Chapter Text
In a busy tavern late one evening, Merlin made a wager he knew he would win.
The air hung thick with smoke and chatter, the clashing of tankards and uproarious laughter. The firelit room was stifling, and the ale easily spilled at rowdy patrons’ hands. Merlin had barely downed the last of his drink when Gwaine was calling for two more.
“Are you trying to get me sacked?” Merlin asked, amused.
“Would that be such a bad thing?” Gwaine said with a wink. “Not that it matters. Arthur will let you get away with anything.”
Merlin frowned. “You must be joking.”
Gwaine drained his glass and set it down with a thud. “Am I mistaken in thinking so?”
“He threatens to sack me on a daily basis,” Merlin pointed out.
“But has he actually done it?”
“On my second day, in fact.”
The barman placed two brimming tankards before them. Gwaine set one in front of Merlin before dragging the other towards himself. “Clearly he hired you back.”
“So what?” Merlin said. “Doesn’t mean he won’t do it again.”
Gwaine took a swig of mead and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Tell you what—let’s bet on it.”
Merlin chuckled, shaking his head. “I’m telling you right now, you’re going to lose.”
Gwaine grinned. “You know I like my odds as slim as they get.”
“And if I lose my job?” Merlin asked.
Gwaine slung an arm around Merlin’s shoulders. “Then you’ll be free to roam the lands with me.”
Merlin scoffed. Something told him he wouldn’t be rid of Arthur quite that easily.
On his way home, he ruminated on their conversation. There was no way Gwaine could understand. In the first few days he’d known Arthur, Merlin had ended up in the stocks, in jail, hell, nearly beheaded—all thanks to Prince Arthur. Not a day had since passed without Arthur finding some new failing in him. It would be impressive, if it weren’t deeply frustrating.
Arthur barely seemed aware of Merlin’s efforts, and the little he saw was never good enough. In the end, Merlin could get away with nothing. And he would cherish proving that point if it meant he got to annoy Arthur while doing it.
—
The next morning, Merlin turned up to Arthur’s bedchambers late.
He let himself in without knocking. Sunlight poured through the windows, illuminating the prince’s stormy expression as he fiddled with the fastenings on his tunic. Empty dishes crowded the table. Clothes spilled out of the wardrobe, and pieces of armor lay scattered about the floor.
“Where the hell have you been?” Arthur demanded.
Vindication. Merlin hid a knowing smile and feigned innocence. “You’re up already?”
Arthur’s eyes narrowed. “Are you in your right mind?”
“I thought you might like a nice lie-in,” Merlin said delicately.
“Sounds like you’re the one who wanted a nice lie-in.” Arthur took a step closer. “What do you say? Shall I arrange for you to have a restful break?” Another step.
There it is, thought Merlin. And the day had hardly begun.
Arthur leaned in. Merlin blinked, startled by his sudden proximity… until Arthur’s gambeson landed in his arms.
“Well, what are you waiting for?” Arthur said. “We don’t have all day.”
Merlin’s hands moved on muscle memory as he dressed the prince, allowing his thoughts to roam. He’d win the wager by the end of the day at this rate.
“You’re awfully quiet,” Arthur said, sounding suspicious. “You were at the tavern all night, weren’t you?”
For once, the accusation was almost right on the money. Merlin decided to try his luck again. “Yeah, I was, actually.”
Arthur simply rolled his eyes. “You’re shining a pair of shoes for every dime of mine you spent.”
“Gwaine was the one who paid!”
Arthur stilled. “You were with Gwaine?”
“He’s only passing through,” Merlin said, uneasy at Arthur’s scrutiny. “He has no intention of lingering in Camelot.”
For a moment, Arthur appeared preoccupied by some thought. “Is he well?”
The question was unexpected. Trying to hide his surprise, Merlin said, “He’s still making impractical wagers, so he must be.”
Arthur accepted the response with a simple nod. “Let’s go.”
—
They headed for the training grounds, Arthur striding ahead and Merlin in tow carrying his helmet and shield.
“Gather around!” Arthur said.
Merlin’s attention waned as Arthur instructed the knights. He pondered more ways to get under Arthur’s skin. He could trip Arthur while he was sword fighting; he would not like making a mistake in front of the knights.
A flash of purple drew his attention. Lady Morgana stood near the castle. Upon catching his eye, she smiled and waved him over.
He set Arthur’s things aside and jogged over to her. “My lady.”
“Merlin,” she said with a nod. “I wondered…”
“Yes, my lady?”
“When you next see Gaius, could you ask him to prepare another sleeping draught for me?”
Merlin scanned her face, noting the weary lines, the pallor of her skin. “Are you still having trouble sleeping, my lady?”
“The draughts have done some good,” she replied with an unconvincing smile.
Merlin wondered if he could cheer her up somehow. And possibly irk Arthur while he was at it. “Arthur’s also been sleeping fitfully as of late, you know,” he said.
“Oh?” she said with a trace of concern.
Merlin leaned closer with a conspiratorial air. “Don’t tell him I’m telling you this, but he’s been talking—”
“Merlin!”
Arthur’s voice cut across his words. Merlin turned.
The prince was stalking over, looking irritated. “You two look awfully cozy.”
“Oh, I was just telling Lady Morgana…” Merlin trailed off, suppressing a laugh.
“Telling her what?”
“That you’ve been saying her name in your sleep,” Merlin said plainly.
Arthur’s eyes widened.
Morgana smirked. “Is that so?”
A blush crept across Arthur’s cheeks. His disbelieving gaze sharpened into a glare. “What exactly are you on about?”
“No need to be shy,” Merlin said, grinning. “I’m sure Lady Morgana is flattered by your affections.”
Morgana laughed. “I might be, once I get over the nausea.”
Arthur looked practically murderous. “Get over here. Right now.”
Throwing an apologetic grimace at Morgana, Merlin scurried after the prince.
“Into formation!” Arthur called to the knights. As they assembled in the distance, Arthur glanced back at Merlin, glowering. “You just crossed a line.”
Merlin hurried to catch up with Arthur’s strides. “That wasn’t what it looked like—”
“Did you forget you’re my manservant, not Morgana’s?”
“Well, no, but—”
Arthur rounded on him. “What gave you the impression that I’d be dreaming of her, of all people?”
Merlin’s steps faltered. “Wait, what?”
“I mean, why would you even think—?” Arthur broke off, pinching the bridge of his nose.
“I was just joking,” Merlin said meekly.
“That’s enough,” Arthur snapped. “Stop messing about and stand over there.” He nodded at the weaponry rack.
“Why am I standing over there?”
Arthur shook his head. “You really are useless.”
He took Merlin’s hand in his gloved one. Distracted by the touch, Merlin allowed himself to be tugged along until, all at once, Arthur let go.
“The knights will charge at you,” Arthur said.
“They— What?”
“They will run at you one by one. You are to throw each one a spear when they’re here,” Arthur continued, marking a line in the grass with his boot. “They’ll catch it and throw it at the target.”
Merlin glanced around. “What target?”
Arthur’s mouth lifted in a smirk. He snatched one of the shields from the rack and thrust it into Merlin’s arms. Merlin stumbled under its weight. “You’ll need this.”
Cold realization washed over Merlin. “Hang on…”
“Make sure to get the timing right,” Arthur said as he retreated, “or you’ll throw us all off.”
A quiet dread seeped into Merlin as he watched Arthur join the knights across the field. They appeared serious, as if about to head into battle, though Merlin was the only one in real danger of being skewered at the end of a stick.
So much for getting away with anything.
“Grab a spear, for god’s sake,” Arthur called.
Merlin followed the order with some reluctance. The spear sat unwieldy in his grip, and his other hand barely clung to the shield. His body weight felt entirely thrown off.
Arthur’s voice sounded faint past the ringing in his ears. “Ready!”
Merlin’s palms were slick with sweat. How was he supposed to get this thing airborne?
“Begin!”
The first knight approached with incredible speed. His armor glinted in the sun, blinding Merlin. They were about to collide—painfully. Merlin’s heart hammered as he fought the urge to dive aside.
“Throw!” Arthur yelled.
Merlin scrunched his eyes shut. He launched the spear with all his might and braced himself for the impact.
A high-pitched whistle keened at his ear. He froze.
“Next!”
Merlin cracked an eye open. The spear had flown past him. The first knight was sprinting off, the second already heading Merlin’s way.
He grabbed another spear.
Not everyone had the precise aim of the first. Merlin flinched each time a spear flew at him, uttering rapid spells to redirect a fair few. His limbs trembled with exertion. Sweat beaded his brow. But he dug his heels in, determined not to surrender an inch.
Arthur didn’t afford him a moment’s break, seeming eager to rush things along. The line quickly depleted. Soon, it was Arthur’s turn. Merlin seized the final spear.
Time slowed as Arthur approached. Something shifted in Merlin. That inexplicable energy surged through his veins in a reassuring force. And Merlin knew what he was going to do.
As Arthur neared the line, Merlin sent the spear flying seconds too early.
Arthur’s body jolted with shock. He lunged—but the spear flew past his fingertips. He sailed through the air and hit the ground.
“Argh!”
Merlin winced.
Arthur’s shield clattered from his hand. He rolled onto his back with a groan.
Cries of “Sire!” rang out. The knights sprinted over.
“Are you all right?” Merlin asked.
Arthur just groaned. Merlin suspected that meant training was over.
—
Admittedly, Merlin felt a bit bad as Arthur hobbled into his chambers.
“Are you feeling all right?” he asked again.
Unusually subdued, Arthur simply told Merlin to fetch some hot water.
An awkward silence lingered as Merlin helped peel off Arthur’s armor. It put him on edge. He set the table, all the while thinking that perhaps he had gone too far.
“Get the horses ready,” Arthur said as he sat down. “We’re going to the woods after lunch.”
Merlin frowned. “But you fell. Really hard.”
“Just get the horses instead of mouthing off,” Arthur said, turning away.
That wasn’t what Merlin meant to do; why couldn’t Arthur see that? He had no faith in Merlin’s goodwill at all. And Merlin did have a smidgen of it, buried under the irreverence Arthur elicited in him.
He pressed his lips together against his misgivings. “Yes, my lord.”
The late afternoon sun beat down on them with little mercy as they set off. Arthur hurried along as though he was keen to leave the castle behind.
The lower city bustled with activity. Merchants’ calls floated around them; tradesmen busied themselves over expansive looms and blazing forges. Children wove through the streets, their screams and laughter rising to the sky.
The hubbub faded as they ventured towards the outskirts and into the woods. Beyond the trees, Arthur nodded, signaling they should continue on foot. Merlin secured the horses and grabbed Arthur’s crossbow.
The smell of damp earth filled the air as they headed deeper into the woods. Dried leaves crunched underfoot, and distant birdsong drifted from the treetops.
“What are we looking for?” Merlin whispered.
“Shh,” Arthur said. He held his hand out.
Merlin hesitated before passing him the crossbow. “Are you sure you’re feeling up to it?”
“I’m fine,” Arthur said, rolling his eyes.
If he was rolling his eyes again, Merlin figured he must be feeling better.
The shrubbery rustled a few feet away. Both of them went still. Arthur took aim, his gaze sharp, focused. Merlin watched with a hint of awe. Arthur wielded the weapon with an easy confidence; the sight demanded attention. Even the birds seemed to fall quiet.
The shrubbery trembled. A rustle—this time, behind them.
Merlin whirled. A twig snapped under his foot. He scanned the area, a little unsettled, but all lay tranquil before him.
Arthur turned to him with a frown. The spot he’d been tracking had fallen silent.
“Er… oops?” Merlin said sheepishly.
Arthur sighed. “It’s all right, Merlin.” He ran a hand over his face. “In fact, it is I who made a mistake.”
Merlin’s brows shot up. “What, just now?”
“No. At training, I…”
The rustle sounded again, soft, almost carried off by an errant breeze. Something shifted behind Arthur.
His words faded under the rush of blood in Merlin’s ears.
Among the leaves, mere paces away, lay a great scorpion-like creature. Its shell glistened black under the waning light. Its stinger curved in an arc that nearly cleared their heads, poised to attack.
The Serket lunged.
“Arthur—!”
Merlin threw himself forward. His body slammed into Arthur’s. They toppled to the ground, a hair’s breadth from the creature’s stinger. The impact drew a pain through Merlin’s arm, quick like a flash of lightning.
“Get back!” Arthur yelled. He threw an arm over Merlin, struggling to find a grip on the crossbow.
The Serket darted closer.
The bolt fired with a sharp whine—and bounced off the Serket’s shell. The creature emitted an ear-splitting screech. Its stinger quivered.
They scrambled backwards, Arthur frantically searching at his belt. Merlin’s blood ran cold. There was no way Arthur could reload in time. He huffed, working over the bow with trembling hands.
The Serket reared to lunge again.
“Move!” Merlin cried. He pulled himself before Arthur, shielding the prince’s body with his own. A familiar energy swept through him in a fierce tide.
Heat sparked along his skin.
A flame burst before the Serket, hissing and spitting. The creature skittered back.
In Merlin’s periphery, Arthur drew the crossbow into position, and froze.
The flame was eating away at the leaves coating the forest floor. Merlin sensed its power like it was a taut bowstring between his fingers. He pulled tighter.
The fire surged. The flames traveled in an unnatural arc around them, carried high by a sudden wind. A scalding heat gripped Merlin in a chokehold.
The Serket shrieked. The flames advanced, devouring its path, pushing it back, until—
Merlin’s heart pounded as the creature scurried off between the trees. All at once, the wind died out. The flames dwindled.
He released a shaky breath. “Are you all right?” he asked.
Arthur stood up. “What the hell was that?”
Merlin stiffened. His mind went blank.
“What were you thinking, putting yourself in that thing’s way?” Arthur continued.
“Oh,” Merlin said, dumbfounded. He slowly got to his feet, grimacing as the move jostled his arm.
Arthur’s eyes widened. He strode closer and took Merlin by the shoulders, looking him over. “What’s wrong? Are you hurt?”
Merlin gently tried to extract himself from the prince’s hold. Waves of pain radiated along his arm. “I’m fine, really—”
Arthur’s grip tightened. “It didn’t sting you? You’re sure?”
Merlin allowed his gaze to settle on Arthur’s. “I’m fine,” he repeated, perplexed at Arthur’s insistence. He carefully cradled his arm to his chest.
Arthur’s eyes flitted down to note the movement. The planes of his face hardened. Merlin blinked, thrown off by the abrupt shift.
Arthur released him. “You are hurt.”
“It’s nothing,” Merlin said. “Just from the fall—”
“Nothing?” Arthur spat. It startled Merlin, the way his voice trembled, low, seething. Arthur’s eyes flashed as they met his. “And what if you got stung? Or— or worse—” He broke off, his breathing haggard.
“What else was I supposed to do?” Merlin asked. “If I hadn’t been here—”
“I can take care of myself,” Arthur cut across him. “But what would I have done if you got hurt?”
The force of his words brought Merlin to a standstill. After everything—an entire day of purposefully trying to tick him off—this was what Arthur was getting angry over? When Merlin actually helped?
“Why should it matter to you?” he asked quietly. “If I get hurt?”
Arthur offered no reply. His expression morphed, eyes swimming with a desperation Merlin didn’t understand.
Finally, Arthur turned away with a low mutter about the late hour. He set off in the direction they had come, never once looking back.