Odd One Out - Merlin - Arthur/Merlin
Title: Odd One Out
Pairing: Arthur/Merlin
Word Count: 3677
Rating: PG-13
A/N: A vampire AU set in the Scent 'verse. I apologise for the long break between installments.
Summary: Camelot hosts a tournament. Arthur's mood takes a knock when he discovers that he will not be allowed to participate.
When Merlin wakes up, Arthur is crashing around their bedroom in a mood. This isn't too unusual, so Merlin rolls over onto his front, groans, and tries to pretend that Arthur isn't there. Once again, this too isn't unusual. In fact, when it comes to Arthur, this is often the only sane response to his moods.
"I know you're awake, Merlin," Arthur says.
Merlin takes the opportunity to glare at him from from the bed. "I don't want to be," he mutters, a universal truism.
"You're my servant. You're supposed to be up before me."
Arthur doesn't really eat and he doesn't really sleep, so the entire concept seems daft. He doesn't need a servant; he just needs someone to grouch at. Merlin rouses himself anyway, sitting up in bed. He feels pleasantly triumphant when Arthur's gaze lingers with him for a moment and the bad mood briefly evaporates from his face. The ability to combat Arthur's grumpiness throughshirtlessness feels like a superpower.
He shuffles to the side of the bed and looks lazily for his clothes. "Don't you have a tournament today?" he asks - as if he isn't already aware of that, as if the castle hasn't been buzzing with excitement for the last week.
Arthur throws his tunic into his face in retaliation. Merlin is fairly glad that the material covers his grin.
"Nervous?" he asks. Despite the months that he's been in Camelot now, and the endless training drills he's watched Arthur run through with his knights, he'd never actually seen Arthur in battle before. They had other problems on their minds at the time, generally blood and vampire related; by comparison, nothing else had mattered too much.
"I don't get nervous," Arthur answers. He stares out of the window into the morning sunlight, and Merlin allows himself to cast a few glances his way as he hurriedly gets dressed. He has to make sure that any marks from Arthur's teeth are well-hidden by his clothes: they've only been trying this for a week or so, but so far it seems to be going just fine. He still doesn't want to tell anyone about it until they absolutely have to. They wouldn't understand, would they?
"Liar," Merlin says, although with such supernatural strength infused in Arthur's muscles Merlin supposes that Arthur really has no need to worry at all. He always says that he doesn't use his strength at all when he's in a competition, but Merlin isn't sure if it's that easy. There can't be a clear distinction between 'normal' strength and 'oh wait, no, that's impossible' strength.
Maybe there is. He isn't a vampire, he isn't a knight, and he doesn't have to take on Arthur in the arena. It's not his problem.
"You're going to be there, aren't you?" Arthur asks, turning his face away from the window so that he can look at Merlin instead. "It's an officially sanctioned excuse to slack off. I can't imagine you'd miss that."
Merlin rolls his eyes with a hint of affection, knowing that this is probably Arthur's way of properly asking him to come.
"I spent all day yesterday cleaning that armour," he says. It hadn't been exactly all day, but it had certainly felt like it. He thinks that Arthur wouldn't require such an impeccable shine if he was the one that had to do the work himself. "I wouldn't miss seeing my handiwork in action, sire."
Arthur's lips twitch with a barely restrained smile. They both pretend not to notice: they have far too much fun bickering to acknowledge that they genuinely like each other.
"Hurry up and eat breakfast," Arthur orders, pointing at the food on his table. It is untouched and must have been brought in by a different servant. Merlin feels embarrassed for a brief, flushing moment, before he remembers that the relationship between himself and Arthur isn't exactly a well-kept secret. No one would have raised an eyebrow if they had walked in here to find him sprawled in Arthur's bed: they might have found the way that he steals the covers and Arthur allows him to do so to be unusual, but it certainly isn't hidden. Sometimes, Merlin wonders what exactly Uther thinks of this arrangement. He thinks maybe he allows it because it stops Arthur from chomping down on random subjects - lesser evils and all that.
Really, Merlin doesn't like to spend any more time than is absolutely necessary contemplating how Uther's mind works. It is a scary, dark place.
Arthur clatters around getting ready to leave while Merlin wolfs down some food, and they are both outside in the bright sunlight before another ten minutes have passed. Merlin trails a little behind Arthur, taking his time to marvel at the bright colours of the tents and the busy bustle of people around him. He's never seen a tournament before; the closest he's got to it is probably watching the older boys fight in the village when he was a kid. It doesn't really compare.
He is distracted enough by staring at the multitude of flags that are fluttering near the entrance that he doesn't notice that Morgana and Gwen have approached until Morgana begins speaking. "Uther is looking for you," she tells Arthur. From the look on her face and the tone of her voice, Merlin gets the feeling that Uther doesn't just want to wish him good luck.
He looks at the back of Arthur's head. It is very, very difficult to ascertain a person's emotional state from such a vantage point.
"What does he want?" Arthur asks.
There is a long, steady pause. Merlin has discovered that he really doesn't like the sound of silence.
"It's the foreign knights," Morgana says eventually. "They are refusing to participate in the tournament unless you withdraw."
Merlin struggles not to flinch as Arthur storms away in the direction of his father without another word to any of them. Gwen meets his eyes with a sympathetic sigh.
"Today isn't going to end well, is it?" Merlin asks, already defeated.
Neither one of the girls tries to contradict him. Merlin thinks that is a sign that they really are screwed.
*
When Merlin enters their bedroom, he finds it filled with prickling fury.
Arthur is busy glaring at a document on the table. He barely glances up when Merlin closes the door behind himself, loudly. Outside the window, the sound of the on-going tournament can be heard clearly: swords clashing and crowds cheering. "You decided not to come, then?" Merlin asks.
He is fully expecting Arthur to snap at him in return. There may even be some yelling.
"They're cowards," Arthur snarls. He slams his fist against the table so hard that Merlin can hear the sound of wood splintering. "They're all cowards."
"That's one way of looking at it," Merlin says. He stands warily near the doorway; if Arthur is angry, he doesn't want to be in the way. Instincts of self-preservation are just a little bit too strong for that.
Arthur looks up at him, glaring. Merlin doesn't allow himself to notice just how black his eyes have become. "And what other way would there be, Merlin?"
"You're a vampire and they don't want to die?" he suggests.
Arthur doesn't seem to look kindly upon this interpretation.
In fact, he snarls at him too. "I am perfectly under control."
And, well, Merlin knows this. He would never have allowed Arthur to take a bite out of him in bed unless he had absolute faith in their safety - but it's one thing to allow a vampire to bite you in the safety of your own bed when you know you have enough magic and power of your own to disable him fairly easy. Facing a vampire on the battlefield with nothing between you and a limb-rending death but the vampire's own promise seems like an entirely different situation.
"I'm just saying..." Merlin says. Arthur growls at him again, although he looks as if he is trying to control it. It's not too encouraging. "Well, you're a vampire. Vampires are, um, known for being sort of violent."
"It's a sword-fight. It's supposed to be violent."
"Not really in a blood-filled, deadly, entrails-exploding kind of way." He doesn't think that Arthur would do that - but, well, anything could happen. And vampires are quite scary, when they want to be. "I can just see why the other knights might be a little bit nervous. That's all. I'm not saying they're right or anything."
Arthur's eyes close and his head bows. His hand still forms a fist against the abused table, and even from a distance Merlin can see the overwhelming tension in his body. He's not sure whether it makes him want to walk further into the room and try to calm him down, or turn in the opposite direction and run as fast as he can.
Arthur, it seems, favours the latter option. "Get out," he says between clenched teeth. Merlin hesitates - for too long. "I mean it. You need to get out of the room and go to the other side of the castle."
Merlin wants to tell him to grow up or get control of himself, but you don't argue with an angry vampire. It isn't safe. He turns around and leaves the room, abandoning Arthur to his bad mood and self-importance. He doesn't know where he's going to go, but he's no longer in the mood for watching knights beat each other up. Arthur always manages to ruin everything for him. Sometimes, Merlin would swear he does it on purpose.
*
He finds his mum in her room in Gaius's chambers; she isn't too interested in watching the tournament either. She is sitting on the end of her bed patching socks, which doesn't strike Merlin as a very interesting way to spend her time off, but he doesn't tell her that. Instead, he sits down beside her and joins in.
Within five minutes, he has manages to prick himself with a needle four times, producing a few droplets of blood each time. Arthur and Morgana won't be pleased. Walking around like a buffet in this castle isn't smart.
"I heard about Arthur not being able to participate," his mum says, still looking down at her sock. It's too casual and too at ease, and that alone is enough to tell Merlin that they are about to have one of Those Conversations. His mum is about to impart some of her wisdom to him, and they are going to try and talk about his love life, and meanwhile he is going to sit here and squirm and wish that he had learned how to vanish into thin air. That really ought to be the next spell that he learns. There are so many situations in which it would come in incredibly useful, not merely in avoiding parental embarrassment.
"Yeah, he's not too happy about it." Merlin wishes that one day someone would award him a medal for all the understating that he does around the castle. At this point, he really would deserve it.
"It must be hard for him," his mum says. Merlin still isn't quite sure where she's going with this. He isn't too comfortable with the entire conversation; while he knows that she knows about him and Arthur, he doesn't want to think about it. It really would be better if they just allowed for enormous awkward silences as they edged around that one hugely important aspect of his life.
... Or maybe not better, as such, but easier. Right now, 'easier' sounds amazing.
"I guess so..." Merlin mumbles. He knows how hard it is for Arthur; he's seen his struggles first-hand.
"Do you remember when you were a child, Merlin? You used to ask me if you could go to play with the other children in the village." She sighs to herself when her thread slips free of her needle, and calmly goes about re-threading it. Merlin is watching her by this point, the sock in his own hands completely forgotten about. "You would cry like the devil when I told you that you couldn't."
"Everyone thought I was really weird," Merlin muses. He remembers it clearly. The whole village had viewed them as oddities, his mother damaged by his father's departure and Merlin slightly touched in the head. It had felt so unfair. "I thought you were trying to ruin my life."
"I was trying to take care of you," she says.
And he knows that. He does. Yet his childhood had been so lonely and so isolated. It isn't her fault, but he still wishes that he had someone he could blame.
He gives a shallow grin. "I know, mum. I don't blame you."
"You'd be in trouble if you did," she tells him - and he doesn't doubt her for a second. His mother is the sweetest woman that he has ever met, but she knows better than to suffer fools. "I wanted to make sure you're looking out for him, that's all."
"For Arthur?" he asks, and his heart sinks a little when she nods. "Mum, he's... He's much stronger than the rest of the knights. I can see why they wouldn't want him in the competition."
She nods, and looks up from her stitching in order to settle him with a gaze that allows him to understand that he really hasn't understood what she was getting at. "Arthur has just been told that he can't go and play with the other children. Instead of cheering him up, you are ruining my socks."
Merlin tries incredibly hard not to pout, but he has to admit that she has a point. He is doing more harm than good with his long needle. "He told me I should get out," he admits sheepishly.
"Did he have a reason to do so?"
He really hates it when his mum is rational. She's his mum. Isn't she supposed to be on his side all the time?
"Maybe. I don't know. Probably not." He might not have been quite as supportive as he might have been. When he was a kid, if someone had pointed out that there was a perfectly good reason why he couldn't go out and kick around a ball with Will and the others he would have been tempted to hex them. He pokes at the sock in his hand with the needle. "You're saying I better head back up there, right?"
His mum gives him a tapping kiss on top of his head, and if anyone else had been in the room he would have had to blush and squirm away: he's supposed to be too old for that kind of thing now, too grown up. Too often, he wishes that that wasn't the case. Being a grown-up at all is difficult and painful.
When he makes it back up to their bedroom, Arthur is still glowering at the table. He has sat down by this point and his glare comes from his chair: glowering is a fairly taxing task, Merlin supposes.
He clears his throat when Arthur doesn't look up, despite probably having been able to hear him coming from the end of the corridor. Arthur's eyes flick up towards him. "I thought I told you to go away," he grumps.
"Yeah, you did," Merlin agrees. He steps inside the room and closes the door behind him. "I've never been very good at listening to orders though, have I?"
Arthur's eyes close and he groans. Merlin really wishes that he knew how to wipe that misery from his face. It feels like he's seen Arthur miserable more often than not lately. It's not his fault. For once, he is not the one at fault - or not the only one at fault - but that isn't as much of a consolation as he would like it to be. "You are the most annoying creature in all the kingdom," Arthur complains.
At least he doesn't yell at him to get out when Merlin wanders into the room and perches at the edge of the table. It is at the wrong height entirely to be completely comfortable, but it makes him look deceptively casual to lean against it in such a way.
"Even more annoying than cowardly knights?"
Arthur opens his eyes and looks up at him skeptically. "Yes," he says after a pause.
"Even more annoying than Uther?"
"Even more annoying than my father and the knights combined," Arthur asserts. His grumpy facade has began to crack, however, and after Merlin waits for a moment he does nothing more than roll his eyes at him. "Come over here, you pillock."
Merlin would complain about Arthur insulting him - really, it is okay when Merlin does that, but from Arthur it is utterly unfair - but he has pushed his luck far enough today. He makes his way across the room and squishes his way onto Arthur's chair, an activity that makes the possession of bony hips extremely useful. Arthur grumbles but accommodates him as best he can, until they end up in a position half on top of each other; it is very uncomfortable, but comforting at the same time.
Arthur heaves a sigh of unneeded air and rests his head against Merlin's shoulder - and Merlin can only remember his village, and his childhood, and the numbing unfairness of it all.
"You want to go and make fun of all the knights tomorrow?" Merlin suggests. His fingers play absentmindedly with the short hair at the nape of Arthur's neck. "I can use my magic and make someone fall over, if you want. You can choose who."
"That would be cheating," Arthur scolds as sternly as he can manage. Considering his smile, Merlin is not inclined to take it seriously.
"It's not cheating if I'm not participating," he points out. "There's nothing in the rules against it."
Well, there's certainly more than enough in the laws of Camelot to prohibit it, and he ought to know better than to try his luck.
"Let's stick to merely mocking the contestants rather than maiming them," Arthur suggests. When a vampire is advising him to be less blood-thirsty, Merlin thinks that something really is wrong.
"I'm sorry I was a prat earlier," he mumbles. Apologies come easier to him than they do to Arthur, but that doesn't mean that he's good at them.
Arthur shrugs. In doing so, he nearly manages to knock Merlin out of the chair altogether. "You had a point," he mutters unwillingly.
They both sigh at the exact same moment, and are then unable to stop themselves from chuckling about it. They remain hiding in Arthur's room for as long as decorum will allow them to manage: there will be feasts to attend in the evening and foreign princes for Arthur to dazzle with his wit, but for the moment they can be alone and grumpy together.
*
It's actually pretty exciting to get to sit up here in the stalls and watch the fight taking place down below. They're so close that Merlin feels as if he is actually in the arena itself; he can hear every single clash of the sword and every scuff of boots against the dusty ground.
He can also smell the sweat from the knights, but that's a slightly unpleasant side effect that he would rather not think about.
Arthur is sitting to his left, next to his father, while the two girls are sitting on the other side of Merlin. Morgana is entranced, yet Gwen keeps flinching every time that one of the knights sustains a blow. "They're not fighting to the death," Merlin reminds her. To be heard above the baying crowd, he has to lean close to talk right into her ear. "I don't think there's much to worry about."
She looks towards him, drawn and worried. "There will be blood on the air," she responds, but Merlin finds that he isn't worry. They can control themselves now; they're getting better every day.
"No one's going to get mauled," Merlin says. He nudges her with his elbow until she smiles - but it is an expression that freezes once she looks towards him instead of at the two fighting men.
Merlin freezes as well, still leaning; he's not entirely sure why she's done so, but it seems as if it would be a good thing to copy. She must have a reason and it's bound to be a good one.
Her hands are folded in her lap, neat and ladylike. "Merlin," she says; she is so level and logical that it frightens him. "What happened to your neck?"
There are healing bite marks at the base of his neck and collarbone, marks that are usually hidden extremely well by the neckline of his shirt and the knot of his neckerchief. Too late, he realises that leaning towards Gwen in this way has revealed them fairly openly to her.
He swallows in a silent moment and then says, "Would you believe me if I said a pig attacked me?"
It's almost true, in its own way. There is a lot that could be said about Arthur's table manners, most of it insulting.
Gwen's disappointed expression, however, tells him that such an excuse wasn't readily going to be accepted. The two vampires are focused on the fight; they're not listening, and for that Merlin at least can be glad.
"Don't tell anyone," he urges Gwen. They're not doing anything wrong - Morgana and Gwen do it safely all the time - but he doesn't think he could stand to have anyone else look at him in the way that Gwen is looking at him now, with that mix of concern and disappointment. More than that, he knows that Arthur definitely doesn't need to have to deal with it. His condition is hard enough for him to deal with without any extra added condemnations. "Please."
"Oh, Merlin," Gwen murmurs sympathetically - but as the crowd around them begins to applaud and cheer, any further response is swallowed. Merlin looks back towards the ring to find that the fight is over and a victory has been won. At his side, Arthur is clapping and grinning at once. When Arthur looks towards him, Merlin mimics the expression.
He decides that now may not be the best time to mention that he may have just spilled their secret, though it freezes his blood with awkward tension. He'll let Arthur keep smiling for a little while longer yet.
Pairing: Arthur/Merlin
Word Count: 3677
Rating: PG-13
A/N: A vampire AU set in the Scent 'verse. I apologise for the long break between installments.
Summary: Camelot hosts a tournament. Arthur's mood takes a knock when he discovers that he will not be allowed to participate.
When Merlin wakes up, Arthur is crashing around their bedroom in a mood. This isn't too unusual, so Merlin rolls over onto his front, groans, and tries to pretend that Arthur isn't there. Once again, this too isn't unusual. In fact, when it comes to Arthur, this is often the only sane response to his moods.
"I know you're awake, Merlin," Arthur says.
Merlin takes the opportunity to glare at him from from the bed. "I don't want to be," he mutters, a universal truism.
"You're my servant. You're supposed to be up before me."
Arthur doesn't really eat and he doesn't really sleep, so the entire concept seems daft. He doesn't need a servant; he just needs someone to grouch at. Merlin rouses himself anyway, sitting up in bed. He feels pleasantly triumphant when Arthur's gaze lingers with him for a moment and the bad mood briefly evaporates from his face. The ability to combat Arthur's grumpiness throughshirtlessness feels like a superpower.
He shuffles to the side of the bed and looks lazily for his clothes. "Don't you have a tournament today?" he asks - as if he isn't already aware of that, as if the castle hasn't been buzzing with excitement for the last week.
Arthur throws his tunic into his face in retaliation. Merlin is fairly glad that the material covers his grin.
"Nervous?" he asks. Despite the months that he's been in Camelot now, and the endless training drills he's watched Arthur run through with his knights, he'd never actually seen Arthur in battle before. They had other problems on their minds at the time, generally blood and vampire related; by comparison, nothing else had mattered too much.
"I don't get nervous," Arthur answers. He stares out of the window into the morning sunlight, and Merlin allows himself to cast a few glances his way as he hurriedly gets dressed. He has to make sure that any marks from Arthur's teeth are well-hidden by his clothes: they've only been trying this for a week or so, but so far it seems to be going just fine. He still doesn't want to tell anyone about it until they absolutely have to. They wouldn't understand, would they?
"Liar," Merlin says, although with such supernatural strength infused in Arthur's muscles Merlin supposes that Arthur really has no need to worry at all. He always says that he doesn't use his strength at all when he's in a competition, but Merlin isn't sure if it's that easy. There can't be a clear distinction between 'normal' strength and 'oh wait, no, that's impossible' strength.
Maybe there is. He isn't a vampire, he isn't a knight, and he doesn't have to take on Arthur in the arena. It's not his problem.
"You're going to be there, aren't you?" Arthur asks, turning his face away from the window so that he can look at Merlin instead. "It's an officially sanctioned excuse to slack off. I can't imagine you'd miss that."
Merlin rolls his eyes with a hint of affection, knowing that this is probably Arthur's way of properly asking him to come.
"I spent all day yesterday cleaning that armour," he says. It hadn't been exactly all day, but it had certainly felt like it. He thinks that Arthur wouldn't require such an impeccable shine if he was the one that had to do the work himself. "I wouldn't miss seeing my handiwork in action, sire."
Arthur's lips twitch with a barely restrained smile. They both pretend not to notice: they have far too much fun bickering to acknowledge that they genuinely like each other.
"Hurry up and eat breakfast," Arthur orders, pointing at the food on his table. It is untouched and must have been brought in by a different servant. Merlin feels embarrassed for a brief, flushing moment, before he remembers that the relationship between himself and Arthur isn't exactly a well-kept secret. No one would have raised an eyebrow if they had walked in here to find him sprawled in Arthur's bed: they might have found the way that he steals the covers and Arthur allows him to do so to be unusual, but it certainly isn't hidden. Sometimes, Merlin wonders what exactly Uther thinks of this arrangement. He thinks maybe he allows it because it stops Arthur from chomping down on random subjects - lesser evils and all that.
Really, Merlin doesn't like to spend any more time than is absolutely necessary contemplating how Uther's mind works. It is a scary, dark place.
Arthur clatters around getting ready to leave while Merlin wolfs down some food, and they are both outside in the bright sunlight before another ten minutes have passed. Merlin trails a little behind Arthur, taking his time to marvel at the bright colours of the tents and the busy bustle of people around him. He's never seen a tournament before; the closest he's got to it is probably watching the older boys fight in the village when he was a kid. It doesn't really compare.
He is distracted enough by staring at the multitude of flags that are fluttering near the entrance that he doesn't notice that Morgana and Gwen have approached until Morgana begins speaking. "Uther is looking for you," she tells Arthur. From the look on her face and the tone of her voice, Merlin gets the feeling that Uther doesn't just want to wish him good luck.
He looks at the back of Arthur's head. It is very, very difficult to ascertain a person's emotional state from such a vantage point.
"What does he want?" Arthur asks.
There is a long, steady pause. Merlin has discovered that he really doesn't like the sound of silence.
"It's the foreign knights," Morgana says eventually. "They are refusing to participate in the tournament unless you withdraw."
Merlin struggles not to flinch as Arthur storms away in the direction of his father without another word to any of them. Gwen meets his eyes with a sympathetic sigh.
"Today isn't going to end well, is it?" Merlin asks, already defeated.
Neither one of the girls tries to contradict him. Merlin thinks that is a sign that they really are screwed.
*
When Merlin enters their bedroom, he finds it filled with prickling fury.
Arthur is busy glaring at a document on the table. He barely glances up when Merlin closes the door behind himself, loudly. Outside the window, the sound of the on-going tournament can be heard clearly: swords clashing and crowds cheering. "You decided not to come, then?" Merlin asks.
He is fully expecting Arthur to snap at him in return. There may even be some yelling.
"They're cowards," Arthur snarls. He slams his fist against the table so hard that Merlin can hear the sound of wood splintering. "They're all cowards."
"That's one way of looking at it," Merlin says. He stands warily near the doorway; if Arthur is angry, he doesn't want to be in the way. Instincts of self-preservation are just a little bit too strong for that.
Arthur looks up at him, glaring. Merlin doesn't allow himself to notice just how black his eyes have become. "And what other way would there be, Merlin?"
"You're a vampire and they don't want to die?" he suggests.
Arthur doesn't seem to look kindly upon this interpretation.
In fact, he snarls at him too. "I am perfectly under control."
And, well, Merlin knows this. He would never have allowed Arthur to take a bite out of him in bed unless he had absolute faith in their safety - but it's one thing to allow a vampire to bite you in the safety of your own bed when you know you have enough magic and power of your own to disable him fairly easy. Facing a vampire on the battlefield with nothing between you and a limb-rending death but the vampire's own promise seems like an entirely different situation.
"I'm just saying..." Merlin says. Arthur growls at him again, although he looks as if he is trying to control it. It's not too encouraging. "Well, you're a vampire. Vampires are, um, known for being sort of violent."
"It's a sword-fight. It's supposed to be violent."
"Not really in a blood-filled, deadly, entrails-exploding kind of way." He doesn't think that Arthur would do that - but, well, anything could happen. And vampires are quite scary, when they want to be. "I can just see why the other knights might be a little bit nervous. That's all. I'm not saying they're right or anything."
Arthur's eyes close and his head bows. His hand still forms a fist against the abused table, and even from a distance Merlin can see the overwhelming tension in his body. He's not sure whether it makes him want to walk further into the room and try to calm him down, or turn in the opposite direction and run as fast as he can.
Arthur, it seems, favours the latter option. "Get out," he says between clenched teeth. Merlin hesitates - for too long. "I mean it. You need to get out of the room and go to the other side of the castle."
Merlin wants to tell him to grow up or get control of himself, but you don't argue with an angry vampire. It isn't safe. He turns around and leaves the room, abandoning Arthur to his bad mood and self-importance. He doesn't know where he's going to go, but he's no longer in the mood for watching knights beat each other up. Arthur always manages to ruin everything for him. Sometimes, Merlin would swear he does it on purpose.
*
He finds his mum in her room in Gaius's chambers; she isn't too interested in watching the tournament either. She is sitting on the end of her bed patching socks, which doesn't strike Merlin as a very interesting way to spend her time off, but he doesn't tell her that. Instead, he sits down beside her and joins in.
Within five minutes, he has manages to prick himself with a needle four times, producing a few droplets of blood each time. Arthur and Morgana won't be pleased. Walking around like a buffet in this castle isn't smart.
"I heard about Arthur not being able to participate," his mum says, still looking down at her sock. It's too casual and too at ease, and that alone is enough to tell Merlin that they are about to have one of Those Conversations. His mum is about to impart some of her wisdom to him, and they are going to try and talk about his love life, and meanwhile he is going to sit here and squirm and wish that he had learned how to vanish into thin air. That really ought to be the next spell that he learns. There are so many situations in which it would come in incredibly useful, not merely in avoiding parental embarrassment.
"Yeah, he's not too happy about it." Merlin wishes that one day someone would award him a medal for all the understating that he does around the castle. At this point, he really would deserve it.
"It must be hard for him," his mum says. Merlin still isn't quite sure where she's going with this. He isn't too comfortable with the entire conversation; while he knows that she knows about him and Arthur, he doesn't want to think about it. It really would be better if they just allowed for enormous awkward silences as they edged around that one hugely important aspect of his life.
... Or maybe not better, as such, but easier. Right now, 'easier' sounds amazing.
"I guess so..." Merlin mumbles. He knows how hard it is for Arthur; he's seen his struggles first-hand.
"Do you remember when you were a child, Merlin? You used to ask me if you could go to play with the other children in the village." She sighs to herself when her thread slips free of her needle, and calmly goes about re-threading it. Merlin is watching her by this point, the sock in his own hands completely forgotten about. "You would cry like the devil when I told you that you couldn't."
"Everyone thought I was really weird," Merlin muses. He remembers it clearly. The whole village had viewed them as oddities, his mother damaged by his father's departure and Merlin slightly touched in the head. It had felt so unfair. "I thought you were trying to ruin my life."
"I was trying to take care of you," she says.
And he knows that. He does. Yet his childhood had been so lonely and so isolated. It isn't her fault, but he still wishes that he had someone he could blame.
He gives a shallow grin. "I know, mum. I don't blame you."
"You'd be in trouble if you did," she tells him - and he doesn't doubt her for a second. His mother is the sweetest woman that he has ever met, but she knows better than to suffer fools. "I wanted to make sure you're looking out for him, that's all."
"For Arthur?" he asks, and his heart sinks a little when she nods. "Mum, he's... He's much stronger than the rest of the knights. I can see why they wouldn't want him in the competition."
She nods, and looks up from her stitching in order to settle him with a gaze that allows him to understand that he really hasn't understood what she was getting at. "Arthur has just been told that he can't go and play with the other children. Instead of cheering him up, you are ruining my socks."
Merlin tries incredibly hard not to pout, but he has to admit that she has a point. He is doing more harm than good with his long needle. "He told me I should get out," he admits sheepishly.
"Did he have a reason to do so?"
He really hates it when his mum is rational. She's his mum. Isn't she supposed to be on his side all the time?
"Maybe. I don't know. Probably not." He might not have been quite as supportive as he might have been. When he was a kid, if someone had pointed out that there was a perfectly good reason why he couldn't go out and kick around a ball with Will and the others he would have been tempted to hex them. He pokes at the sock in his hand with the needle. "You're saying I better head back up there, right?"
His mum gives him a tapping kiss on top of his head, and if anyone else had been in the room he would have had to blush and squirm away: he's supposed to be too old for that kind of thing now, too grown up. Too often, he wishes that that wasn't the case. Being a grown-up at all is difficult and painful.
When he makes it back up to their bedroom, Arthur is still glowering at the table. He has sat down by this point and his glare comes from his chair: glowering is a fairly taxing task, Merlin supposes.
He clears his throat when Arthur doesn't look up, despite probably having been able to hear him coming from the end of the corridor. Arthur's eyes flick up towards him. "I thought I told you to go away," he grumps.
"Yeah, you did," Merlin agrees. He steps inside the room and closes the door behind him. "I've never been very good at listening to orders though, have I?"
Arthur's eyes close and he groans. Merlin really wishes that he knew how to wipe that misery from his face. It feels like he's seen Arthur miserable more often than not lately. It's not his fault. For once, he is not the one at fault - or not the only one at fault - but that isn't as much of a consolation as he would like it to be. "You are the most annoying creature in all the kingdom," Arthur complains.
At least he doesn't yell at him to get out when Merlin wanders into the room and perches at the edge of the table. It is at the wrong height entirely to be completely comfortable, but it makes him look deceptively casual to lean against it in such a way.
"Even more annoying than cowardly knights?"
Arthur opens his eyes and looks up at him skeptically. "Yes," he says after a pause.
"Even more annoying than Uther?"
"Even more annoying than my father and the knights combined," Arthur asserts. His grumpy facade has began to crack, however, and after Merlin waits for a moment he does nothing more than roll his eyes at him. "Come over here, you pillock."
Merlin would complain about Arthur insulting him - really, it is okay when Merlin does that, but from Arthur it is utterly unfair - but he has pushed his luck far enough today. He makes his way across the room and squishes his way onto Arthur's chair, an activity that makes the possession of bony hips extremely useful. Arthur grumbles but accommodates him as best he can, until they end up in a position half on top of each other; it is very uncomfortable, but comforting at the same time.
Arthur heaves a sigh of unneeded air and rests his head against Merlin's shoulder - and Merlin can only remember his village, and his childhood, and the numbing unfairness of it all.
"You want to go and make fun of all the knights tomorrow?" Merlin suggests. His fingers play absentmindedly with the short hair at the nape of Arthur's neck. "I can use my magic and make someone fall over, if you want. You can choose who."
"That would be cheating," Arthur scolds as sternly as he can manage. Considering his smile, Merlin is not inclined to take it seriously.
"It's not cheating if I'm not participating," he points out. "There's nothing in the rules against it."
Well, there's certainly more than enough in the laws of Camelot to prohibit it, and he ought to know better than to try his luck.
"Let's stick to merely mocking the contestants rather than maiming them," Arthur suggests. When a vampire is advising him to be less blood-thirsty, Merlin thinks that something really is wrong.
"I'm sorry I was a prat earlier," he mumbles. Apologies come easier to him than they do to Arthur, but that doesn't mean that he's good at them.
Arthur shrugs. In doing so, he nearly manages to knock Merlin out of the chair altogether. "You had a point," he mutters unwillingly.
They both sigh at the exact same moment, and are then unable to stop themselves from chuckling about it. They remain hiding in Arthur's room for as long as decorum will allow them to manage: there will be feasts to attend in the evening and foreign princes for Arthur to dazzle with his wit, but for the moment they can be alone and grumpy together.
*
It's actually pretty exciting to get to sit up here in the stalls and watch the fight taking place down below. They're so close that Merlin feels as if he is actually in the arena itself; he can hear every single clash of the sword and every scuff of boots against the dusty ground.
He can also smell the sweat from the knights, but that's a slightly unpleasant side effect that he would rather not think about.
Arthur is sitting to his left, next to his father, while the two girls are sitting on the other side of Merlin. Morgana is entranced, yet Gwen keeps flinching every time that one of the knights sustains a blow. "They're not fighting to the death," Merlin reminds her. To be heard above the baying crowd, he has to lean close to talk right into her ear. "I don't think there's much to worry about."
She looks towards him, drawn and worried. "There will be blood on the air," she responds, but Merlin finds that he isn't worry. They can control themselves now; they're getting better every day.
"No one's going to get mauled," Merlin says. He nudges her with his elbow until she smiles - but it is an expression that freezes once she looks towards him instead of at the two fighting men.
Merlin freezes as well, still leaning; he's not entirely sure why she's done so, but it seems as if it would be a good thing to copy. She must have a reason and it's bound to be a good one.
Her hands are folded in her lap, neat and ladylike. "Merlin," she says; she is so level and logical that it frightens him. "What happened to your neck?"
There are healing bite marks at the base of his neck and collarbone, marks that are usually hidden extremely well by the neckline of his shirt and the knot of his neckerchief. Too late, he realises that leaning towards Gwen in this way has revealed them fairly openly to her.
He swallows in a silent moment and then says, "Would you believe me if I said a pig attacked me?"
It's almost true, in its own way. There is a lot that could be said about Arthur's table manners, most of it insulting.
Gwen's disappointed expression, however, tells him that such an excuse wasn't readily going to be accepted. The two vampires are focused on the fight; they're not listening, and for that Merlin at least can be glad.
"Don't tell anyone," he urges Gwen. They're not doing anything wrong - Morgana and Gwen do it safely all the time - but he doesn't think he could stand to have anyone else look at him in the way that Gwen is looking at him now, with that mix of concern and disappointment. More than that, he knows that Arthur definitely doesn't need to have to deal with it. His condition is hard enough for him to deal with without any extra added condemnations. "Please."
"Oh, Merlin," Gwen murmurs sympathetically - but as the crowd around them begins to applaud and cheer, any further response is swallowed. Merlin looks back towards the ring to find that the fight is over and a victory has been won. At his side, Arthur is clapping and grinning at once. When Arthur looks towards him, Merlin mimics the expression.
He decides that now may not be the best time to mention that he may have just spilled their secret, though it freezes his blood with awkward tension. He'll let Arthur keep smiling for a little while longer yet.