait for his reaction to her odd behavior. For just a moment, he had thought about running after her to tell her that she didn't need to keep ambushing him with random kisses if she didn't even really want to. But well, the one thing Gwaine found himself looking forward to was bestowing her reluctant gift upon her husband.
The thought had made him grin, and he'd strolled through the hallways until he'd found a large window that faced the backyard. He sat there for a while, looking down at the training grounds where Percival and Elyan were pummeling each other with borrowed swords. All of the other knights relished in the opportunity to blow off some steam, but Gwaine still hadn't felt like joining them.
He'd seen that Leon was carrying a battle axe from Grænn's armory, experimentally hefting the heavy weapon as he prepared for his duel with Lancelot. Something had constricted in his chest, and Gwaine practically felt the absent half-smile vanish from his features at the sight of the blade, glinting innocently in the sunlight. Before his mind could fully catch up, Gwaine's feet were already carrying him down the hallway at a brisk pace, away from the reminder of what awaited him in not even two days.
Not all that intent on going back outside, he had spent the rest of the afternoon exploring the house. He'd found a library on the first floor, with shelves upon shelves of books lining the paneled walls; a musky scent of ancient mold had hit him like a physical wave, and so he just gave the room a quick once-over before shutting the door again. Not all of the mansion's corridors were as richly decorated and well-kept as those they had been led through by the servants-Gwaine's feet had kicked up big clouds of dust in the more remote parts of the mansion, and some of the doors he passed looked so old and rusty that he doubted he'd be able to open them.
His aimless exploration had led him down stairwells and through passages, until he didn't even know which floor he was on anymore. And now, judging from the enticing scents that floated through the air, he had found his way down to the kitchen.
Light spilled down the corridor as Gwaine ventured closer, and when he rounded the corner, he saw that the hallway ended in a narrow open door that let in the reddish hue of fading sunlight. The clanging of pots and pans could be heard through a larger door on his left, and Gwaine felt his mouth water when he smelled a whiff of grilled meat in the air.
But what sent a thrill of alarm down his spine wasn't the scent of food. Two servants were standing in the open door, leaning against the wall and seeming to wait for something. They stared out at the grounds; although Gwaine had made no effort to walk quietly, they hadn't noticed him yet, and before he could think better of it, he had already stepped back into the shadows.
His heart beating quickly, Gwaine waited with bated breath, but the two men didn't move. A slight breeze stirred their unruly hair, one mop sleek black and the other an odd, patchy brown. The black-haired servant turned his head into the wind to let it ruffle the messy strands-with his head sharply outlined by the fading daylight, his hair looked oddly stringy, like he'd taken a dive into salt water and forgot to wash out the salty stiffness later.
"This is so uncomfortable," the other man spoke up, and Gwaine flinched, startled out of his meandering thoughts. His tone was quiet but tightly controlled, like this was a complaint he had voiced too many times to count, although it had become no less frustrating.
It took Gwaine a moment to place the ripple of motion that suddenly stirred the servant's body, and then he realized that he was stretching slowly, shrugging his shoulders as if to improve the fit of a too-tight coat. Gwaine watched in mute incomprehension as the man examined his hands, curled and uncurled them and stared down at his fingers with an expression of disgust.
The black-haired servant glanced at him from the corner of his eye, his face completely blank although Gwaine had thought he would see reassurance there, or at least understanding. "We won't have to hold out for much longer," he answered, his tone as unreadable as his expression. "It'll all be over soon, for better or for worse."
A lingering silence fell, and Gwaine just glanced back and forth between the two men, waiting for the servant with the brown hair to say something in reply. But he seemed appeased by his companion's words, because he didn't speak again. He kept shifting every so often, though, tiny twitching movements that looked like he was trying to adjust the fit of his own skin.
He must have made some sort of noise, he thought later, some nearly inaudible sound of confusion that must have alerted them to his presence. Without any preamble, both of the servants turned their heads towards him, pushing away from the walls in unison as though they'd practiced the sheer synchronicity of their movements. Gwaine took an involuntary step back when two pairs of unblinking eyes fixed on him, shadowed against the backdrop of light from outside. His heart seemed to lurch a little as his pulse sped up in alarm, and suddenly he was all too aware of how far away he was from the others.
A moment passed, and then the brown-haired servant stepped forward, head cocked to the side. His eyes were a bright amber that Gwaine didn't think he'd ever seen before, not quite gold but still almost glowing in the dim hallway. "Can we help you?"
"I was just wondering if there was anything to drink here," Gwaine found himself saying, a jovial grin fixing itself upon his features on its own accord. He didn't quite know where his sudden presence of mind came from, but he forced his stance into a relaxed swagger as he stepped forward from the shadows as if he'd just walked down the hallway.
"Certainly, sir," the other servant said, politely enough, but the glance he exchanged with his companion still made Gwaine's smile freeze around the edges. But the other man simply nodded and pushed past him into the kitchen, reappearing after a moment with a large goblet held gingerly between the hands that he had just been staring down at in distaste.
Gwaine spent the next couple of minutes sipping wine and looking out the door along with the two servants, although he had no idea what they were all waiting for. He wanted to hand back his drink and make up some excuse why he had to find the others right now, but something, perhaps curiosity, was holding him back.
His skin all but crawled with discomfort, but he couldn't bring himself to escape from the situation. While the brown-haired man had kept twitching and moving erratically before, he was holding himself unnaturally still now. The wine was stronger than anything else he'd drunk in Grænn's house before, the alcohol burning a path down to his empty stomach and going to his head far more quickly than Gwaine would have preferred. He was already starting to feel a bit woozy, and he couldn't help but think that they were probably plying him with strong alcohol to make him forget the short, confusing conversation he'd overheard.
"Our lord returns," the black-haired servant suddenly spoke up, startling Gwaine into spilling wine on his sleeve. He was staring at something beyond the gently swaying grass-confused, Gwaine set down his goblet as he followed his gaze to two huge, gnarled oak trees that marked the edge of the forest, but he couldn't see anything out of the ordinary.
As if they had heard his thoughts, the oaks seemed to bend in the sudden gust of wind that tore through the clearing, tousling Gwaine's hair although he wasn't even standing fully outside. He impatiently pushed it out of his face again, just in time to see Grænn emerge from the treeline, surrounded by a snuffling, panting entourage of large black dogs.
He was carrying something that looked like a dead animal, carelessly slung over his shoulder, and as he came closer, Gwaine saw that it was a boar-the biggest boar he'd ever seen. The dogs milled about his feet, pink wet tongues lolling out of their furry muzzles as they followed their master up the gentle slope to the house. The front of Grænn's leather vest was dark with blood that still trickled from the carcass, but he didn't seem to notice. Twigs and leaves had gotten caught in his red hair, like he'd spent the entire day crawling through the undergrowth in pursuit of the mighty slain beast he was bringing home now.
Gwaine could see the moment Grænn caught sight of them, because his steps faltered almost imperceptibly before he straightened his spine and sped up, striding towards the narrow door with a winning smile. The two servants strode out onto the lawn to meet him, the black-haired servant gracefully relieving his lord of the the boar, while the other man bent down to pet the dogs. They licked his hands and butted their big shaggy heads into his knees, tails wagging merrily.
"Greetings, Sir Gwaine," Grænn addressed him, and Gwaine quickly refocused his gaze on their host, who was now standing right in front of him, smiling with his hands propped up on his hips. "Nice weather for an evening stroll."
Gwaine shrugged and nodded, not quite trusting his voice not to betray his confusion yet. The playful glint in the man's eyes made him wonder if Grænn knew that he'd spied on his servants, but Gwaine pushed the thought to the back of his mind with a mental eyeroll. There was no way for Grænn to have seen that all the way from the forest, and even if there was, Gwaine had other things to worry about.
A few of the dogs had lost interest in the servant and had bounded over to them, leaning into Grænn's legs for a quick pet and nosing curiously at Gwaine's hands. He couldn't help but smile as one of them stared up at him as though to ask him where he'd suddenly come from, and when he bent down to scratch behind its ears, the dog rewarded him with a slobbery lick of his palm.
"Loyal companions," Grænn commented quietly. His voice had lost some of its cheer, and he looked thoughtful when Gwaine glanced up at him, watching him stroke the dog's head.
"Good hunters, too, I'll bet," Gwaine said, a little absently, because the dog was looking at him, and he hadn't noticed until now that its eyes were golden.
It was the kind of color one would expect to see in a richly-adorned throne room, not in the face of an animal-the dog's ears perked up, and although its tail was still wagging enthusiastically, Gwaine couldn't help the apprehensive shiver that went through him. That gaze was not just filled with the simple satisfaction of a day's successful hunt. It carried knowledge, intelligence, even, and its steady weight unnerved him.
He cleared his throat and straightened up again, trying to look completely unaffected although Grænn was still watching him as well, a tiny frown etched between his eyebrows. "I bet that boar wasn't easy prey," he stated, nodding towards the servant who was now ducking back into the house, doubtlessly headed for the kitchen with his load.
Grænn blinked at him for a moment, shaken out of whatever thoughts had occupied his mind. Then he grinned, clapping a companionable hand on Gwaine's shoulder. "Do you like it?" he said, his voice light and teasing, although Gwaine didn't quite understand why. "I do hope that I've fulfilled my part of our bargain to your satisfaction today."
Speaking of which, Gwaine wanted to say, your wife keeps kissing me for some reason, but of course he kept his mouth shut. It was easy to hide the twinge of discomfort behind a guileless smile, though, even as the memory of the night before tried to push itself to the front of his mind. "You sure have," he replied, barely noticing that the dog seemed to have lost interest in him and was nosing once more at Grænn's pockets as though hoping for a treat. "It's marvelous, compared to what I have to give you, but..."
He trailed off deliberately, shrugging one shoulder, inwardly thrilled when Grænn threw his head back and let out one of his trademark booming laughs. "Oh no, no," he said, his grin widening into a coyness that, oddly enough, made Gwaine feel more at ease than anything else. "I'm certain that the gifts you have to give will more than live up to the meager outcome of my hunt."
Anticipation sent a prickle of heat through Gwaine's veins when he realized that Grænn was playing along. With all the numerous things that were strange about their host and his mansion and his servants, Gwaine was almost certain that Grænn knew what he was going to do, but for some reason, he was following Gwaine's lead anyway.
"Well," Gwaine stated airily, trying not to look as oddly triumphant as he felt, like he'd won some sort of fight although they hadn't even been arguing. "Shall we, then?"
"Be my guest," Grænn replied with a little courteous bow, undisguised mirth sparkling in his gaze-it was as green as the forest in his back, barely distinguishable from the darkening trees. And this time they were almost completely alone, with no annoying crown princes to glare at him, and so Gwaine took his time leaning in, watching the green eyes grow hooded and dark.
Grænn's lips were chapped from an entire day spent running about in the forest, but just like the night before, the kiss still sent a velvety rough prickle of heat straight down to Gwaine's toes. Truth to be told, it wasn't anything like the quick, chaste peck that Ragnelle had given him just a couple of hours ago; but even if licking into the man's mouth was breaking their bargain in some way, Gwaine didn't care.
He tasted like the forest, like the ageless sway of the treeline in his back and the grass that his dogs had crushed with their paws in their eager pursuit of the boar. He tasted like the slosh and trickle of water over stones and the wild roar of the wind, and he kissed Gwaine back with enough fervor to bruise his lips. Their teeth clicked together, and Gwaine gasped into his mouth, startled by the almost brutal pull of heat that shot through his groin when sharp teeth sunk into his lower lip-
Gwaine didn't realize that Grænn had fisted his hands in his hair until his head was tugged back, the pull on his hair riding the edge of pain and making him hiss in discomfort. He opened his eyes, noticing only now that he'd closed them, and gave Grænn an uncomprehending stare through the haze that clouded his mind. All rational thought had deserted his mind, and it took him a second to even understand where they were and what he had just done, and then frustration bubbled up in him because Grænn had stopped him.
"Careful," Grænn whispered hoarsely, the word little more than a gust of warm, damp air on Gwaine's lips. He shuddered helplessly, and just barely stopped himself from leaning in again for another taste of that ripe, kiss-bruised mouth. "Be careful where you go, Sir Gwaine. You might get lost."
His tone was gentle, but the warning in his eyes was real, and for a long moment they just stood there, holding each other's gaze while Gwaine struggled to regain his senses. It wasn't just the effect of the alcohol. It felt like he'd been drugged on some strange, enticing potion, or a particularly disorienting magical spell, but he didn't feel enchanted. Bewitched, maybe, with an insistent fire still burning in his groin and Grænn's eyes just inches away, swirling with some unnameable emotion.
Someone cleared their throat behind him, and Gwaine stepped back, the sound alone enough to free him from the weight of that endless moment. He felt warmed up from head to toe, his skin tight with the healthy flush of heat, but he still tried to paste a neutral, unassuming expression on his face as he turned around. Grænn refocused his gaze on the door as well, blinking slowly as if the kiss had left him just as shaken, and Gwaine couldn't help a small surge of triumph.
It was Merlin who stood in the doorway and glanced back and forth between them, one hand on the stone wall like the sight of them had left him unsteady. He didn't look dizzy, though-in fact, he didn't even look surprised, just blankly curious as his gaze came to rest on Gwaine. Concern edged its way into his eyes, blue and not green, but just as hypnotic as Grænn's in their own right.
"Hey, Merlin," Gwaine greeted awkwardly, clearing his throat when his voice came out rough and husky. This time, it was Grænn who subtly stepped away-his hands must have slid out of his hair at some point. Gwaine tried for a smile, well aware that even if Merlin hadn't seen the kiss, it would be all too easy for him to draw his own conclusions from Gwaine's flushed face. "What are you doing?"
"Nothing, I was just-," Merlin blurted out, gesturing vaguely at the dim hallway behind him, but his gaze never left Gwaine, giving him a quick once-over. "Are you okay?"
"Just fine," Gwaine replied, warmed by his friend's concern although he had interrupted them. He gestured towards Grænn, driven by the odd urge to explain the situation. "Our host here was just telling me about his hunt."
Grænn inclined his head in agreement, and Gwaine noticed with mild annoyance that the flush had left his face, leaving him looking calm and unruffled. His eyes were darker than usual, but there wasn't even a hair out of place on his head-one side of his vest was still dark with the boar's blood, and he didn't look at all like he'd just been kissed within an inch of his life.
"Oh," Merlin muttered, his eyes lingering on the patch of blood before he seemed to dismiss it as unimportant. He gestured behind himself again, and Gwaine noticed for the first time that he seemed nervous, his shoulders hunched a little as if he was bracing himself for an attack. "I just ran into some of the-servants..."
He trailed off, his gaze fixed on something below eye level. For a moment he looked completely taken aback, but then the color drained from his face so quickly that Gwaine took an involuntary step towards him. Merlin let out a quiet gasp as he stumbled back, but when Gwaine followed his gaze, his hand automatically reaching for the dagger that wasn't attached to his belt, he just found himself looking at one of Grænn's dogs.
"Merlin?" Gwaine ventured, because Merlin looked like he was about to collapse on the spot. His knuckles were white around the wooden door frame, and he just stared and stared at the dog as though its mere appearance was too baffling, too frightening for him to comprehend.
The dog gazed back calmly from its perch next to Grænn, its tail wagging slightly in the grass, but although it hadn't jumped up to greet Merlin, it wasn't looking away from his wide-eyed stare either. The same strange apprehension that he had felt before now wormed its way into Gwaine's consciousness again. Figured me out, have you? the dog's gaze seemed to say, with a self-assured, timeless kind of patience that chilled Gwaine's blood more than the unmistakable fear on Merlin's features.
His face pasty white in the fading daylight, Merlin looked around at the other dogs and then up at Grænn, like he hoped that their host would either make the animals disappear or explain whatever had frightened him so much about their existence. The small creases between Grænn's eyebrows seemed more pronounced, his features a bit tighter than before, but he didn't react to Merlin's imploring stare.
"Hounds," Merlin said faintly, his voice so quiet that Gwaine nearly didn't catch the single word. A muscle twitched in Grænn's cheek, a quick flicker of emotion passing through his eyes. But he still didn't speak, just watched as Merlin's gaze shifted to the black-haired servant who was still standing nearby. "Hawks. Ravens. Oh my God."
"Merlin?" Gwaine repeated, a bit louder this time, and walked over to where he was still standing in the doorway, frozen to the spot by the slow realization that dawned on his face. His hand wouldn't stop twitching towards his belt, although he had no idea what Merlin felt threatened by-the dogs would never even touch him as long as Grænn was there. But he was still acutely aware of the fact that he wasn't wearing his dagger to defend his friend against whatever he'd been so shocked by.
Merlin just shook his head as if to dislodge a stubborn thought, shifting to look around Gwaine's approaching form. The apprehension in his eyes hardened into certainty like steel passing through fire, and his shoulders straightened as his gaze met Grænn's.
Grænn seemed to have recovered from whatever held-back emotion had kept his features blank before. He smiled serenely at Merlin before glancing at the black-haired servant, and the man summoned the dogs to his side with a cluck of his tongue, herding them away from the door. He almost seemed in a hurry to get away from Merlin's half incredulous, half accusing stare, because he made his way over to the door at a quick pace, probably intending to change his clothes before dinner.
Gwaine turned his gaze back on Merlin, trying to convey without words that he had no idea what had just happened and what Merlin had just understood, judging from the look on his face. But Merlin shook his head, eyes flickering to Grænn once more-apparently he didn't want to talk about it in front of him.
Thoroughly confused, Gwaine couldn't do anything but watch as Grænn stepped through the doorway, waiting courteously until Merlin had shifted to the side. It could just have been his imagination, but he thought he saw Merlin flinch as their host walked past him. For the first time, Gwaine noticed the scent of the boar's spilled blood that followed in Grænn's wake, coppery and sharp on the warm evening air.
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