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Every chip and hairline crack in the stairs could be seen from where Merlin was sitting on them, in this mostly unused part of the castle. The stairs were a servant’s way of getting to a tower no one habited: a perfect place for Merlin to think too much. Better than having a breakdown in Arthur’s chambers, or in the lower town market.
In the month since Lancelot sacrificed himself, Merlin’s acquired a skill for finding quiet places when he feels a wave of grief coming; this time hadn’t taken him by surprise at all. He’d felt his throat close tighter and his eyes burn while bringing the dishes from Arthur’s dinner down to the kitchen, and knew he wouldn’t be able to divert his thoughts this time. Letting himself cry and watching the tears distort the lines of the cracked stairs was easier than the breathing and distraction exercises Gaius had suggested after the third time Merlin couldn’t get out of bed after the Dorocha. At least no one could find him here, no one ever comes-
“There you are! I’ve been searching the whole castle for you!”
Merlin refused to look up at Gwaine’s cheery attempt at masking the concern in his voice. After a tense silence, the knight walked closer to plop himself down and sit close to Merlin. He didn’t touch him, for which Merlin was grateful. He would almost definitely crave physical comfort later, but not right now.
He tried his best not to shake too much as he cried.
“I wish I could help you, Merlin, I really do.” Gwaine attempted to ease his friend’s pain. “But I’ve never mourned the way you do for him. I don’t think I’ve ever been as close to someone as you were with him, so I’m not sure what to do.”
Merlin wanted to tell Gwaine; he wanted it more than anything. Not to replace Lancelot, but to find something else to fill as much of the hole in his heart as he can. He cradled his head in his hands.
Gwaine continued,
“Though, to be honest, I never fully understood how the two of you had gotten so close, so bonded. It was like you and him had met in a past life, or you knew of some secret world that no one else could explore.”
“I have magic.”
He felt Gwaine shift next to him, not uncomfortably, just in surprise.
“And... Lancelot knew?”
“Lancelot knew.”
Merlin couldn’t take anymore of the uncharacteristic silence that followed, and lifted his head to look at the knight sitting next to him. The knight of Camelot who he’d just told about his magic .
But Gwaine didn’t look angry, or betrayed (not that Merlin had been expecting that from him, of all people). He didn’t even appear to be jealous or confused. Instead, his expression reminded Merlin of a child finally solving an arithmetic problem they’d been struggling with for a long time, dots connecting in Gwaine’s head.
“You’re even braver than I thought, magic man.” Gwaine finally spoke with a grin.
Merlin flushed and turned at both the compliment and the nickname he was sure Gwaine would use a ridiculous amount of times if not for the risk of it getting Merlin executed.
“Is that really it, though? Between you and Lancelot?” He asked, as Merlin looked back at him with confusion. “I always thought that maybe.. the secret you two held was something a little more...”
Merlin quirked his eyebrow at him, looking surprisingly amused for someone with red eyes and blotchy, tear-stained cheeks.
“I thought you and him were in a relationship, and didn’t want anyone to know.” Gwaine finished.
“No, but I think we could’ve been. We almost were, until he-” Merlin choked. “Until the Dorocha.”
“What do you mean, almost were?”
Merlin started to explain the first time he had kissed the fallen knight.
~~~~~~~~~~
It wasn’t long since Arthur had taken over most duties and responsibilities of king from his incapacitated father, that he, as regent, had to order his first execution of a sorcerer. A boy, only a little older than Merlin had been when he’d traveled to Camelot, was caught using spells to steal loaves of bread from the lower town baker. A regular thief would spend a fortnight in the cells under the castle, and then be more carefully watched by guards in the future. But for a magical thief, the price of being caught was death by burning. Anyone with eyes could see Arthur was uncomfortable ending a man’s hopes for survival with a single sentence. But the law was the law, and, as Arthur told Merlin in the privacy of his chambers, a criminal with magic would only be encouraged to cause more chaos and harm if he isn’t stopped for good.
Merlin paced his small room alone, while everyone else stood out in the courtyard watching the sorcerer burn. He’d blocked up the window, but the odor of smoke and burning flesh was still everywhere; it’s all he could smell, it’s all he could think about. He could barely breathe, how could anyone breathe with so much smoke , how could Arthur breathe knowing he’s the one responsible for-
A soft knock on the door startled Merlin, and it nearly sent him into tears. It opened a crack and Lancelot slipped inside, holding two vials from Gaius’ shelves.
“Hi.”
“Hi.” Merlin didn’t bother looking away or hiding the previous panic expressed on his face.
Lancelot glanced at the vials of liquid he brought in, and back up at his friend with a knowing look.
“I brought some, uh, headache reliever for you. Since you told Arthur you were skipping the execution because the sun was making your headache worse.” He didn’t break eye contact once.
“Lancelot, that’s not headache reliev-”
“Oh! It’s not? Well, I guess I’ll just go put it back then.” He said with fake embarrassment, just before the vials managed to both fall out of his grasp and shatter on the floor, creating an abysmal stench that quickly filled the room.
Merlin smirked at him through coughs; Lancelot knows every potion as well as Merlin does, as he’s taught him. He knows which vials cure headaches and which are the most odorous.
“How clumsy of me, I apologize, Merlin.” Lancelot blurted with no trace of apology in his tone as he grabbed a broom and dustpan from the corner to clean up the glass. Merlin couldn’t help but laugh; it was easier to breathe now, with a foul-smelling foot oil completely covering the traces of an execution outside.
While he cleaned and Merlin sat on the bed unusually quiet, Lancelot made comfortable small-talk about the new exercises he’s learned since becoming a knight and joked about the odds of Gwaine and Percival being together by the time Yule rolls around. By the time he finished, both scents, foul and nightmarish, had dissipated. Lancelot kneeled in front of Merlin, still sitting on the edge of his cot.
“Merlin.” His voice was lower and softer now, more genuine. “You’re safe.’
“I’m not.”
“You are. I know it’s not much, but the fact that Arthur hesitated to sentence him to death, that he questioned his father’s laws... it’s a sign of good things to come.”
“There’s still a corpse outside that could easily be me.”
Lancelot stayed quiet, so Merlin continued.
“I know I can’t be angry with him, because he will change things eventually and he can’t go around taking apart his father’s pride and joy, those magic laws, less than two months after becoming regent. I know that logically, but I just can’t be near him when he’s like this. When he’s too much like his father, even if he can’t help it. He scares me.” Merlin was close to crying again. Really, he needed to stop that habit.
“You are allowed to be angry with him. And his knights. Hell, that includes me, so you have every right to wish horrible things on me. All you need to do is keep that anger from turning into hate. You’re strong enough, you’ve done it for this long. Just hold on to that hope of a new Camelot for a little longer.”
Merlin brought his hands up to wipe the tears that started to fall, but couldn’t stop them from spilling. The knight pulled himself onto the bed and leaned against the wall by Merlin’s pillows. He instinctively pulled Merlin close to him, to where Merlin could press his face into Lancelot’s shoulder. Merlin felt soft arms wrap around him and he couldn’t even think how to describe the comfort it gave him.
“Arthur kills monsters. He’s not-” Merlin couldn’t get words out through the emotion blocking his voice. “He’s not supposed to kill people like me, but he does and it hurts horribly.”
“You’re not a monster.” Merlin heard him whisper. “You’re safe, at least half the knights would give up their titles to protect you, sorcerer or not. Could a monster have that kind of loyalty, that kind of love?”
“.. maybe an extremely manipulative one.”
Lancelot chuckled a bit at that and held him tighter. Merlin’s breaths slowed with his heart rate, and he felt warm. Lancelot’s shirt was soft.
He leaned up and kissed him from an awkward angle. It was short; Lancelot pulled away after a few seconds.
“You.. you didn’t want that.” Merlin grimaced. Lancelot looked pitying, and shook his head. Merlin sighed. “I’m sorry, I didn’t think-”
“Merlin it’s just.. I know Gwen is with Arthur now, and I’m happy for them both, but I still..” He trailed off. “I just need some more time to move on from her. It’s been a big change, suddenly seeing her everyday.”
“I understand.”
Merlin realized he was still practically sitting on top of Lancelot.
“Would you still stay for a little while? If you feel uncomfortable-”
“Not at all. I’ll stay as long as you want me to.”
~~~~~~~~~~
Merlin took a pause to look over at Gwaine. At some point while he’d been talking, they’d started holding hands, fingers intertwined. He rather enjoyed this softer affection from Gwaine, contrary to his usual volume and arms slung around shoulders.
“It must’ve been nice having someone to talk to about your magic, here in Camelot.” Ah, now Merlin was catching a little bit of jealousy in his voice, that he didn’t know first.
“It was. Is it selfish that I miss the support he gave me almost as much as I miss him?”
“Of course it isn’t.”
~~~~~~~~~~
“I have exciting news.” Merlin mentioned to Lancelot while they sat on the warm grass of a forest clearing and tried to make whistles out of grass, like Will could do when they were kids in Ealdor.
“Oh? Should I be scared?” Lancelot blew through a piece of grass without any luck.
Merlin scoffed and grinned.
“I take offense to that. It’s not like I have that many bad ideas.”
They started searching for new blades wide enough to work.
“So, what’s this news? You can’t just say that and then not tell me, Merlin.” He looked up and smiled at Merlin’s coy expression.
“Would you rather I tell you or show you?”
At this, Lancelot’s eyes lit up; he’d obviously figured out that, whatever it is, it’s magic, and there’s nothing Lancelot loves more than watching Merlin try out new spells and incantations. He stared, captivated, as Merlin prepared himself and took a deep breath. Merlin took his finger and drew a circle into the dirt with faintly golden eyes, and then placed his hand in the center. His eyes turned impossibly brighter, before fading back into blue. A moment passed and then..
“Ta da!” Merlin flourished his hands like he’s seen visiting jesters do after a trick.
A tiny worm wriggled out of the ground where Merlin’s palm had rested.
“I didn’t know you could summon worms out of the Earth, Merlin.” Lancelot scooped the tiny creature into his palm to examine.
“I didn’t summon him! I created him.”
There was a pause as Lancelot focused his attention on the sorcerer sitting cross-legged in front of him, rather than the worm trying to squirm its way off his hand.
“You can create life.”
It really wasn’t that big of a step, Merlin thought, considering he’d been able to create life from a spell within a year of living in Camelot (it took him a long time to conjure that dog, but regardless). The only difference now was that he’d mastered the art of creating a living creature without a spell or word. He explained this to Lancelot.
Perhaps he was projecting his own feelings, but Merlin couldn’t help but feel as though he’d never seen Lancelot look more in love than he did in that moment.
Lancelot then shook himself, as though coming out of a trance.
“Let’s take this little guy to Gwaine; what do you think the chances are he’ll name it something ridiculous?”
~~~~~~~~~~
“I’ll have you know I took care of Sir Wormcival until the day he died! He had big dreams to grow as tall and strong as his namesake someday.”
Merlin laughed out loud, smiled brightly at the feeling of Gwaine’s hand tightening its hold on his, and noticed his own face was nearly dry and no longer had the sticky, tight, post-cry sensation.
“What made you think Lancelot and I were.. together?” Merlin questioned.
“Well, there was that one time on the training field, where you two were fairly obvious about your affections towards one another.”
It took him a moment, but he suddenly remembered what Gwaine is referring to.
~~~~~~~~~~
Merlin thought he had bruises on every square inch of his body. But no, training with Arthur was apparently “for your own good, Mer lin, you don’t want to be completely helpless in a bandit attack, do you?”.
The cherry on top was that Lancelot, and every other bloody knight in the kingdom it seemed, was watching the two clash swords with amusement.
It seemed as though he’d been fending off Arthur’s blows and “suggestions” for hours, when, out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Gwen walk over and strike up conversation with Lancelot. He was far from them, but from what he could see, Lancelot’s posture was relaxed, Gwen’s smile wasn’t nervous. Their interaction seemed to be completely platonic.
Could Lancelot have moved on? It had been months since the day Merlin had foolishly attempted to kiss the man.
The clang of a sword over his helmet and the ground rushing towards him knocked Merlin out of his thoughts. A split second has Arthur’s blade pointed directly at him, but the exasperated grin behind the pommel is too fond to be any kind of threat.
“Take a break, Merlin. You look like you need one.” Arthur strolled over to Leon, looking like he’d barely broken a sweat. Merlin himself, on the other hand, could feel his body dripping and sore and undoubtedly exhausted.
“I can help, if you’d like.” Lancelot’s familiar voice. “I can’t guarantee my methods of teaching will be as.. effective as Arthur’s, but-”
“Please,” He gasped. “Anything’s better than Arthur’s lessons.” He heard an indignant scoff from the direction his King had walked.
Picking up the sword Merlin had dropped ungracefully, Lancelot moved behind him to position his stance and arms. At the press of Lancelot’s hands to his shoulder and lower back, Merlin nearly dropped the sword again.
“Relax, Merlin.” His hands were holding his hips now, to keep him from moving and messing up the proper fighting position he’d managed to maintain. Now Lancelot was speaking and most likely giving very important and useful information, but not a single word of it was Merlin’s focus. All he could think about was how much he wanted to be able to know Lancelot loved him, more than a devoted friend or loyal knight or trusted confidant. He wanted to know Lancelot dreamed of waking up next to him every morning and Merlin wanted to know if the months he’d given Lancelot to move on had been enough time, if it would be inappropriate for them to try again.
“-and with that strategy, you’d certainly win against a common bandit. Probably not against Arthur, but it’s worth a try.” He moved away and the warmth against his back was gone. If not for the ounce of common sense left in his brain, Merlin might’ve given into instincts, grabbed him and pulled him back. “Good luck, Merlin.”
It took less than a minute for Arthur to have him swordless and on the ground again.
~~~~~~~~~~
Merlin was leaning into Gwaine’s side now, his head tucked into his shoulder. Occasionally, the knight’s long hair would tickle his nose, but he didn’t complain. Through the window, he could see the sun was nearly gone, so it was no wonder he felt so drained of energy. A servant’s life isn’t easy, especially one with magic and the memories of at least four loved ones who’ve died in front of his eyes.
“I’ve talked for a long time, huh?” Merlin yawned.
“Can I ask one more question? About you and Lancelot.”
“Sure”
Merlin snuggled deeper into the friend pressed against him on the stairs.
“Did you ever figure out if he loved you back?”
~~~~~~~~~~
Ice fluttered in his vision, stuck to his eyelashes, but past that, Merlin could see Lancelot sitting next to him and staring in awe at the spirits healing and protecting. His throat felt frozen and dry, but he managed to form a noise. At the sound of Merlin’s pained whimper, Lancelot immediately switched back into Merlin Protection Mode. He thought it was sweet.
He may have been dying, but Merlin truly couldn’t be happier than when Lancelot laid down next to him, close enough to supply body heat, but still not close enough. Without thinking (Merlin could blame his actions on the fact that his brain may have very well been affected by the Dorocha’s magic), Merlin grabbed his hand. It registered that holding something as cold as him for too long would hurt, but Lancelot didn’t let go, so neither did he. If anything, the knight stopped Merlin from trying to pull away.
“When you heal from this, and you will, we’re going to have to create some explanation to give the others as to how you managed to survive an unsurvivable curse.” Lancelot was on his side, studying Merlin’s profile.
He shook his head weakly. Lancelot barked out a laugh.
“You don’t want to explain? Just tell them ‘I survived! Surprise!’ and let them guess the rest of the story?” Merlin managed a smile at that, so he continued. “Maybe we don’t even tell them at first; I’ll let them think you didn’t make it. That’ll be good pay-back for that joke they pulled last patrol, where they made me think they’d all packed up and left camp without me while I was getting water from the stream.” Merlin rolled his head towards him to express ‘you’re ridiculous’ without having to endure the cracking cold of speaking.
Merlin’s eyes were drooping and he knew that the next time he opened them, he’d be dead or healed, only to die at the veil soon. The last thing he felt before the cold of his body and the sounds of the forest faded was a kiss to the crown of his head, and water droplets trickling down as the ice in his hair melted.
~~~~~~~~~~
No, he never knew how Lancelot really felt. But he could guess. And he could have those memories. Romantic or not, they still meant the world to him. Gwaine heaved him up and patted his back.
“C’mon Merlin, let’s get you to bed.”