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Arthur’s got a thick fucking skull.
There’s no way around it; that man is solid. Dense, even. Just rather...large, all over, isn’t he.
“ Gwaine! ”
Ah, yes. Back to the point. Arthur’s got a thick fucking skull, which is a good thing, because it means he can take a hit like nobody else. Gwaine can take a hit, on occasion. Has to, in his line of work, though it usually leaves him with a splitting headache for a few days, along with some ringing in his ears. Damn those metal helmets.
Anyway. Gwaine can take a hit. He doesn’t think he could remain conscious after getting knocked off his horse and landing skull-first on a gods-damned rock . Arthur, apparently, can. He’s just barely conscious, it’s true, and for once, Merlin’s not with them. Which means Leon is the one in charge. And, true to fucking form, Leon’s scouting ahead. Perce’s already gone to find him, thundering off on Arthur’s stallion and spraying dirt everywhere. Which means it’s him, Elyan, and Lance, desperately trying to keep Arthur awake.
“This is what we’re supposed to be doing, right?!”
There’s a note of panic in Elyan’s voice, which, yeah, sentiment echoed. Gwaine doesn’t know what the fuck to do, except keep shaking Arthur every time his eyelids slide closed. Which is probably not great, considering that when he does, Arthur groans and goes to clutch at his head. Lancelot’s on deflection duty; he’s pillowed Arthur’s head on his cloak, and bats his hands away every time he tries to feel around. Elyan’s currently rummaging around their saddlebags, looking for any last-minute remedies Merlin may have slipped into their packs.
“Hey, not to, um, scare everyone, but he’s really starting to fall asleep, now.”
Fucking great. Gwaine keeps a finger tapping on Arthur’s nose as he thinks, hopefully to irritate him into wakefulness. It works, but the man’s eyes are clearly getting heavier, and look glassier by the second. Gods, if only Merlin were here, he’d know what to-
Merlin.
“Lads, I’ve got it. Lance, prop him up against that tree.”
Lancelot does as told, dragging Arthur to the nearest tree and setting him up against it, doing his best to cushion his head. Gwaine crouches in front of him, taps his cheek. Arthur meets his eyes, blearily, and this better fucking work or we are fucked .
“Hey, uh, Arthur? Tell us about that time with Merlin and those barrels of ale?”
Arthur straightens just slightly at the mention of Merlin’s name, eyes clearing as his brow furrows.
“It was...six months ago? Merlin was being an idiot, as usual, dragging me all over the castle for a yearly inspection, which I didn’t even know was a thing that needed to happen.”
Arthur yawns, rubbing at his eyes with a hand and letting them close.
“What next?” Elyan’s back from the horses, giving Gwaine a look that very clearly means no dice . Fuck. He supposed this might work, though, as Arthur’s already inhaling for the tirade.
“Yearly castle inspections aren’t a thing , that’s what’s next. Turns out the prat just wanted to see how many places in the castle he could kiss me in without anyone finding out.”
Wait wait wait wait wait wait-
“Kitchens were a no,” Arthur’s got a hand up, ticking off fingers as he lists various castle locations. Gwaine is horrified to learn that Arthur and Merlin have kissed (and then some, according to the king) in the stables, the throne room, the armory, the physician’s quarters, and on the Round Table . Both versions.
“And of course, he wanted to visit the cellars. This was mid-winter, mind you. Absolutely freezing down there. Things got a bit...rowdy...and we may have knocked over an ale barrel or two. Blamed it on a stray dog, though.”
Arthur tips them a roguish wink, albeit a very slow, badly coordinated one. Gods, if he didn’t have a concussion, Gwaine would vomit right into his lap. Probably. He’s pleased to note that Lancelot and Elyan seem to be suffering just as much as he is, both of them looking as if they’d sucked a lemon. This is worse than getting a sex talk from your parents, probably. Gwaine wouldn’t know, but this seems appropriately horrifying for what was meant to be a simple recon mission. One skittish horse and the whole thing goes belly-up. Arthur’s eyes are unfocused again, though, so Gwaine grits his teeth and does his duty.
“What else about Merlin, sire?” And gods, he’s relieved to see the man’s eyes slide back into focus. He and the other knights share a sympathy wince, in preparation for what’s likely to come. It’s going to be absolute torture, having to keep this one quiet.
“Well, he’s an absolute prat in the mornings, always going on about the holes in my shirts. He burns bacon worse than I ever believed possible, and absolutely refuses to eat blackberry jam. Also, he insisted on riding at my right hand as soon as he came, like he didn’t even know the importance of being awarded that position.”
This is...nothing like what he expected. Gwaine wrinkles his nose at Elyan as Arthur rambles, his confusion mirrored on the other man’s face. What? Elyan mouths, and, well, yeah. His thoughts exactly. Lance, though, has a soft smile on his face, even as he continues to push Arthur’s hands away from his head.
“Merlin’s loyal to a goddamn fault, though you all know that. Did’y’know he drank poison for me after only a month of working under me? And then I had to save him, of course. But I think I knew then that there was something, I dunno, special.”
Oh?
“I would’ve died for him, too, in that labyrinth. I mean, thank the gods it was only a sleeping draught, but it was then I realized I cared for the idiot.”
Labyrinth? Sleeping draught? Dying? Gwaine’s getting more confused and more endeared with every passing word. Damn him for getting involved with the nobility. Well, he got involved with Merlin first. Though, clearly not to the extent that Arthur has.
“It’s kind of effortless, being with Merlin. He’s got that laugh, y’know, the one that makes his eyes go all crinkly, and he smells so good, like herbs and fresh bread. He gets all warm when he sleeps, probably because he steals all the blankets, and he always wants to have one part of his burning hot body touching mine, but I don’t mind, really.”
Arthur’s getting foggier and more concussed by the second, if the way he’s opening up is any indicator. Gwaine doubts he’s even told Gwen some of this, and the pair of them are thick as thieves. Gods, Merlin ’ s probably the reason the two of them didn’t get together like the knights had bet- erm, counted on. Arthur’s still talking, getting more animated as time goes on. How far did Perce and Leon go?
“Do you know how many bullshit rules there are in this kingdom? Apparently two male commoners can marry, but for members of nobility, it’s illegal. Or at least, ‘highly frowned upon.’ Especially if one just happens to be a sorcerer.” Arthur furrows his brow, wincing as his head likely throbs in response. As if on cue, Percival and Leon ride up, mercifully at a walk and not a canter. Gwaine’s not sure how much more trauma Arthur’s poor head can take; he seems about one loud noise or rough movement away from brains leaking out his ears.
They manage to get him back to the castle in one piece, thankfully. Arthur’s kept awake by the jostling of the horse, no longer spilling his innermost feelings to the world. Gwaine is equal parts relieved and dismayed; while he’s glad Perce and Leon don’t have to go through all that, it’s rather interesting, getting a peek into their (seemingly) emotionally stunted ruler.
However, none of them miss the way Merlin’s waiting on the steps, worrying his hands like he always does when they’re gone too long, like he knows something’s gone wrong. Maybe it’s the magic thing of his, who knows? He’s across the courtyard and helping Arthur dismount before Lancelot, bringing up the rear, is even through the gate. Arthur grins, dopey and concussed, patting the hand Merlin’s circled around his waist. He waves to the knights as Merlin leads him inside, arm firmly around the other man’s shoulders.
“Gods, boys, how did we miss that one?”
Leon groans.
“ You all missed it. I’ve been catching them around the castle for gods only know how long, and every time they try to pass it off as poetry lessons .”
“I call best man at the wedding!” Gwaine crows, hopping off his horse. No fucking way is he going to miss that, whenever it happens.