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The battle, if Merlin’s being honest, was an utter farce.
It wasn’t that they were merely easy to overcome…it was simply that the enemy was so bloody stupid. They left blatant tracks where it was clear they were planning an ambush, and that was all the information the knights needed to set up a trap in retaliation; send their bait and lure them out, just to form an ambush of their own.
Merlin didn’t really even mind being the bait this time. The battle was over so quickly, he had no time to really be worried. Arthur had brought his most trusted, his elite; Leon, Gwaine, Percival and Elyan all accompanied the king and his servant to investigate a minor uprising in the eastern hills. The term ‘minor’ was clearly being applied appropriately for the situation, and the knights spent the better part of the afternoon trudging through the forest because surely this couldn’t be it.
But alas, it was, and Arthur, Merlin and Camelot’s finest knights found themselves ready to head back to Camelot by the time the sun was setting. They got as far as they could before the forest simply became too dark to navigate, and that was when they came across a small traveler’s rest town to the side of a dusty road.
“After such a disappointingly pathetic quest, I feel as if some ale is in order. Sire?” Gwaine asked.
Perhaps it was because he’d met the man in a tavern…in a pub brawl, to be precise, but Arthur was feeling generous. He threw up his arms, grinning.
“Let us celebrate a well-won victory.”
The knights whooped, completely on board as they tied up their horses and went inside.
The tavern was not very large, but quaint without being cramped. There were a few travelers scattered at the tables, a few clear regulars…no one looked particularly unsavory or suspicious. Merlin glanced around cautiously, but didn’t notice anything out of the ordinary.
“Merlin, get us some drinks while we find ourselves a table.” Arthur said, earning a nod from his servant as he made for the bar. Arthur found the largest round table and claimed it for their own, because he was nothing if not a fan of irony. Percival gave a knowing, cheeky grin, but said nothing.
Merlin came back with the drinks a short while later, possibly assisting himself with magic to ensure he didn’t drop any of the mugs. Each time the knights asked for a refill, he looked to Arthur for approval, and only when he would nod did he go to fetch more drinks.
They had been there for some time, speaking jovially amongst each other, when a traveler entered in from the darkness. The barkeep greeted him warmly, clearly familiar with this man. It was only clear when he removed his cloak and pulled out a lute that he was a traveling bard.
The man looked over to the knights as they laughed amongst each other, moving to the end of the bar nearest their table and setting up his tip-hat, placing his belongings to the side.
“Do my eyes deceive me, or are we visited by the Knights of Camelot?” He asked, his voice something between awe and stage presence.
Arthur grinned indulgently. “We are the Knights of the Round, good sir. And I am King Arthur.”
“The King!” Some of the patrons piped up, astonished.
“We heard there was some trouble with violent rebellions in the east and rode out to meet it.” Leon added. “The threat has been removed, so you can all rest easily. We merely came to celebrate our success.”
“We are truly honored by the presence of such greatness!” The bard said with a charismatic smile. “Please, allow me to sing to your victory.”
“That’s not necessary…” Arthur began, tone humble while remaining void of rudeness. He was interrupted when Gwaine clapped him on the back.
“Oh, come on now, sire! Nothing wrong with a little music to go with our ale.” He lifted his mug high in the air. “To Arthur!”
The king rolled his eyes, but assented, lifting his own mug. “To Camelot.”
“To Camelot!” The Knights agreed, clinking their glasses enthusiastically as the bard began to play.
“In Camelot there was a king as none had seen before. Some say he was to be a legend of the greatest lore. In battle or in court, you will find no truer partner. So raise a glass and give a toast, we all say, ‘Hail King Arthur’!”
“Oh! Pass the bottle around, hey! Pass the bottle around! One more day we’ve won the battle so pass the bottle around!”
The audience cheered, particularly the knights as they nudged at Arthur playfully. He chuckled to himself, ears turning red as he blushed.
“Sir Knights! If I may have your names, I will gladly sing of your conquests!” The bard requested over the din of the tavern as he strummed the chorus on his lute in anticipation.
Gwaine was working on his fourth ale already, so he was the first to jump up. “I am Sir Gwaine!”
The others pulled him back down into his seat with a laugh, but the bard began to sing.
“There was a Knight in Arthur’s court, they called him Sir Gwaine. His thirst for ale was only matched by the enemies he’d slain!”
“OH!” A raucous whoop came from the crowd, most especially from Gwaine himself, who slapped the table before guzzling his ale, stating he’d ‘drink to that’. Their laughter petered out into a repetition of the chorus, some of the knights joining in this time—
“Pass the bottle around, hey! Pass the bottle around! One more day we’ve won the battle so pass the bottle around!”
“Another name, sires, if I may?” The bard inquired.
“Leon!” Elyan and Percival shouted in unison, because the man sure as hell wouldn’t have done it himself. Sure enough, he shoved at them and hid his face behind his mug as the bard began.
”The loyal-est of knights, they say, goes by the name Sir Leon. On Arthur’s side he stays because there’s none he’d rather be on!”
As before, the verse was followed by a hoot of laughter and several slaps on the back as they all sang the chorus together.
“Oh! Pass the bottle around, hey! Pass the bottle around! One more day we’ve won the battle so pass the bottle around!”
Merlin returned with more ale, earning slurred thanks from the knights as one shouted Percival’s name. He caught Arthur’s eyes and grinned with fondness, enjoying seeing everyone so carefree.
”The gentle giant of the Knights, they say his name is Percival. Despite the great size of his frame you’ll find that he’s quite merciful!”
The cackles from the ever-drunker knights were even louder as they sang along with the chorus.
“Oh! Pass the bottle around, hey! Pass the bottle around! One more day we’ve won the battle so pass the bottle around!”
“Elyan!” Someone cried out, indiscernible who it was in the rambunctious crowd.
“To earn respect for Camelot, we call upon Sir Elyan. With Arthur’s knights right by his side he squashed that weak rebellion!”
“Oh! Pass the bottle around, hey! Pass the bottle around! One more day we’ve won the battle so pass the bottle around!”
“But of course, we couldn’t have done it without Arthur’s trusty manservant, here.” Gwaine piped up, throwing an arm around the sorcerer and leaning on him heavily. “Why, if he hadn’t spotted those tracks, we’d have landed right in an ambush.”
“To Merlin!” Arthur agreed, raising his mug. His knights repeated the sentiment, and Merlin ducked his head, his ears burning. He was beaming like an idiot, filled with pride at the praise, but equally embarrassed by the attention.
The bard faltered for a moment. “Merlin…a unique name. Where do you hail from?”
“Ealdor.” Merlin told him.
The bard was still strumming, clearly buying himself time to work out a verse in his head.
“At Arthur’s side, he’ll always find, the noble, loyal Merlin. And from his bravery today…it’s clear he’s no mere…servant?”
Gwaine positively cackled, leaning on Percival and slapping at the man’s shoulder as he tried to contain himself. They were all too busy laughing to really sing along for the chorus, and it ended up muddled and virtually unheard under the noise.
The bard, a little embarrassed, finished up with a final verse.
“In Camelot, we have a code where brotherhoods are forged. Where men of any stature may compete to serve their lord. Without his knights, King Arthur would be quite the lonesome king. But with his knights, he’ll find that he can do most anything!”
“Oh! Pass the bottle around, hey! Pass the bottle around! One more day we’ve won the battle so pass the bottle around!”
“One more time!” Gwaine shouted, and the bard gave him his request, the entire tavern joining in.
“Oh! Pass the bottle around, hey! Pass the bottle around! One more day we’ve won the battle so pass the bottle around!”
The audience devolved into cheers and applause as the musician finished with a flourish, many going so far as to toss coins into the hat at the bard’s feet. Arthur motioned for Merlin to do the same, so he did, flicking a few coins from where he sat (and perhaps using a little magic to ensure they landed on their mark).
Arthur looked over at him, impressed. “That was well done, Merlin! Clearly you’ve not had enough to drink if your aim is still that good.”
Merlin chuckled, shaking his head. “I thought one of us should be sober to get you all back to camp tonight.”
“You’re a bloody saint, Merlin. Don’t ever let anyone tell you otherwise!” Gwaine cut in, throwing an arm around him again and planting a loud, wet kiss on his cheek.
Merlin laughed and swatted him away with weak protest, but before he could say much, Arthur had an arm around the sorcerer’s waist and yanked him back to his side of the bench.
“Oy, hands off my manservant, eh? Get your own!” The king’s tone still held jest, but it was clearly not merely a joke.
“Perhaps if you paid us more, we could afford to hire manservants with such fine arses for ourselves!” Gwaine retorted.
The table erupted in boisterous laughter, but Merlin just ducked his head almost into Arthur’s shoulder, cheeks burning. He knew there was no point arguing with Gwaine when he was this drunk, and even if it was embarrassing, he was content to let the knights, and Arthur have their moment of content and celebration of victory.
And as the king’s arm didn’t seem to be moving away from his waist, he decided to count that as a victory of his own.