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Gwaine was restless. He was usually three tankards of mead deep by now, surrounded by at least a dozen new friends, partaking in an evening of merriment that his head was likely to protest come morning. But instead, he was pacing the floor of his recently acquired lodgings with Camelot’s physician watching his every turn.
“Merlin should have been back by now.” He informed Gaius, who showed no signs of disputing this fact.
It was stupid to let Merlin go alone in the first place. He may have been the only one with reason to be in the knight’s quarters this late at night, but he could have at least let Gwaine tag along as lookout. Anything other than waiting here, with no idea of how he was getting on.
He hadn’t known Merlin for long, but the boy had been kind to him during his short recuperation in Camelot and he refused to stand by while he could be in danger. Especially as he was putting himself in said danger just to protect Prince Arthur.
Gwaine rolled his eyes. Of all the people he could have saved in that tavern, it had to have been a prince. No nobleman, however seemingly good, was worth risking your life for and he wasn’t going to leave Merlin alone to make that mistake.
“I’m going to check on him.”
He left Gaius sitting at the table and headed into the depths of Camelot’s many corridors. Having accompanied Merlin in the direction of the guest quarters only once, he relied solely on instinct to lead him there, relieved that none of the few people still awake at this hour questioned his reasoning for wandering the castle.
He thought it would be impossible to tell behind which of the doors Sir Oswald’s room was concealed, but he need not have worried — it was glaringly obvious where his assistance was required. A soft warm glow streamed through the half-open doorway, along with the distressed sounds of the boy he had been looking for.
He rushed over, uncaring if they heard his approach, and entered the room just in time to witness Sir Oswald — and his shadow, Sir Ethan — taunting Merlin with the threat of a dagger catapulting in his direction.
Merlin looked terrified, backed against the wall with two blades already embedded in the space above his head and to the left of his ear. Three guesses for where the next one was headed.
A boiling rage flooded Gwaine’s chest, the anger gathering itself into a tight ball ready to be hurled in the knights’ direction. Who did they think they were? Threatening innocent people for the fun of it. Their maddening grins and hollow jeers made him sick, thinking themselves safe from repercussions because of the family they were born into. Because of the title they held.
To think that the same would be permitted for him if he ever owned up about his own father’s status.
“Hey!” He yelled, drawing their attention a second too late.
He hoped it was due to Oswald’s terrible aim, and not through his own fault of making Merlin flinch, but the dagger spun cleanly through the air only to miss its target by barely an inch. Slicing its way through cotton and flesh, it came to an abrupt stop once its tip was firmly rooted in the wall.
Merlin’s mouth fell open, a choked off cry tumbling out in his shock. His gaze shakily turned to the side to see what had just happened and Gwaine could see the moment that any and all colour drained from his face. Merlin’s jacket sleeve was pinned tight against the wall and his weak struggles to free himself only caused the material to darken.
“Drop it.” Gwaine ordered fearlessly as Oswald twirled the last dagger between his fingers with a chuckle. Because how dare they have the audacity to demand respect and reverence when they would happily maim and mock an innocent boy. He stalked into the room, positioning himself firmly between the two knights and his new friend.
Keeping half an eye on the knights as they scowled in indignation at his presence, he glanced back at Merlin. His friend’s eyes were pinched closed in obvious pain, fingers trembling as they gripped the hilt of the dagger in an attempt to yank it free.
“How dare you speak to a knight like that.” Sir Ethan exclaimed, grabbing the next weapon from Sir Oswald’s grip in his anger. He lifted it high and with an expert flick of his wrist, it shot across the room with great speed and precision. Gwaine barely had a second to process what was happening before he was a hairsbreadth away from his own demise, the glint of the blade bright in the candlelight.
And then— it was a trick of the light, surely. After all, it had been coming straight for him! Hadn’t it? The dagger almost seemed to swerve right out of his way. One moment, it was right in front of his face, and the next, it was clattering against the wall.
Maybe both knights just had terrible aim.
Sir Ethan gawped, rather unsure of how that had just happened, and Sir Oswald’s severe roll of the eyes betrayed just how disappointed he was in his friend. He huffed spectacularly, grabbing his sword from where it lay exposed on the table. Elbows pointed, he gripped the handle with both hands and allowed the tip of the blade to face menacingly in Gwaine’s direction.
Much harder for him to miss this time, Gwaine surmised.
He raised his hands in submission and – as if he hadn’t just witnessed his own near-death – took small steps backwards so as not to spook anyone.
“I just want to help my friend.” He declared calmly, turning to meet Merlin’s worried gaze. His eyes were bright with unshed tears and though his bottom lip was pulled between his teeth, the way it trembled was hard to conceal.
His fingers were still resting against the dagger’s handle but Gwaine could see the reluctance at another attempt of freeing it. And he didn’t blame him. He’d been in enough similar situations to know that if you’ve been impaled, the pain of attempting to remove the unfortunate object was sometimes worse that the injury itself. Especially if said object was stuck in—
He shivered at the memory. Nope, no time to reminisce.
Luckily for Merlin, it didn’t seem to have lodged through the meat of his shoulder, catching only the side instead. Enough to make him bleed. Not enough for him to lose the arm entirely.
“Are you okay?” Merlin asked with a slight wobble to his voice, concerned eyes roaming the length of Gwaine body.
“I’m fine. I think it’s time for both of us to get out of here though.” Gwaine plastered on his winning smile as he wrapped his own hand around the hilt. He allowed Merlin a single shaky breath before a solid tug pulled the blade from the wall, freeing both Merlin and his jacket in the process.
On instinct Merlin grabbed at his shoulder, pressing hard against the wound with a groan. It did a good enough job at hiding the tear in his sleeve, but very quickly most of the red that had soaked into the material was now seeping through his fingers.
Gwaine glanced around the room for anything that could be of use — a towel, a tunic, anything — noticing instead how the two knights were standing just where he had left them, surveying them with disdain as they looked down their noses at the situation they had caused. The complete lack of sympathy was infuriating and had he been alone, he wouldn’t have hesitated to do something about it. Whatever Gaius had once believed about Sir Oswald as a youth, that kind and thoughtful boy was long gone.
He noticed a cloth on the table, a fancy thing that one might rest their plate on during supper, but as he went to grab it, it was held unexpectedly in place by the tip of a sword. A sharp glance upwards revealed Sir Oswald watching him, face set smugly in a half-smile.
“Just what do you think you’re doing?”
“He’s bleeding.” Gwaine stated with a gruff impatience. “I need something to help stop it.”
“Do you hear that Sir Ethan? He wants to use my belongings.” Oswald turned to his fellow knight.
“I heard, Sir Oswald. Tell me, does he intend to clean it once he’s ruined it with blood?” He gave Gwaine a haughty stare up and down. “Or maybe he proposes to steal it like his friend.”
“Now, now, Sir Ethan. The servant wasn’t thieving, he was just rearranging the bedclothes.”
Gwaine bit his tongue against the words of defence he longed to unleash on his friend’s behalf. Merlin was still stood to the side of the room, watching them with unease, blood dripping slowly into a tiny puddle on the floor no matter how hard he pressed against the gash, while the two knights amused themselves with their belittling repartee.
He pulled again at the cloth, uncaring if the sharpness of the blade sliced it in two but Oswald simply retaliated, halting his conversation as he pressed the sword further into the table.
“Why should we help a servant?”
Gwaine’s nostrils flared as he forced out a breath. He raised his chin to the air, the cloth slipping through his grasp as he took a step back. “You’re right. I shouldn’t have expected anything from two thugs.”
“What did you just call us?” Sir Oswald demanded, feet shuffling into position, ready to pounce if needed.
And pounce they did.
Honestly, Gwaine should have left as soon as he had freed Merlin from the wall. He should have just dragged Merlin from the room and to the safety of the physician’s chambers there and then. The inevitable trail of blood left behind would not have been his concern nor his responsibility to clean up.
But alas, he didn’t much enjoy being threatened by people who thought themselves better than him. It happened far too often for his liking and many years ago – after the first bar fight or two he found himself embroiled in — he quickly decided that he wasn’t going to take any of the disrespect thrown his way.
His own sword was in his hand before he realised what he was doing, and he happily let it lead the way. Two against one was hardly fair but he kept up just fine, blocking the quick blows dealt his way from both opponents until he was in a position to strike back. For two trained knights, they lost their lead to a no-name drunkard embarrassingly easily and their swords were sent flying through the air to the other side of the room in moments — much to their surprise. And anger.
“What is going on here?” An unfamiliar voice suddenly bellowed through the doorway as a wave of red cloaks flooded into the room. Led by one of the knights and held up at the rear by the prince himself, several of Camelot’s guards swarmed the space, catching Gwaine with the sword still in his hand.
Avoiding any sudden movements, he raised one hand in surrender as he slowly and carefully re-sheathed the weapon.
“These men attacked me. I demand an audience with the king!” Sir Oswald barely finished his accusation before two of the guards forced Gwaine to his knees, yanking his hands behind his back in a way that made him wince. A pained cry to his right had him wriggling in the men’s grip to watch as another guard attempted to restrain Merlin in a similar manner. The arm that had been cradled against his chest was now held behind his back, stained sleeve revealed clearly for all to see.
“That’s a lie.” Gwaine uttered through gritted teeth.
“He had his sword against our throats!”
Because that made sense. One sword to two men’s throats. He couldn’t even work out the logistics of that from where he had been standing on the other side of the room.
“You saw him.” Sir Oswald continued, gesturing eagerly towards the knights.
…And okay, yes. They had him there. If only he’d dropped his sword a second earlier.
“I only stepped in to protect Merlin.” He declared; chin held high as he glared at the men. Next, he turned to Arthur, imploringly. It was already obvious how this was going to play out so if he couldn’t help himself, at least he could try to help his friend. “He didn’t have anything to do with it.”
And honestly, despite his hope, he hadn’t actually expected Arthur to do anything, but as the prince’s narrowed eyes gave his servant the once over, Gwaine could see a hint of what Merlin had been trying to tell him before about the youngest of the royal line. He really did seem to be different.
A swift nod of Arthur’s head and Merlin was released from the painful grip. He bent forward immediately; injured arm cradled once more against his chest and the rapid rise and fall of his back as he tried to catch his breath had Gwaine glaring at the guard as he stepped back.
Carefully, Arthur helped Merlin to his feet, a hiss of sympathy escaping through his teeth as he got a better look at the blood-stained sleeve. He looked over his shoulder at the two knights standing opposite the commotion.
“What happened here?” He asked, giving the knights a stern look alongside the opportunity to be honest about what had occurred. Which was never going to happen.
Gwaine was eager to put things straight before anymore lies were told, but he had barely managed to open his mouth before Sir Oswald declared confidently to the room: “He tripped.”
“Claims he was just rearranging the room.” Sir Ethan butted in, because of course the man had nothing better to do (and no mind of his own, he had to hop into his fellow knight’s constantly). “But it was dark, so who knows what he fell over.”
Merlin and Arthur shared a look Gwaine couldn’t quite decipher. It was over in an instant as Arthur crossed the room to grab the cloth from the table, but Gwaine had seen the words flash clearly across their faces. He couldn’t imagine being close enough to someone that an unassuming glance was all it took to have a conversation, but apparently it was possible. He was never graced with any siblings, and he didn’t stay in one place long enough to forge any true friendships that could produce such a bond.
Though maybe that could change. Maybe Merlin could be that friend.
If he wasn’t about to be carted off to the noose that is.
Actually— thinking about it, was there a set punishment for putting a knight in his place? Because the thought of dying for one was becoming less and less appealing. The tightened grip around his arms shook him out of his thoughts and he stumbled back onto his feet.
Arthur handed Merlin the cloth – that the knights had not argued against him taking, Gwaine noticed – and watched as his servant pressed the bundle into his arm. The blood coating his fingers instantly stained the cloth before it had a chance to even do its job, but Merlin paid it no notice. Instead, his attention was fixed solely on Gwaine’s predicament, eyebrows furrowed in a look of pure – unfounded – guilt. Gwaine tried to mollify him with a subtle shake of his head, but it did nothing to assuage him as the knights of Camelot began to depart.
If anything, Gwaine should be the one apologising. Leaving Merlin to face the two knights alone should never have happened, not to mention the outcome of Sir Oswald’s dagger throwing contest thanks of his sudden entrance.
“Arthur.” Merlin whispered desperately amidst the rattle of the chainmail and swish of the cloaks and, not expecting his friend to receive a response, Gwaine had to hope he would at least get the chance to thank Merlin for trying.
So, when a reply floated across the room, softly spoken but strong and determined, Gwaine almost stumbled again in surprise.
“I’ll sort it.”
Maybe the prince wasn’t so bad after all.
The red sea flowed back through the doorway, dragging Gwaine along with them and as he caught sight of Sir Oswald and Sir Ethan, he couldn’t wait to wipe the smug grins off their faces.