Real Men Don't Wear Girdles, Part 1/2
Title: Real Men Don't Wear Girdles, Fitts 1 and 2
Pairings: Merlin/Gwaine, Arthur/Gwen (with Lancelot joining in, maybe)
Disclaimers: This is a sort of retelling of "Gawain and the Green Knight," and also a (late, I'm sorry!) present for my dearest BFF fledmusic. There is attempted bob-and-wheel verse style, poor attempts at Old English, and unapologetic silliness.
PROLOGUE:
On New Year’s Night, the new king feasted
after the wedding, his wife a wonder-
sweet Guinevere, glorious beauty,
from lowly maid to lovely queen,
whom noble Arthur ardently adored.
The feast was the first since his father’s passing,
six long months of mourning, measured
by a grieving son’s uncertain strength,
by the somber quiet of coronation
in the shadow of Uther’s untimely death.
So Arthur dithered before he dared
to join finally and forever with Gwen,
the queen who kept him worthy of the crown.
The knights, laughing, lounged about the hall,
calling for mead and meeting the king
cup for cup. Courageous Lancelot,
at last returned from his rambling ways
in the wild to serve his sovereign there,
sat leaning against his lady’s throne,
singing a sweet air as the queen smiled.
Mighty Percival, proud and kind
and charming, teased in a chivalrous way
a kitchen girl (who’d had quite enough
of courting, and wished he’d cut to the chase).
Brave Elyan, nervous still in knighthood,
smiled to see his sister so grand
and toasted to life with the good Sir Leon.
The castle was cold but they could not feel it
in their happy hearts and their hard-won peace,
the hearths burning hot in the hallowed halls
of a faithful Camelot free from fear.
All eyes were locked on the lady and Arthur
with reverence, save one rebellious knight
who watched a single serving boy.
The servant was Merlin (much more than he seemed),
a raven-haired waif with a pitcher of wine,
winking at him from across the hall
with a sun-bright smile one suffered all night
dreaming of.
While Arthur and his Queen
were glowing from above,
Sir Gwaine was looking green-
for he was sick with love.
FITT ONE:
“No, but seriously,” Lancelot was saying, “I love you guys. I do.” He had found his way to the floor three goblets of wine ago, and was currently leaning against Gwen’s legs and staring with apparent fascination at her jeweled shoes. “Sparkly. Pretty. Your shoes are lovely and I love you guys.” He gave one of the shoes a pat.
“We know, Lance,” said Gwen, fondly. She reached down and steadied his hand before he could slosh wine all over her wedding dress, turning it into an affectionate caress when he peered up at her with big bleary eyes. “We love you, too, truly.”
“Um…” Arthur choked, because he was the king now, and it was undignified for the king to fall off his throne laughing. “Yes. You are a good knight and a fine… friend, and… such.”
“Your crown is nice. It’s shiny, like Gwen’s shoes,” Lancelot informed him happily. “Shiny like your shiny hair.”
“Quite,” said Arthur, his face coloring. Gwen covered her mouth with her hand and made a sound that she disguised as a delicate cough.
“More wine, Lancelot?” Merlin asked, all innocence. He waved the pitcher around a bit enticingly, hoping to find out what one more glass of Camelot’s finest vintage would do to Lancelot’s composure. This was without a doubt the best feast he had ever been to. As he refilled everyone’s drinks, he glanced around the hall, taking account of the reveling crowd. He thought that he’d never seen so many people he cared about looking happy at the same time. It was bewildering.
When he found the person he was looking for, his smile grew brighter involuntarily. Gwaine was sitting on his own, pushing a piece of pork around on his plate and staring into the middle distance with drunken intensity. He still wore the Pendragon red with an air of mistrust, like he expected the symbol of his knighthood to come to life and strangle him for being an impostor- just a shiftless scoundrel with a sword. Merlin knew better, of course; Gwaine was noble, and brave, chivalrous when it mattered, and really surprisingly kind. He was everything a knight should be. Of course, he was also a shiftless scoundrel with a sword, but that was part of what Merlin liked about him.
That and the fact that he was, all told, one of the most gorgeous men Merlin had ever seen in real life. The uniform didn’t hurt either, no matter how warily Gwaine wore it around his nice, muscled, very lovely shoulders.
Gwaine glanced up suddenly, meeting Merlin’s eyes. Caught, Merlin grinned and gave an exaggerated wink before turning back to Lancelot, cheeks burning. He needed a distraction from his own embarrassing thoughts, and figured that Lancelot’s embarrassing thoughts - all of which he was beginning to share out loud - would do quite nicely.
“Hey Lancelot, who do you reckon is more attractive: Arthur or Gwen?”
Lancelot, Merlin reasoned, loved nothing more than to rescue a friend in trouble, so he could not be angry about this betrayal in the morning.
“That,” answered Lancelot, pointing a finger in Merlin’s general direction, “is an excellent question, and one I shall attempt to answer in three parts. Firstly, in terms of complexion, while both are beyond compare I would have to say-”
Fortunately for Lancelot, nobody ever got to hear which of his sovereign’s complexions he found the most appealing. At that instant, every window in the hall burst outward, the roar of shattering glass drowning out all the music and the merry sounds, bringing total silence in its aftermath. In the void, the sound of hoofbeats echoing on stone could be heard, softly but clearly, as if in the distance but magically amplified. They quickly grew louder, giving the impression that they were drawing closer every second, until each step shook the long wooden tables. Merlin, struck numb with panic, could feel a powerful force building but could not find its origin. Something was coming and he was blind, powerless to stop it.
And then when the hoofbeats became so loud that they seemed to come from all around them, a wash of pure green light poured through the broken windows, and for a moment Merlin was blinded.
When his vision cleared, there it was: a massive horse standing in the middle of the hall, facing the thrones, as if it had just appeared there by magic (which, Merlin thought, obviously, it had). But more worrying still was that atop that horse sat an equally massive man, wearing scant armor and simple clothes, and looking far more intimidating than any man with leaves woven into his long, flowing hair had any right to look.
Also, both he and the horse were entirely, uniformly green. But Merlin could never hold his alcohol very well, and was probably hallucinating that bit.
“I SEEK KING ARTHUR,” the green man bellowed. Arthur, bless his idiot heart, started a bit in his seat, a sort of who, me? expression passing briefly over his features before he remembered that he’d in fact been the king for six months.
“I am King Arthur of Camelot,” he answered, with admirable authority and composure given the fact that a giant green horse was now chewing on Gaius’ sleeve. “What have you come to ask of me?”
The giant removed a huge green gauntlet, tossing it theatrically to the floor. Merlin could not suppress his groan, because of course. Magical beings couldn’t just come to Camelot because they’d heard the cooks made lovely veal, it always had to be the dueling and the killing. “I challenge you before this court,” he roared. He seemed almost jovial, which made Merlin even more uncomfortable. “My challenge is thus: strike me a killing blow with this ax.”
The ax he pulled from a holster at his hip was, predictably, very large and very green.
“After I have stood for this blow, you must then stand for one in return. One week hence, you will find me again and allow me to strike you with this same ax.” He stroked his green beard smugly. “Who will accept my challenge?”
The knights of Camelot were very brave, of course, but they were also very drunk, and the situation was extremely confusing. No one moved.
“But this is nonsense!” the giant cried. “I have heard tales of the bravery and honor of the Camelot warriors! Are you all nothing but cowards after all?”
That, of course, got through to Arthur, who was (though very wise and just) still very much a boy sometimes. He shot to his feet in a defiant huff. “Sir Knight, I-”
“Shut up!” Merlin hissed, panicked. All those years protecting Arthur, finally getting him his crown and his queen and his destiny, and now he was going to willingly do battle with a giant green ax murderer?
Arthur snorted. “That’s ‘shut up, sire,’ and it’s going to be fine. I’m to deal the first blow, how will it even be possible for him to deal the second one once his head is off?”
This was a good point, in theory, but- “He’s magic, Arthur, obviously. He appeared out of thin air. He’s nine feet high. He’s green. Don’t you think you should reconsider this?”
“Merlin, I’ve never backed down from a challenge and I never will. I don’t care if he’s green or purple or covered in polka dots and paisleys, I’m doing it.”
“Well you’ll have to get to the gauntlet first!” Merlin cried wildly, and then took off running toward where the glove had been thrown. Arthur swore in a very un-kingly manner and started after him. Over the panicked buzz in his ears, Merlin thought he heard someone call his name, but he had almost reached the gauntlet so he ignored it, putting on a final burst of speed, and then-
-he collided with what felt like a solid but very warm wall, wrapped in a soft red cape. “No you don’t, Merlin,” murmured Gwaine’s voice in his ear, a strong arm slipping briefly around his waist to keep him from falling backward. Taken off-guard, Merlin lost sight of his goal for a moment, huffing a confused breath into Gwaine’s neck. Gwaine chuckled and pushed him away gently, kneeling down to pick up the gauntlet just as Arthur skidded to a stop next to them.
“Why is everyone always trying to die for me?” Arthur demanded, face thunderous. “By all that is holy, I will not stand for it. Give it back, Gwaine.” He made grabbing gestures at the gauntlet. “I accepted the challenge.”
“I think you’ll find that officially, sire, you never did,” Gwaine clarified breezily. “But if it makes you feel any better, I won’t die for you. I’ll die for Merlin here, instead. All right, Merlin?”
“Oh, sod off,” said Merlin, his heart fluttering a bit in his chest despite himself. “Nobody is going to die.”
“Somebody might die,” pointed out the green knight cheerfully. He seemed to be watching the proceedings with great amusement. “There is a bloody great ax involved.”
“Compensating for something?” Gwaine asked sweetly, and then Merlin was too busy rolling his eyes to prevent him from quickly adding “and I accept your challenge on behalf of Camelot, Sir Knight.”
“No!” groaned Arthur.
“You utter prat,” shrilled Merlin.
“Excellent!” said the green knight. He launched himself athletically off of his horse and retrieved his gauntlet from Gwaine, smirking as he put it on. “One blow,” he said, passing the giant ax to Gwaine, who tried to look as if merely holding the enormous thing up wasn’t a chore. “I will not defend myself.”
And he didn’t. With a grunt of effort, Gwaine swung the ax in a smooth arc and struck cleanly at the knight’s neck, severing the head with one blow. The head flew a few feet from the body, and Merlin watched with morbid fascination as it bounced a bit and rolled to a stop against a table-leg.
Then it started to laugh.
“A fine blow!” said the head approvingly. “All in one swing!” As the crowd gaped, the still-standing body of the green knight marched over to where his head had rolled and scooped it up. Streaks of (green!) blood smeared the tunic and dripped onto the floor as the body hefted its head under one arm. “See you in one week’s time, Sir Gwaine!” the head said cheerfully. “I shall be at the Green Chapel. Don’t be late!”
Gwaine boggled. “How am I to find you, when the time comes?”
The massive shoulders shrugged. “Simply ride in the direction that your fancy takes you. You will find me.” The body made a deep bow toward a dumbfounded Arthur, and then toward Gwen where she stood frozen next to her throne. “Your Majesties.”
And then, in a flash of green light, the head and the body disappeared.
“Well, bugger,” said Gwaine, swaying drunkenly on his feet. Arthur fumed. Merlin slapped his hand over his face and sighed.
~*~
Merlin followed Gwaine to his rooms, and then stood seething with righteous indignation as the knight packed for his Death Quest. “You will not go. I forbid it.”
“Honestly, Merlin.” Gwaine cuffed him lightly on the shoulder. “You are starting to sound like Arthur.”
“I mean it.” Merlin spun on his heel and started to pace the length of the chamber. “That man, that thing is dangerous. Who knows who sent him! It’s a trap, you’re meant to die.”
“We don’t know for sure that it’s a trap.” Merlin stopped pacing to give him a withering look, and Gwaine sighed. “Okay, yes, it’s a very obvious trap. But what would you have me do, send another man to his death?” He resumed packing, trying to fit the giant ax into his small satchel. “I know I’m not really a knight, but I have some honor in me.”
“I was going to get to the gauntlet!” Merlin insisted, throwing his arms wide in exasperation. “Arthur would have been protected.”
Gwaine groaned. “Merlin,” he said slowly, as if he were speaking to a particularly stupid person, “it’s not Arthur that I was protecting.” He reached over and pushed against Merlin’s chest playfully, his palm warm through cloth, fingers momentarily brushing the skin of Merlin’s collarbone. “I mean, honestly. Could you have run for that gauntlet any faster?”
Merlin cleared his throat, subconsciously rubbing his chest where Gwaine had touched him. “It’s my job to protect Arthur.”
“It isn’t. That idiot knighted me, so it’s my job to protect him. And it’s also my job to watch over your foolish arse, so get over it and go get me some dried meat from the kitchens, if you’re so willing to help out. I ride out tomorrow.”
“Gwaine…” Merlin sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “All right. I’ll bring you some bread and some mead, too, if you promise not to drink it all on the first night.”
Gwaine grinned. “I promise no such thing. Now off with you.”
Merlin started from the room, the stopped and turned back. “Gwaine.” He coughed. “You know. You are.”
“I am… what?”
“You are a real knight.” He looked down at his boots, unaccountably shy. “A great one. And… that’s all.”
Merlin all but ran toward the kitchens, face flaming and heart in his throat.
FITT TWO:
So Gwaine set out as the sun was rising,
armor gleaming in the gray light,
his sword shining and freshly sharpened,
his shield painted with a gold pentangle
(symbolizing something specific, I’m sure),
his satchel light as his heart was heavy.
It felt like Death had dealt this deal,
that a demon of sorts had dared him to strike,
that he wasn’t to survive the swing of the ax.
Yet the life he led was lovely, now,
and Gwaine was leery of losing it,
afraid for the the first time in forever.
He had a home, a happy one,
and had his purpose, knighted by a prince
and serving a king he could be proud of.
But mostly his friend, so faithful and fair,
whom Gwaine would love ‘til the moment he lost
his head.
Yet never would he kiss him,
nor take him to his bed-
he hoped Merlin would miss him,
and cursed words left unsaid.
The next morning dawned bright and clear, which Merlin thought was incredibly unfair under the circumstances. Gwaine had set out after the green knight at first light, while the mist was still hanging near the ground and the sky was still dark.
Merlin knew this because he was following him.
Gaius would understand, once he woke up and found the carefully-worded note Merlin had left for him (“Went after Gwaine. Sorry. Happy new year!”) And anyway, it would just be stupid for Gwaine to lose his head just because Merlin wasn’t there to provide magical protection. He would just stay out of the way and make sure that everyone’s head stayed firmly attached. He liked Gwaine’s head where it was; it housed a brain that Merlin was quite fond of, plus it looked very handsome attached to the rest of Gwaine’s body, which Merlin also liked very much.
He tripped over a root, and ahead of him, Gwaine sighed.
“I’m going to stop pretending I don’t know you’re there now, Merlin,” he called. “It’s gotten more sad than funny.”
Merlin ran to catch up, frowning. “How long have you known?”
“Since we left the castle. Honestly, Merlin, you might as well have brought a horse; you’re even less subtle on foot, and now it’s going to take us twice as long to find this bloke with you trotting alongside.”
“You’re letting me come with you?” Merlin narrowed his eyes. “Is this a trick?”
Gwaine laughed. “No trick. I didn’t want you volunteering for the ax, but that doesn’t mean I wouldn’t like your company. Like old times, eh? Just us and the road, off on a mission to keep your Arthur alive.” He smiled, strangely wistful. “I just assumed you wouldn’t be keen on running around aimlessly through the forest in the middle of winter waiting to bump into a magical chapel. But if you’re up for it…” He shrugged. “More the merrier!”
“You… you berk, you let me dart from tree to tree and wade through snow for two hours!”
“Ay,” Gwaine agreed, eyes sparkling. “It was hilarious.”
“I was so worried!” Merlin heaved a breath, his lungs burning with the cold. “I thought I’d be too slow, that I’d lose you.”
Gwaine’s eyes turned warm, and he jumped down from his horse, placing a steadying hand on Merlin’s arm. “You won’t. I’ll walk with you.”
~*~
It was remarkably easy to forget about the world, out here in the woods with Gwaine. Merlin could feel the constant tension associated with his life evaporating-his magic (still secret), his job (still tedious), his king (still an enormous prat). Back home, he usually felt like he belonged to everyone else, like he only existed to ease Arthur’s way to greatness and, eventually, bring magic back to Camelot.
Tromping through the underbrush while Gwaine sang all the bawdiest drinking songs he could think of, though… this was a different feeling entirely.
“Where she’s gone I’ll never know, cheeks of roses and eyes all aglow, Come on, Merlin, I know you know this one! And a hey! Ho! Which way should I go…. I shall stop right here and wait until you finish the chorus, Merlin, don’t think I won’t! And a hey! Ho! Which way should I go….”
“For the maiden who makes my... manhood grow,” Merlin sang, barely getting through it before he dissolved into giggles. Gwaine whooped joyfully and slapped him on the back, and Merlin pretended he wasn’t blushing, because really. “That refrain is so horrifying.”
“Wasn’t so horrifying when you belted it out no less than twelve times after Arthur’s coronation,” Gwaine pointed out, grinning wickedly. “We couldn’t stop you.”
“Yes, well… we were all rather drunk, weren’t we?”
Gwaine snorted. “Well, that’s putting it very mildly. Aaaaaaaand East to West and North to South, they’re singing songs about your mouth, my darling…”
The coronation had been a dark affair at first, marred by Arthur’s gloomy mood. Merlin and Gwaine had been particularly energetic at the feast afterwards, passing around wineskins and endless goblets of mead and whipping the court into a festival-like frenzy, trying to distract Arthur from his grief. Merlin hoped it had worked. Really though, he couldn’t remember much past his and Gwaine’s first reprise of “Farewell, My Bonny Bumpkin,” which was a song they had made up on the spot that had been popular enough to earn several encores.
“White as snow and blue as flame,” Gwaine continued, a surprisingly lovely baritone in the background of Merlin’s thoughts, “skin of an angel and eyes of the same, my darling…”
Merlin was mostly a happy person by nature, even with all the terrible things that had happened to him in his still-short lifetime-but it was rare for him to feel as completely free as he did out here, with Gwaine. He loved Camelot and Arthur, obviously, but those things were only really his through that Great Destiny he kept hearing about. This, though, his time with Gwaine… this was something just for him.
“Aaaaand North to South to East to West, yours is the arse that I love the best-”
“I know you don’t believe it possible, Gwaine, but there is such a thing as too many bawdy songs, and I think you hit the limit ten miles back.”
“-to enjoy! From far and wide, all are impressed, you’ve the sweetest ears, I can attest...”
Merlin bit his lip against a grin. “Oh, come on, you’re just making these up now-”
“My darling boy!” Gwaine finished with a triumphant flourish.
And Merlin walked directly into a low-hanging branch.
“That was my last song, I swear. Now’s a good time to stop for the night, don’t you think? You all right there, Merlin?”
They made camp in a clearing near the river, and Merlin hoped that the constant singing had scared off scared off enough squirrels to keep their rations safe for the night.
“I got the wood,” Gwaine announced, dumping the huge pile of branches in the middle of their campsite. “But you have to light the fire. Flint’s here. You’ve got this way with fire, you know. What’s for dinner, dried pork and bread?”
He turned away to look through the saddlebags, which gave an off-balance Merlin a chance to light the fire with a glance and a tiny gesture, banging the flint against the steel a bit for authenticity. Gwaine turned around just as he was blowing gently at the base of the fire, pretending to bolster the flames. Gwaine seemed briefly mesmerized by this before he shook himself awake and threw Merlin a little bundle of cloth, which turned out to contain a few strips of dried meat and a rather large chunk of bread. “There you go. Eat up, come on.”
“But this is so much!” Merlin crossed to the other side of the fire and sat next to Gwaine, peering at the other man’s bundle. “Where’s your bread?”
“It’s your bread now, my friend. It’s bloody freezing and you’re built like a tentpole.”
“Hey!”
“But what a lovely tentpole!” he placated, poking Merlin’s ribs.
“Owwww,” complained Merlin, beaming. “Having to deal with Arthur is bad enough. Now you’re going to start bullying me too?”
“Never,” said Gwaine with mock solemnity, “as long as I shall live. Now eat your bread.”
~*~
Merlin woke from overly-pleasant dreams with hot skin and a dry throat, with Gwaine still sleeping deeply beside him, oblivious to the world.
Damn, Merlin thought emphatically, because right now he needed nothing more than some fresh, cold water, and that meant going to the stream, and that meant going out into the cold, away from the magically-warming fire and the comforting rhythm of Gwaine’s deep, even breaths.
“Byrne,” Merlin muttered quietly into his palm, huddling around the scant light and warmth of the flame as he picked his way through the undergrowth. He let the tiny fire go, balancing on the air as it burned, and knelt at the bank of the stream to splash his face and neck liberally with the icy water.
It was only because of the extra light from the flame that Merlin saw it. As he was bending down, cupping water between his palms and bringing it to his mouth, something in the river seemed to writhe unnaturally.
That was the only warning he got before something rough and scaly wrapped tight around his wrists and pulled, sending him under and out toward the deepest part of the river.
The shock of submersion in the cold water was intense, tiny blades through his skin and his lungs. With his wrists bound by the tail or tentacle or… whatever, all of Merlin’s struggling was fruitless. He aimed a few sharp, panicked kicks in a generally-downward direction, which seemed to glance off of the slender, powerful body of the thing that was pulling him forward and down. There was no time to think of a spell, and no air to incant one anyway, so Merlin squeezed his eyes shut, gritted his teeth, centered his magic and pushed out.
It was sort of embarrassingly desperate, but it worked, at least momentarily. The thing let out a sound, an eerie scream that carried underwater, and the appendage that held his wrists loosened. Merlin swam hard toward where he assumed the shore was, but when he finally broke the surface he was actually in the middle of the river and being swept downstream. He gasped for breath and gave one shout for help, magnified with a last-ditch burst of magic, before the tail wrapped around his ankles and pulled straight down. Weakened by the cold and the expenditure of power, he lost consciousness, and his last thought was that this was a really depressing and stupid way to die.
But then he was opening his eyes to Gwaine’s face, hovering and looking very stricken. And wet. Merlin opened his mouth to ask what the matter was, and instead rolled to the side to vomit up about a gallon of river water.
“Oh, that is so disgusting,” Merlin croaked, chest heaving.
“Merlin!” Gwaine cried, gathering him close and hugging him tightly. Merlin could barely feel it, what with being numb from the cold, but he still appreciated it. He imagined that the warmth from Gwaine’s body was leeching into his limbs, bringing him back to life, and he shuddered once, hard. Gwaine’s arms tightened, and he brushed his lips very quickly to one of Merlin’s ears. “God. What are you even doing out here?”
“Water,” said Merlin, which admittedly did not explain very much at all. “I mean, I needed…”
“You’re damned lucky I saw your fire, or you’d probably still be under there.”
“Yes, lucky,” agreed Merlin. “Wait, what?”
“Your little fire. It followed you.” Gwaine was gently looking him over now, feeling for bumps and scrapes. “The thing was darting around like a crazed bird over the water, right above where that serpent dragged you down. How did you think I found you so fast?”
“I don’t… it followed me?” Merlin’s head felt like it was stuffed with particularly scratchy wool.
“Look.” Gwaine raised his eyes, to where the little flame was dancing frantically over their heads.
“Huh,” said Merlin.
“Oh, please don’t tell me-you didn’t even do it on purpose?” Gwaine chuckled weakly. “The devil’s own luck, you have. How the hell are you still alive?”
“You knew?” Merlin pulled back from Gwaine’s hold and looked him blearily in the eye. “You knew about my…” He waved his hand around again, illustratively.
“Your magic, you mean?” Gwaine said dryly. “I should say so. You’re not very subtle, are you?”
“I don’t…” Merlin tried to swallow past the painful lump in his throat. The little flame was still flitting and bobbing about in his peripheral vision, so he waved at it weakly, eyes flashing. It dwindled away, and Merlin’s half-delirious eyes, it looked sad to go.
“Merlin. The first time we met, you were throwing plates with your mind. I didn’t realize it was supposed to be a secret. Surely Arthur knows?” Merlin coughed, averting his eyes. Gwaine’s eyebrows went up. “No. Really?”
“Arthur is often… distracted with other things.”
“Clearly.” Gwaine looked oddly pleased. “Well, I certainly noticed you.” He cleared his throat. “Saw you. Saw you doing magic, I mean. We need to get you back to the camp. Brace yourself, I’m going to pick you up.”
“Um,” said Merlin, as Gwaine lifted him easily, bridal-style, and began to walk. “This is really embarrassing.”
“Well, I am also going to strip off your clothes and warm you with my body,” said Gwaine cheerfully, “and that’s probably going to be worse.”
Oh god, thought Merlin.
~*~
The next morning started out well, all things considered. Merlin woke up mostly naked, which was, for him, usually a bad sign. But Gwaine was wrapped up against him inside the blankets, one bare arm curled protectively over Merlin’s chest. It was almost overly warm now, with the campfire was still raging. He put out a hand and extinguished it. “Ic i sciepe se wealhháfoc,” he whispered, and the resulting swirls of smoke and ash resolved into the shape of a bird against the pale sunrise.
“Oh yes, subtle,” rumbled Gwaine at the back of Merlin’s neck. “Truly, you are a genius of subterfuge.”
“You shut up.” Merlin shifted, stretching, trying not to dislodge Gwaine. “I’m away from Camelot and you apparently already know… about me. This is my only chance to have fun.”
“Magic is the only thing you do for fun?” Merlin could feel the teasing smirk against his skin. “Well, that is just a little bit sad. What kind of red-blooded peasant boy are you?”
“A terribly boring one, I suppose,” sighed Merlin dramatically, rolling over to give him a retaliatory shove. They both overbalanced and toppled, and Merlin ended up leaning on his elbows and awkwardly pinning Gwaine-who was looking up at him with a bit of a dazed, winded expression-on his back against the hard ground.
“Ow,” said Gwaine, vacantly.
“Sorry, sorry, I’ll just…” Merlin tried to shift off, but Gwaine’s hands caught his hips and held them.
“Wait, Merlin, I…”
“Deer,” said Merlin blankly, staring into the woods behind Gwaine’s head.
“Dear?” said Gwaine, smiling.
“No, what-DEER. Look, it’s-” Merlin slid out of Gwaine’s grip, keeping low to the ground. “It’s looking at us, no sudden movements.”
Gwaine, looking very disoriented, carefully rolled onto his stomach to look where Merlin was pointing. “Oh, I see. Deer.”
It was a like a deer, in the same way that the serpent from the river last night had been like a snake. It was vaguely deer-shaped, but three times the size and at least five times as horrifying. It stood perfectly still, watching them with a terrible gleam of intelligence in its eyes.
“Well, then,” said Gwaine, resigned. He stood up smoothly, then gallantly reached down to help Merlin to his feet. “Looks like we’re going to have venison tonight.”
He drew his sword, still half-dressed, and went after the deer monster with a furious intensity that Merlin didn’t think was quite warranted. It was pretty impressive to watch, though.
Later that, they encountered two more overlarge deer, one fox, three fierce rabbits (not as funny as it sounded), and, the worst, a bear that stood at least twenty feet high. Every one was impossibly malicious, and every one seemed to have the sole intent of killing the two of them specifically, which was, to say the least, a little odd. Gwaine managed to fell them all without too much trouble, but it was Merlin who defeated the bear in the end, roasting it in a huge conflagration before it could dig its claws into Gwaine’s belly.
“Fond of the fire tricks, then, aren’t you?” said Gwaine approvingly, giving him a one-armed hug of gratitude.
“Oh, that’s nothing,” said Merlin, feeling smug. “You should see my wind storms.”
Gwaine did get to see his wind storm the next day when Merlin vanquished a gigantic, tenaciously violent owl. He was suitably impressed.
That night, as they were huddled around the fire warily eating their dinner, a raven swooped seemingly out of nowhere and perched on Gwaine’s horse. They thought nothing of it, until the raven proceeded to unlatch the saddlebags and carry off all of their food and supplies. Merlin and Gwaine watched, dumbfounded, as the bird disappeared over the horizon bearing a load ten times its size.
“Magic bird, then?” sighed Gwaine, breaking his remaining bread in half and tossing a piece of it into Merlin’s lap.
“Stop giving me your bread. And yes, I should say so. About the magic bird.”
“The green knight’s ax was in one of those pouches,” Gwaine pointed out. “Though at this rate, we’ll both be dead before I can face him anyway."
Merlin groaned and dropped his head into his hands. “This is ridiculous. These animals, they’re being enhanced, controlled by something, and all of them want us. It’s as if every sorcerer in the land is out to kill us.”
“Or just one, very powerful sorcerer,” said Gwaine. “Though I can’t see how that would be much better. Do you suppose it could be the green giant?”
Merlin considered. “It feels like someone else’s magic,” he decided.
“There are different kinds of magic? And you can feel the difference?” Gwaine looked intrigued, which was an unfamiliar and rather refreshing response to magic-related topics.
“Only people who have magic can feel it, I think,” said Merlin. “It’s all sort of mysterious to me, too. But green giant’s power definitely felt kind of earthy, and expansive. Whoever’s doing this, though… the power behind it seems more… bright? Cold? Like, I don’t know, if a star were made of ice but could still burn.” He shrugged, embarrassed by his digression and by Gwaine’s intent gaze. “It’s hard to explain.”
“What does your magic feel like, I wonder?”
Merlin snorted. “Nobody’s ever told me,” he said wryly. “But I doubt it would be pleasant. I’ve always supposed it would feel rather awkward; maybe itchy, like wool blanket in summer, or prickly like those pins and needles you get when your limbs fall asleep.”
“Nonsense,” Gwaine scoffed. He leaned back on his elbows and gazed into the distance with a small, thoughtful smile . “Ask the next sorcerer you meet, and he will tell you that your magic is… warm-no, hot, like your fire spells, and wild, like your windstorms. Feverish, with goosebumps, and chills, and an ache in your chest. Dangerous, like going into battle unarmed, but safe, like…” He smiled, playing with the pendant around his neck. “Like a bed covered with goose-down pillows, and your mother’s chicken stew.”
“Good God,” Merlin laughed. “The itchy blanket scenario is far more likely. I don’t actually think it’s possible for one person to feel like all of those things at once.”
“Perhaps not,” said Gwaine, fixing him with an unreadable look, and Merlin, feeling as if he was missing something, took a bite of his bread.
It took him a very long time to get to sleep that night.
PART TWO
Pairings: Merlin/Gwaine, Arthur/Gwen (with Lancelot joining in, maybe)
Disclaimers: This is a sort of retelling of "Gawain and the Green Knight," and also a (late, I'm sorry!) present for my dearest BFF fledmusic. There is attempted bob-and-wheel verse style, poor attempts at Old English, and unapologetic silliness.
PROLOGUE:
On New Year’s Night, the new king feasted
after the wedding, his wife a wonder-
sweet Guinevere, glorious beauty,
from lowly maid to lovely queen,
whom noble Arthur ardently adored.
The feast was the first since his father’s passing,
six long months of mourning, measured
by a grieving son’s uncertain strength,
by the somber quiet of coronation
in the shadow of Uther’s untimely death.
So Arthur dithered before he dared
to join finally and forever with Gwen,
the queen who kept him worthy of the crown.
The knights, laughing, lounged about the hall,
calling for mead and meeting the king
cup for cup. Courageous Lancelot,
at last returned from his rambling ways
in the wild to serve his sovereign there,
sat leaning against his lady’s throne,
singing a sweet air as the queen smiled.
Mighty Percival, proud and kind
and charming, teased in a chivalrous way
a kitchen girl (who’d had quite enough
of courting, and wished he’d cut to the chase).
Brave Elyan, nervous still in knighthood,
smiled to see his sister so grand
and toasted to life with the good Sir Leon.
The castle was cold but they could not feel it
in their happy hearts and their hard-won peace,
the hearths burning hot in the hallowed halls
of a faithful Camelot free from fear.
All eyes were locked on the lady and Arthur
with reverence, save one rebellious knight
who watched a single serving boy.
The servant was Merlin (much more than he seemed),
a raven-haired waif with a pitcher of wine,
winking at him from across the hall
with a sun-bright smile one suffered all night
dreaming of.
While Arthur and his Queen
were glowing from above,
Sir Gwaine was looking green-
for he was sick with love.
FITT ONE:
“No, but seriously,” Lancelot was saying, “I love you guys. I do.” He had found his way to the floor three goblets of wine ago, and was currently leaning against Gwen’s legs and staring with apparent fascination at her jeweled shoes. “Sparkly. Pretty. Your shoes are lovely and I love you guys.” He gave one of the shoes a pat.
“We know, Lance,” said Gwen, fondly. She reached down and steadied his hand before he could slosh wine all over her wedding dress, turning it into an affectionate caress when he peered up at her with big bleary eyes. “We love you, too, truly.”
“Um…” Arthur choked, because he was the king now, and it was undignified for the king to fall off his throne laughing. “Yes. You are a good knight and a fine… friend, and… such.”
“Your crown is nice. It’s shiny, like Gwen’s shoes,” Lancelot informed him happily. “Shiny like your shiny hair.”
“Quite,” said Arthur, his face coloring. Gwen covered her mouth with her hand and made a sound that she disguised as a delicate cough.
“More wine, Lancelot?” Merlin asked, all innocence. He waved the pitcher around a bit enticingly, hoping to find out what one more glass of Camelot’s finest vintage would do to Lancelot’s composure. This was without a doubt the best feast he had ever been to. As he refilled everyone’s drinks, he glanced around the hall, taking account of the reveling crowd. He thought that he’d never seen so many people he cared about looking happy at the same time. It was bewildering.
When he found the person he was looking for, his smile grew brighter involuntarily. Gwaine was sitting on his own, pushing a piece of pork around on his plate and staring into the middle distance with drunken intensity. He still wore the Pendragon red with an air of mistrust, like he expected the symbol of his knighthood to come to life and strangle him for being an impostor- just a shiftless scoundrel with a sword. Merlin knew better, of course; Gwaine was noble, and brave, chivalrous when it mattered, and really surprisingly kind. He was everything a knight should be. Of course, he was also a shiftless scoundrel with a sword, but that was part of what Merlin liked about him.
That and the fact that he was, all told, one of the most gorgeous men Merlin had ever seen in real life. The uniform didn’t hurt either, no matter how warily Gwaine wore it around his nice, muscled, very lovely shoulders.
Gwaine glanced up suddenly, meeting Merlin’s eyes. Caught, Merlin grinned and gave an exaggerated wink before turning back to Lancelot, cheeks burning. He needed a distraction from his own embarrassing thoughts, and figured that Lancelot’s embarrassing thoughts - all of which he was beginning to share out loud - would do quite nicely.
“Hey Lancelot, who do you reckon is more attractive: Arthur or Gwen?”
Lancelot, Merlin reasoned, loved nothing more than to rescue a friend in trouble, so he could not be angry about this betrayal in the morning.
“That,” answered Lancelot, pointing a finger in Merlin’s general direction, “is an excellent question, and one I shall attempt to answer in three parts. Firstly, in terms of complexion, while both are beyond compare I would have to say-”
Fortunately for Lancelot, nobody ever got to hear which of his sovereign’s complexions he found the most appealing. At that instant, every window in the hall burst outward, the roar of shattering glass drowning out all the music and the merry sounds, bringing total silence in its aftermath. In the void, the sound of hoofbeats echoing on stone could be heard, softly but clearly, as if in the distance but magically amplified. They quickly grew louder, giving the impression that they were drawing closer every second, until each step shook the long wooden tables. Merlin, struck numb with panic, could feel a powerful force building but could not find its origin. Something was coming and he was blind, powerless to stop it.
And then when the hoofbeats became so loud that they seemed to come from all around them, a wash of pure green light poured through the broken windows, and for a moment Merlin was blinded.
When his vision cleared, there it was: a massive horse standing in the middle of the hall, facing the thrones, as if it had just appeared there by magic (which, Merlin thought, obviously, it had). But more worrying still was that atop that horse sat an equally massive man, wearing scant armor and simple clothes, and looking far more intimidating than any man with leaves woven into his long, flowing hair had any right to look.
Also, both he and the horse were entirely, uniformly green. But Merlin could never hold his alcohol very well, and was probably hallucinating that bit.
“I SEEK KING ARTHUR,” the green man bellowed. Arthur, bless his idiot heart, started a bit in his seat, a sort of who, me? expression passing briefly over his features before he remembered that he’d in fact been the king for six months.
“I am King Arthur of Camelot,” he answered, with admirable authority and composure given the fact that a giant green horse was now chewing on Gaius’ sleeve. “What have you come to ask of me?”
The giant removed a huge green gauntlet, tossing it theatrically to the floor. Merlin could not suppress his groan, because of course. Magical beings couldn’t just come to Camelot because they’d heard the cooks made lovely veal, it always had to be the dueling and the killing. “I challenge you before this court,” he roared. He seemed almost jovial, which made Merlin even more uncomfortable. “My challenge is thus: strike me a killing blow with this ax.”
The ax he pulled from a holster at his hip was, predictably, very large and very green.
“After I have stood for this blow, you must then stand for one in return. One week hence, you will find me again and allow me to strike you with this same ax.” He stroked his green beard smugly. “Who will accept my challenge?”
The knights of Camelot were very brave, of course, but they were also very drunk, and the situation was extremely confusing. No one moved.
“But this is nonsense!” the giant cried. “I have heard tales of the bravery and honor of the Camelot warriors! Are you all nothing but cowards after all?”
That, of course, got through to Arthur, who was (though very wise and just) still very much a boy sometimes. He shot to his feet in a defiant huff. “Sir Knight, I-”
“Shut up!” Merlin hissed, panicked. All those years protecting Arthur, finally getting him his crown and his queen and his destiny, and now he was going to willingly do battle with a giant green ax murderer?
Arthur snorted. “That’s ‘shut up, sire,’ and it’s going to be fine. I’m to deal the first blow, how will it even be possible for him to deal the second one once his head is off?”
This was a good point, in theory, but- “He’s magic, Arthur, obviously. He appeared out of thin air. He’s nine feet high. He’s green. Don’t you think you should reconsider this?”
“Merlin, I’ve never backed down from a challenge and I never will. I don’t care if he’s green or purple or covered in polka dots and paisleys, I’m doing it.”
“Well you’ll have to get to the gauntlet first!” Merlin cried wildly, and then took off running toward where the glove had been thrown. Arthur swore in a very un-kingly manner and started after him. Over the panicked buzz in his ears, Merlin thought he heard someone call his name, but he had almost reached the gauntlet so he ignored it, putting on a final burst of speed, and then-
-he collided with what felt like a solid but very warm wall, wrapped in a soft red cape. “No you don’t, Merlin,” murmured Gwaine’s voice in his ear, a strong arm slipping briefly around his waist to keep him from falling backward. Taken off-guard, Merlin lost sight of his goal for a moment, huffing a confused breath into Gwaine’s neck. Gwaine chuckled and pushed him away gently, kneeling down to pick up the gauntlet just as Arthur skidded to a stop next to them.
“Why is everyone always trying to die for me?” Arthur demanded, face thunderous. “By all that is holy, I will not stand for it. Give it back, Gwaine.” He made grabbing gestures at the gauntlet. “I accepted the challenge.”
“I think you’ll find that officially, sire, you never did,” Gwaine clarified breezily. “But if it makes you feel any better, I won’t die for you. I’ll die for Merlin here, instead. All right, Merlin?”
“Oh, sod off,” said Merlin, his heart fluttering a bit in his chest despite himself. “Nobody is going to die.”
“Somebody might die,” pointed out the green knight cheerfully. He seemed to be watching the proceedings with great amusement. “There is a bloody great ax involved.”
“Compensating for something?” Gwaine asked sweetly, and then Merlin was too busy rolling his eyes to prevent him from quickly adding “and I accept your challenge on behalf of Camelot, Sir Knight.”
“No!” groaned Arthur.
“You utter prat,” shrilled Merlin.
“Excellent!” said the green knight. He launched himself athletically off of his horse and retrieved his gauntlet from Gwaine, smirking as he put it on. “One blow,” he said, passing the giant ax to Gwaine, who tried to look as if merely holding the enormous thing up wasn’t a chore. “I will not defend myself.”
And he didn’t. With a grunt of effort, Gwaine swung the ax in a smooth arc and struck cleanly at the knight’s neck, severing the head with one blow. The head flew a few feet from the body, and Merlin watched with morbid fascination as it bounced a bit and rolled to a stop against a table-leg.
Then it started to laugh.
“A fine blow!” said the head approvingly. “All in one swing!” As the crowd gaped, the still-standing body of the green knight marched over to where his head had rolled and scooped it up. Streaks of (green!) blood smeared the tunic and dripped onto the floor as the body hefted its head under one arm. “See you in one week’s time, Sir Gwaine!” the head said cheerfully. “I shall be at the Green Chapel. Don’t be late!”
Gwaine boggled. “How am I to find you, when the time comes?”
The massive shoulders shrugged. “Simply ride in the direction that your fancy takes you. You will find me.” The body made a deep bow toward a dumbfounded Arthur, and then toward Gwen where she stood frozen next to her throne. “Your Majesties.”
And then, in a flash of green light, the head and the body disappeared.
“Well, bugger,” said Gwaine, swaying drunkenly on his feet. Arthur fumed. Merlin slapped his hand over his face and sighed.
~*~
Merlin followed Gwaine to his rooms, and then stood seething with righteous indignation as the knight packed for his Death Quest. “You will not go. I forbid it.”
“Honestly, Merlin.” Gwaine cuffed him lightly on the shoulder. “You are starting to sound like Arthur.”
“I mean it.” Merlin spun on his heel and started to pace the length of the chamber. “That man, that thing is dangerous. Who knows who sent him! It’s a trap, you’re meant to die.”
“We don’t know for sure that it’s a trap.” Merlin stopped pacing to give him a withering look, and Gwaine sighed. “Okay, yes, it’s a very obvious trap. But what would you have me do, send another man to his death?” He resumed packing, trying to fit the giant ax into his small satchel. “I know I’m not really a knight, but I have some honor in me.”
“I was going to get to the gauntlet!” Merlin insisted, throwing his arms wide in exasperation. “Arthur would have been protected.”
Gwaine groaned. “Merlin,” he said slowly, as if he were speaking to a particularly stupid person, “it’s not Arthur that I was protecting.” He reached over and pushed against Merlin’s chest playfully, his palm warm through cloth, fingers momentarily brushing the skin of Merlin’s collarbone. “I mean, honestly. Could you have run for that gauntlet any faster?”
Merlin cleared his throat, subconsciously rubbing his chest where Gwaine had touched him. “It’s my job to protect Arthur.”
“It isn’t. That idiot knighted me, so it’s my job to protect him. And it’s also my job to watch over your foolish arse, so get over it and go get me some dried meat from the kitchens, if you’re so willing to help out. I ride out tomorrow.”
“Gwaine…” Merlin sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “All right. I’ll bring you some bread and some mead, too, if you promise not to drink it all on the first night.”
Gwaine grinned. “I promise no such thing. Now off with you.”
Merlin started from the room, the stopped and turned back. “Gwaine.” He coughed. “You know. You are.”
“I am… what?”
“You are a real knight.” He looked down at his boots, unaccountably shy. “A great one. And… that’s all.”
Merlin all but ran toward the kitchens, face flaming and heart in his throat.
FITT TWO:
So Gwaine set out as the sun was rising,
armor gleaming in the gray light,
his sword shining and freshly sharpened,
his shield painted with a gold pentangle
(symbolizing something specific, I’m sure),
his satchel light as his heart was heavy.
It felt like Death had dealt this deal,
that a demon of sorts had dared him to strike,
that he wasn’t to survive the swing of the ax.
Yet the life he led was lovely, now,
and Gwaine was leery of losing it,
afraid for the the first time in forever.
He had a home, a happy one,
and had his purpose, knighted by a prince
and serving a king he could be proud of.
But mostly his friend, so faithful and fair,
whom Gwaine would love ‘til the moment he lost
his head.
Yet never would he kiss him,
nor take him to his bed-
he hoped Merlin would miss him,
and cursed words left unsaid.
The next morning dawned bright and clear, which Merlin thought was incredibly unfair under the circumstances. Gwaine had set out after the green knight at first light, while the mist was still hanging near the ground and the sky was still dark.
Merlin knew this because he was following him.
Gaius would understand, once he woke up and found the carefully-worded note Merlin had left for him (“Went after Gwaine. Sorry. Happy new year!”) And anyway, it would just be stupid for Gwaine to lose his head just because Merlin wasn’t there to provide magical protection. He would just stay out of the way and make sure that everyone’s head stayed firmly attached. He liked Gwaine’s head where it was; it housed a brain that Merlin was quite fond of, plus it looked very handsome attached to the rest of Gwaine’s body, which Merlin also liked very much.
He tripped over a root, and ahead of him, Gwaine sighed.
“I’m going to stop pretending I don’t know you’re there now, Merlin,” he called. “It’s gotten more sad than funny.”
Merlin ran to catch up, frowning. “How long have you known?”
“Since we left the castle. Honestly, Merlin, you might as well have brought a horse; you’re even less subtle on foot, and now it’s going to take us twice as long to find this bloke with you trotting alongside.”
“You’re letting me come with you?” Merlin narrowed his eyes. “Is this a trick?”
Gwaine laughed. “No trick. I didn’t want you volunteering for the ax, but that doesn’t mean I wouldn’t like your company. Like old times, eh? Just us and the road, off on a mission to keep your Arthur alive.” He smiled, strangely wistful. “I just assumed you wouldn’t be keen on running around aimlessly through the forest in the middle of winter waiting to bump into a magical chapel. But if you’re up for it…” He shrugged. “More the merrier!”
“You… you berk, you let me dart from tree to tree and wade through snow for two hours!”
“Ay,” Gwaine agreed, eyes sparkling. “It was hilarious.”
“I was so worried!” Merlin heaved a breath, his lungs burning with the cold. “I thought I’d be too slow, that I’d lose you.”
Gwaine’s eyes turned warm, and he jumped down from his horse, placing a steadying hand on Merlin’s arm. “You won’t. I’ll walk with you.”
~*~
It was remarkably easy to forget about the world, out here in the woods with Gwaine. Merlin could feel the constant tension associated with his life evaporating-his magic (still secret), his job (still tedious), his king (still an enormous prat). Back home, he usually felt like he belonged to everyone else, like he only existed to ease Arthur’s way to greatness and, eventually, bring magic back to Camelot.
Tromping through the underbrush while Gwaine sang all the bawdiest drinking songs he could think of, though… this was a different feeling entirely.
“Where she’s gone I’ll never know, cheeks of roses and eyes all aglow, Come on, Merlin, I know you know this one! And a hey! Ho! Which way should I go…. I shall stop right here and wait until you finish the chorus, Merlin, don’t think I won’t! And a hey! Ho! Which way should I go….”
“For the maiden who makes my... manhood grow,” Merlin sang, barely getting through it before he dissolved into giggles. Gwaine whooped joyfully and slapped him on the back, and Merlin pretended he wasn’t blushing, because really. “That refrain is so horrifying.”
“Wasn’t so horrifying when you belted it out no less than twelve times after Arthur’s coronation,” Gwaine pointed out, grinning wickedly. “We couldn’t stop you.”
“Yes, well… we were all rather drunk, weren’t we?”
Gwaine snorted. “Well, that’s putting it very mildly. Aaaaaaaand East to West and North to South, they’re singing songs about your mouth, my darling…”
The coronation had been a dark affair at first, marred by Arthur’s gloomy mood. Merlin and Gwaine had been particularly energetic at the feast afterwards, passing around wineskins and endless goblets of mead and whipping the court into a festival-like frenzy, trying to distract Arthur from his grief. Merlin hoped it had worked. Really though, he couldn’t remember much past his and Gwaine’s first reprise of “Farewell, My Bonny Bumpkin,” which was a song they had made up on the spot that had been popular enough to earn several encores.
“White as snow and blue as flame,” Gwaine continued, a surprisingly lovely baritone in the background of Merlin’s thoughts, “skin of an angel and eyes of the same, my darling…”
Merlin was mostly a happy person by nature, even with all the terrible things that had happened to him in his still-short lifetime-but it was rare for him to feel as completely free as he did out here, with Gwaine. He loved Camelot and Arthur, obviously, but those things were only really his through that Great Destiny he kept hearing about. This, though, his time with Gwaine… this was something just for him.
“Aaaaand North to South to East to West, yours is the arse that I love the best-”
“I know you don’t believe it possible, Gwaine, but there is such a thing as too many bawdy songs, and I think you hit the limit ten miles back.”
“-to enjoy! From far and wide, all are impressed, you’ve the sweetest ears, I can attest...”
Merlin bit his lip against a grin. “Oh, come on, you’re just making these up now-”
“My darling boy!” Gwaine finished with a triumphant flourish.
And Merlin walked directly into a low-hanging branch.
“That was my last song, I swear. Now’s a good time to stop for the night, don’t you think? You all right there, Merlin?”
They made camp in a clearing near the river, and Merlin hoped that the constant singing had scared off scared off enough squirrels to keep their rations safe for the night.
“I got the wood,” Gwaine announced, dumping the huge pile of branches in the middle of their campsite. “But you have to light the fire. Flint’s here. You’ve got this way with fire, you know. What’s for dinner, dried pork and bread?”
He turned away to look through the saddlebags, which gave an off-balance Merlin a chance to light the fire with a glance and a tiny gesture, banging the flint against the steel a bit for authenticity. Gwaine turned around just as he was blowing gently at the base of the fire, pretending to bolster the flames. Gwaine seemed briefly mesmerized by this before he shook himself awake and threw Merlin a little bundle of cloth, which turned out to contain a few strips of dried meat and a rather large chunk of bread. “There you go. Eat up, come on.”
“But this is so much!” Merlin crossed to the other side of the fire and sat next to Gwaine, peering at the other man’s bundle. “Where’s your bread?”
“It’s your bread now, my friend. It’s bloody freezing and you’re built like a tentpole.”
“Hey!”
“But what a lovely tentpole!” he placated, poking Merlin’s ribs.
“Owwww,” complained Merlin, beaming. “Having to deal with Arthur is bad enough. Now you’re going to start bullying me too?”
“Never,” said Gwaine with mock solemnity, “as long as I shall live. Now eat your bread.”
~*~
Merlin woke from overly-pleasant dreams with hot skin and a dry throat, with Gwaine still sleeping deeply beside him, oblivious to the world.
Damn, Merlin thought emphatically, because right now he needed nothing more than some fresh, cold water, and that meant going to the stream, and that meant going out into the cold, away from the magically-warming fire and the comforting rhythm of Gwaine’s deep, even breaths.
“Byrne,” Merlin muttered quietly into his palm, huddling around the scant light and warmth of the flame as he picked his way through the undergrowth. He let the tiny fire go, balancing on the air as it burned, and knelt at the bank of the stream to splash his face and neck liberally with the icy water.
It was only because of the extra light from the flame that Merlin saw it. As he was bending down, cupping water between his palms and bringing it to his mouth, something in the river seemed to writhe unnaturally.
That was the only warning he got before something rough and scaly wrapped tight around his wrists and pulled, sending him under and out toward the deepest part of the river.
The shock of submersion in the cold water was intense, tiny blades through his skin and his lungs. With his wrists bound by the tail or tentacle or… whatever, all of Merlin’s struggling was fruitless. He aimed a few sharp, panicked kicks in a generally-downward direction, which seemed to glance off of the slender, powerful body of the thing that was pulling him forward and down. There was no time to think of a spell, and no air to incant one anyway, so Merlin squeezed his eyes shut, gritted his teeth, centered his magic and pushed out.
It was sort of embarrassingly desperate, but it worked, at least momentarily. The thing let out a sound, an eerie scream that carried underwater, and the appendage that held his wrists loosened. Merlin swam hard toward where he assumed the shore was, but when he finally broke the surface he was actually in the middle of the river and being swept downstream. He gasped for breath and gave one shout for help, magnified with a last-ditch burst of magic, before the tail wrapped around his ankles and pulled straight down. Weakened by the cold and the expenditure of power, he lost consciousness, and his last thought was that this was a really depressing and stupid way to die.
But then he was opening his eyes to Gwaine’s face, hovering and looking very stricken. And wet. Merlin opened his mouth to ask what the matter was, and instead rolled to the side to vomit up about a gallon of river water.
“Oh, that is so disgusting,” Merlin croaked, chest heaving.
“Merlin!” Gwaine cried, gathering him close and hugging him tightly. Merlin could barely feel it, what with being numb from the cold, but he still appreciated it. He imagined that the warmth from Gwaine’s body was leeching into his limbs, bringing him back to life, and he shuddered once, hard. Gwaine’s arms tightened, and he brushed his lips very quickly to one of Merlin’s ears. “God. What are you even doing out here?”
“Water,” said Merlin, which admittedly did not explain very much at all. “I mean, I needed…”
“You’re damned lucky I saw your fire, or you’d probably still be under there.”
“Yes, lucky,” agreed Merlin. “Wait, what?”
“Your little fire. It followed you.” Gwaine was gently looking him over now, feeling for bumps and scrapes. “The thing was darting around like a crazed bird over the water, right above where that serpent dragged you down. How did you think I found you so fast?”
“I don’t… it followed me?” Merlin’s head felt like it was stuffed with particularly scratchy wool.
“Look.” Gwaine raised his eyes, to where the little flame was dancing frantically over their heads.
“Huh,” said Merlin.
“Oh, please don’t tell me-you didn’t even do it on purpose?” Gwaine chuckled weakly. “The devil’s own luck, you have. How the hell are you still alive?”
“You knew?” Merlin pulled back from Gwaine’s hold and looked him blearily in the eye. “You knew about my…” He waved his hand around again, illustratively.
“Your magic, you mean?” Gwaine said dryly. “I should say so. You’re not very subtle, are you?”
“I don’t…” Merlin tried to swallow past the painful lump in his throat. The little flame was still flitting and bobbing about in his peripheral vision, so he waved at it weakly, eyes flashing. It dwindled away, and Merlin’s half-delirious eyes, it looked sad to go.
“Merlin. The first time we met, you were throwing plates with your mind. I didn’t realize it was supposed to be a secret. Surely Arthur knows?” Merlin coughed, averting his eyes. Gwaine’s eyebrows went up. “No. Really?”
“Arthur is often… distracted with other things.”
“Clearly.” Gwaine looked oddly pleased. “Well, I certainly noticed you.” He cleared his throat. “Saw you. Saw you doing magic, I mean. We need to get you back to the camp. Brace yourself, I’m going to pick you up.”
“Um,” said Merlin, as Gwaine lifted him easily, bridal-style, and began to walk. “This is really embarrassing.”
“Well, I am also going to strip off your clothes and warm you with my body,” said Gwaine cheerfully, “and that’s probably going to be worse.”
Oh god, thought Merlin.
~*~
The next morning started out well, all things considered. Merlin woke up mostly naked, which was, for him, usually a bad sign. But Gwaine was wrapped up against him inside the blankets, one bare arm curled protectively over Merlin’s chest. It was almost overly warm now, with the campfire was still raging. He put out a hand and extinguished it. “Ic i sciepe se wealhháfoc,” he whispered, and the resulting swirls of smoke and ash resolved into the shape of a bird against the pale sunrise.
“Oh yes, subtle,” rumbled Gwaine at the back of Merlin’s neck. “Truly, you are a genius of subterfuge.”
“You shut up.” Merlin shifted, stretching, trying not to dislodge Gwaine. “I’m away from Camelot and you apparently already know… about me. This is my only chance to have fun.”
“Magic is the only thing you do for fun?” Merlin could feel the teasing smirk against his skin. “Well, that is just a little bit sad. What kind of red-blooded peasant boy are you?”
“A terribly boring one, I suppose,” sighed Merlin dramatically, rolling over to give him a retaliatory shove. They both overbalanced and toppled, and Merlin ended up leaning on his elbows and awkwardly pinning Gwaine-who was looking up at him with a bit of a dazed, winded expression-on his back against the hard ground.
“Ow,” said Gwaine, vacantly.
“Sorry, sorry, I’ll just…” Merlin tried to shift off, but Gwaine’s hands caught his hips and held them.
“Wait, Merlin, I…”
“Deer,” said Merlin blankly, staring into the woods behind Gwaine’s head.
“Dear?” said Gwaine, smiling.
“No, what-DEER. Look, it’s-” Merlin slid out of Gwaine’s grip, keeping low to the ground. “It’s looking at us, no sudden movements.”
Gwaine, looking very disoriented, carefully rolled onto his stomach to look where Merlin was pointing. “Oh, I see. Deer.”
It was a like a deer, in the same way that the serpent from the river last night had been like a snake. It was vaguely deer-shaped, but three times the size and at least five times as horrifying. It stood perfectly still, watching them with a terrible gleam of intelligence in its eyes.
“Well, then,” said Gwaine, resigned. He stood up smoothly, then gallantly reached down to help Merlin to his feet. “Looks like we’re going to have venison tonight.”
He drew his sword, still half-dressed, and went after the deer monster with a furious intensity that Merlin didn’t think was quite warranted. It was pretty impressive to watch, though.
Later that, they encountered two more overlarge deer, one fox, three fierce rabbits (not as funny as it sounded), and, the worst, a bear that stood at least twenty feet high. Every one was impossibly malicious, and every one seemed to have the sole intent of killing the two of them specifically, which was, to say the least, a little odd. Gwaine managed to fell them all without too much trouble, but it was Merlin who defeated the bear in the end, roasting it in a huge conflagration before it could dig its claws into Gwaine’s belly.
“Fond of the fire tricks, then, aren’t you?” said Gwaine approvingly, giving him a one-armed hug of gratitude.
“Oh, that’s nothing,” said Merlin, feeling smug. “You should see my wind storms.”
Gwaine did get to see his wind storm the next day when Merlin vanquished a gigantic, tenaciously violent owl. He was suitably impressed.
That night, as they were huddled around the fire warily eating their dinner, a raven swooped seemingly out of nowhere and perched on Gwaine’s horse. They thought nothing of it, until the raven proceeded to unlatch the saddlebags and carry off all of their food and supplies. Merlin and Gwaine watched, dumbfounded, as the bird disappeared over the horizon bearing a load ten times its size.
“Magic bird, then?” sighed Gwaine, breaking his remaining bread in half and tossing a piece of it into Merlin’s lap.
“Stop giving me your bread. And yes, I should say so. About the magic bird.”
“The green knight’s ax was in one of those pouches,” Gwaine pointed out. “Though at this rate, we’ll both be dead before I can face him anyway."
Merlin groaned and dropped his head into his hands. “This is ridiculous. These animals, they’re being enhanced, controlled by something, and all of them want us. It’s as if every sorcerer in the land is out to kill us.”
“Or just one, very powerful sorcerer,” said Gwaine. “Though I can’t see how that would be much better. Do you suppose it could be the green giant?”
Merlin considered. “It feels like someone else’s magic,” he decided.
“There are different kinds of magic? And you can feel the difference?” Gwaine looked intrigued, which was an unfamiliar and rather refreshing response to magic-related topics.
“Only people who have magic can feel it, I think,” said Merlin. “It’s all sort of mysterious to me, too. But green giant’s power definitely felt kind of earthy, and expansive. Whoever’s doing this, though… the power behind it seems more… bright? Cold? Like, I don’t know, if a star were made of ice but could still burn.” He shrugged, embarrassed by his digression and by Gwaine’s intent gaze. “It’s hard to explain.”
“What does your magic feel like, I wonder?”
Merlin snorted. “Nobody’s ever told me,” he said wryly. “But I doubt it would be pleasant. I’ve always supposed it would feel rather awkward; maybe itchy, like wool blanket in summer, or prickly like those pins and needles you get when your limbs fall asleep.”
“Nonsense,” Gwaine scoffed. He leaned back on his elbows and gazed into the distance with a small, thoughtful smile . “Ask the next sorcerer you meet, and he will tell you that your magic is… warm-no, hot, like your fire spells, and wild, like your windstorms. Feverish, with goosebumps, and chills, and an ache in your chest. Dangerous, like going into battle unarmed, but safe, like…” He smiled, playing with the pendant around his neck. “Like a bed covered with goose-down pillows, and your mother’s chicken stew.”
“Good God,” Merlin laughed. “The itchy blanket scenario is far more likely. I don’t actually think it’s possible for one person to feel like all of those things at once.”
“Perhaps not,” said Gwaine, fixing him with an unreadable look, and Merlin, feeling as if he was missing something, took a bite of his bread.
It took him a very long time to get to sleep that night.
PART TWO