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Gwaine rode out of the castle courtyard, past the glowing windows and the few servants rushing through their last chores of the day. He could just make out the distant, muffled sounds from the great hall; the feast was underway. He knew he should be there, seated with the other knights, but Gwaine had a certain devil-may-care reputation to uphold. He also knew a certain manservant was sneaking off to the lower town this evening.
Merlin had his own reputation to uphold, Gwaine thought with a smirk, passing through the gates and nodding to the guards on watch; the reputation for Prince Arthur shouting his name in royal frustration, to be exact.
Gwaine wondered what punishment Merlin was risking, and why, by taking the evening off, shirking his duties like this. He’d asked Gaius after visiting the physician to pick up a hang-over tonic, an herbal potion that felt like a refreshing slap in the face after a night of drinking. It had never failed to help Gwaine the morning after a feast and he was feeling pleased with his foresight when, before leaving for the great hall, he’d looked around for Merlin.
“Merlin already down there, then?” Gwaine had asked.
Gaius had stopped mid-motion, his hand hovering with uncertainty over the potions and tonics on his crowded wooden shelves. He recovered quickly, plucking up a small bottle with practiced ease and turning to Gwaine with a decidedly nonchalant air.
“Oh, Merlin is…well, you know, he’s…gone out. Arthur allows it from time to time,” Gaius had said with a wave of his hand, the other offering Gwaine the bottle.
“Does he, now?” Taking the proffered medicine, Gwaine had tried to mask his dubious expression. He knew his commanding officer, though fond of and, at times, oddly connected to his manservant, was rarely generous with giving Merlin time off.
Now, Gwaine was a well traveled man. There were few places he could say he’d never been, and fewer still that hadn’t kicked him out for gambling, drinking and whoring too much. All of this experience had led him to be a great judge of honesty; about the truth of the dice, the quality of the ale, the price of the company, and the risks of the venture.
So, Gwaine could tell Gaius had lied. The question was, why?
His curiosity peaked, he had remarked casually, “Well, good for Merlin, Arthur works him to the bone. Where’s he gone to, then?”
Again, a flinch, a small tell. Gwaine resolved to one day gamble with Gaius, certain he could win.
“Try the tavern,” Gaius had answered shortly, in a tone of voice that indicated the conversation was over.
Gwaine hadn’t pushed, but he had changed his plans. If Merlin was at the tavern, then Gwaine would rather drink with the unwashed and unimportant people there than with Camelot’s finest. The young manservant had that effect on people. Well, on some people. If those people were Gwaine.
The sound of his horses' hooves became soft on the unpaved streets of the lower town. He turned down a narrow street, passing by a few candles burning low in small, thatched windows. Otherwise, the darkness of the night was unbroken and overhead the stars were beginning to appear.
Then, like a fire suddenly blazing to life in the darkling woods, the Rising Sun appeared resplendent around the next corner. It’s windows were all open and pouring out light and the sounds of townsfolk making merry within. The familiar sight planted a sweet, tight feeling in Gwaine’s chest. He’d rarely stayed long enough in one town to have a favorite place to drink his fill, a local haunt where people knew him by name, where he lost his coin one night and won it back the next, many times over. He supposed he was still getting accustomed to having a home, a knighthood, a place and a purpose. There were moments when it chafed, but many more like this one, when it felt like there was a solid hand on his shoulder, leading him to a good fire and a full tankard.
I must be getting old, Gwaine scoffed at his own musings. Merlin would set him right, though, probably rope him into some hairbrained scheme involving quests or a dragon's egg or a stolen treasure. Merlin always seemed to be getting into trouble. It was the first thing Gwaine had noticed, and admired, about the man. He nudged his horse toward the door, slid out of the saddle and tied the reins to the wooden hitching bars just outside.
Stepping inside, he scanned the crowd. Though they generally weren’t from high society, which suited Gwaine fine, people from all walks of life mixed together here. In one corner was the ferrier discussing business with the new blacksmith. At one table a few squires threw dice and, Gwaine guessed, traded insults and boasts about the knights they served. Women laughed together and wiped their sweaty faces with their skirts, shrugging off advances from emboldened lads while others took their suitors to the rooms upstairs. The din was louder than usual, the room more crowded. Perhaps the feast had brought more trains of people following the noble guests, and, like their masters, they all needed places to sleep and eat and socialize. Gwaine felt at ease in his lightweight shirt and short sword, probably passing for a common man more than a knight of Camelot.
No sign of Merlin, though, Gwaine quickly gathered, working his way toward the bar. Merlin was a hard man to miss, too, even standing in Arthur’s formidable shadow. He had an unmistakable look to him, which was the second thing - and, technically, the third and fourth and so on - Gwaine had noticed about him; his head of thick, black hair, bright blue eyes, sharp cheekbones, full lips, and comically oversized ears. Taken altogether, they created a face both fey and fierce, expressions as quick and changeable as the surface of a running river.
Again, Gwaine had to chuckle ruefully at himself. He needed to be drunk in order for these wandering thoughts to make any sense - or rather, to stop making sense - and here he was stone cold sober. Perhaps he’d made the wrong choice and should have been halfway to happy inebriation at the feast by now. Merlin seemed to have duped Gaius as well as Arthur tonight, and Gwaine along with them.
Still, he’d come all this way, might as well enjoy himself a while. He ordered his ale and spied a dice game underway, sidling over to wait his turn to play and fleece the winner - all in good sport, of course. As a knight, he had more coin now than he knew what to do with sometimes, and winning and losing a wager had lost its sharp edges. He’d spent most of his adult life living hand to mouth, traveling and fighting for various lords and various causes, and sometimes cheating had paved the way to his next meal, or the next town. Now, he never had reason to cheat, unless he wanted to see if he still could.
After a few rounds, the answer was no, possibly. Either Gwaine was getting soft in his knighthood or losing his edge entirely, but his fellow gambler across the table was glaring at him with increasingly suspicious eyes. His friends, too, had picked up on the mood and gathered closer around the table.
Definitely should have gone to the feast, Gwaine sighed inwardly. He shook the dice cup and mentally calculated how to fight off the small band and make his way out with minimal damage to the tavern. Suddenly, the cup gave a strange lurch in his hand and he watched, dumbfounded, as the dice flew out and landed on the table, without his turning the cup over at all.
Gwaine stared down at the dice, blinking in surprise. The man and his friends across from him stared down, too. Twelve pips lay face up on the table, almost neatly arranged between the stacked coins of their wagers. Gwaine had won.
The other man looked up, his expression moving from surprise to anger in a flash, and opened his mouth just as a firm hand landed on Gwaine’s shoulder.
“Gwaine!” It was Merlin, speaking with a forced sounding cheerfulness, “I thought that was you! Come on. Prince Arthur —” Here he gave a significant look to the angry loser across from Gwaine, “— surely wouldn’t approve of one of his knights at the gaming table, now, would he?” He turned his wide, innocent eyes to Gwaine.
Gwaine, his luck now doubled between the dice and the appearance of Merlin, decided not to push it and nodded sagely in agreement.
“Gentlemen,” He smiled amiably, scooping up his winnings and pouring them into his purse. Merlin turned on his heel and didn’t wait for Gwaine to follow him into the crowd, knowing better than to linger. Gwaine knew better, too, but couldn’t help winking at the disgruntled men before sauntering after him.
“Well, well,” Gwaine said, setting his tankard and much heavier purse down next to Merlin’s elbow where it rested on an empty table near the back of the tavern. Merlin glanced disapprovingly at the purse but scooted down the bench to make room so Gwaine could slide in beside him, “I was wondering if you were going to show up.”
Merlin frowned, “What do you mean?”
“Gaius said you’d be…eh, never mind,” Gwaine redirected, noticing a stiffening in Merin’s shoulders at the mention of the physician and his excuses, “Skipping the feast, are we?”
Merlin relaxed a little, making a noncommittal noise before replying, “Suppose you are, too.”
“Ah, you caught me,” Gwaine opened his arms, “I’m backsliding into my life of crime, skipping feasts and cheating dice. Feels good to be back.”
“So you were cheating!” Merlin hissed, leaning toward Gwaine, his voice lowering despite the noise all around them. Gwaine leaned in, as well, their shoulders brushing, surely looking like co-conspirators in their dark corner. In the dim light of low burning candles, Gwaine really looked at his friend for the first time since running into one another.
Merlin almost looked like he’d spent the night in the forest. His hair was unusually wild, stuck up at odd angles as if wind-blown. His cheeks were flushed red, his eyes sharp and alert, almost fervent. There was dirt under his fingernails and smudges around his knuckles, and Gwaine realized suddenly that Merlin wasn’t wearing his typical neckerchief or brown coat, and he was completely unarmed. All he had were simple breeches and a blue tunic that smelled strongly of sulfur.
“Of course I was cheating,” Gwaine said, blinking, wondering how long Merlin had been watching his dice game and why on earth he looked as he did. All of his observations crowded together into questions he wasn’t sure how to ask. He took a long sip of his ale before continuing, “A man’s got to keep all of his weapons sharp, Merlin, and not just the ones the prince approves of.”
Merlin’s frown turned into a bemused grin and he shook his head. Then he yawned, rubbing his eyes vigorously. His fingers left a small smudge of what looked like soot near his right temple.
“You need a drink,” Gwaine declared, getting up, “Wait here and make sure I don’t get robbed.”
“You’d deserve it,” Merlin snapped, though without much heat.
“Merlin! Is that any way to treat a friend? Especially the one who’s buying,” Gwaine protested, enjoying Merlin’s rolling eyes.
“Just the one, then,” Merlin agreed and Gwaine went back to the bar. He was fairly certain Merlin wasn’t going to involve him in whatever had made him smell like a house fire. Between his appearance and Gaius’ behavior, Gwaine felt his curiosity waking up again, but when he glanced back at Merlin he saw him looking at his hands as if seeing them and their dirty state for the first time. He rubbed at the dirt ineffectually, then reached up to his neck, freezing when he found only his own skin there, and not his usual cloth.
Gwaine put his curiosity aside and resolved to turn “the one” into at least three.
*
Merlin hiccuped when he’d had too much to drink and it was both pathetic and endearing. Though he was a little taller than Gwaine and of a similar build, he just couldn’t hold his ale the way Gwaine - or anyone else, for that matter - could. He helped Merlin out the door, one arm around his waist, the other hand securing Merlin’s arm across his shoulders. Together they shuffled over to where he’d hitched his horse.
“Come on, then,” He grunted, letting go of Merlin, who leaned into the horse's neck, “Let’s get you home.”
Merlin wrapped his arms around the horse, smoothing his cheek on its soft hair. He sighed deeply, “Don’ wanna…”
“No?” Gwaine asked, untying the reins, “You wanna fall asleep in the tavern? Why didn’t you say so, could’ve saved me some trouble dragging you out here.”
Merlin snorted, turning his face further into the horse's mane. Gwaine gently turned them, the horse and Merlin, around and toward the street. He placed the reins on the saddle’s pommel, then pulled Merlin more upright and lifted one of his boots into a stirrup. With a little more cajoling and a lot more handling, he got Merlin in the saddle, where he swayed slightly but at least stayed on. Gwaine climbed up quickly and settled himself behind Merlin, reaching around his waist to find the reins and start the short journey back to the castle.
He freed one hand to steady Merlin as they began to move, the horse's body rolling slowly underneath them. It was almost completely quiet outside the tavern and the candles in the windows Gwaine had passed by earlier were all extinguished now. The night was darker, but that made the stars brighter, and Merlin tipped his head as he looked up, his back leaning against Gwaine’s chest.
“Pretty,” Merlin whispered, sounding sleepy.
Gwaine hummed in agreement, feeling the vibration pass from him to Merlin and his breath skate across the other man’s neck. He could smell that unusual, smokey smell again, as if Merlin had been standing next to a bonfire all night.
“Far away now,” Merlin continued.
“As opposed to before?”
“Yeah,” He sounded sad now, and as far away as the stars. Gwaine slid his free hand tighter around Merlin, using his arm to secure him to his chest. He could feel his heartbeat quicken and wondered if Merlin could feel it, too. His nose brushed the unruly hair at the nape of Merlin’s neck.
“Where were you tonight?” Gwaine asked softly, after a long silence.
Merlin didn’t answer. Gwaine realized he hadn’t expected him to. He rested his chin on Merlin’s shoulders, sealing them closer together, feeling unconcerned with the evasion and thrilled by the contact. After a moment, Merlin relaxed and softened into Gwaine.
Gwaine smiled, feeling emboldened, and turned his mouth toward Merlin’s ear to whisper, “Alright, then, keep your secrets. But I’m not Gaius or Arthur. I’m not so easily fooled, you know.”
Merlin’s shoulder hitched up and he snickered as if he’d been tickled. Gwaine made to move away but Merlin held his arm in place and pressed them together again.
“So you’re not Gaius or Arthur. S’not saying much,” Merlin quipped.
Gwaine laughed and Merlin laughed with him, the sound amplified in the quiet streets. He clucked at the horse to pick up the pace, right by Merlin’s ear just to tickle him again. It was added to the list of things he admired about Merlin, along with being witty, a bit mysterious, and a cheap drinking partner.
They passed through the castle gates and the much sleepier guards into the deserted courtyard, dimly lit with only a few torches. The windows were dark now, the great hall silent. Gwaine wondered how the feast had gone, if the guests had been entertained and entertaining, how Arthur had fared without Merlin for an evening.
Gwaine dismounted, holding out a hand to help Merlin down. He wasn’t a graceful rider while sober, so now what little skill he had was lost and he nearly toppled to the ground. Gwaine had to catch him, and they tried to stifle their laughter behind their fists in the echoing courtyard.
“Gaius has to think of a better excuse for you,” Gwaine said once they’d calmed down.
Merlin blinked, owlishly. “What?” He asked.
“If he keeps saying you’re at the tavern I’ll gamble my life away when I go looking for you,” Gwaine replied. He was joking, of course, but he also felt suddenly serious. He looked at Merlin intently, the shadows on his face from the torchlight and the darkness. Merlin looked away, shuffling his feet. The moment lengthened, becoming awkward with unasked and, perhaps, unanswerable questions.
“All I’m saying,” He said, pressing on despite the change in the atmosphere, “is that I’m a better liar than he is.”
Merlin looked up, surprised. They stared at one another for a few moments, the silence broken only by the horse’s hooves occasionally scraping the stone. Merlin looked ready to say something, opened his mouth but then stopped. He looked up at the castle, to the tower where he slept, the many empty windows below. He sighed, and Gwaine knew he’d never hear what Merlin might have said. But when he looked at Gwaine again, he gave a small nod. Though he didn’t know exactly what he was affirming, Gwaine knew that Merlin had understood him.
He placed his hands on Merlin’s shoulders and turned him toward the entrance to the castle, “Get some rest. Don’t let me catch you sleeping on the steps tomorrow morning.”
Merlin chuckled, and the tension around them eased. He nodded again and stepped away, before Gwaine remembered something.
“Wait,” He said, and the other man stopped and turned back. Gwaine searched in his pockets and found the little bottle Gaius had given him. He held it out to Merlin who took it, squinting at the liquid within. Then realization dawned on his face and he glared at Gwaine.
“This,” He said, waving the bottle, “is all your fault, you know.”
“I know,” Gwaine said, happily. He took his horse’s reins, ready to head toward the stables. He smiled, “Goodnight, Merlin.”
“Goodnight, Gwaine,” Merlin smiled sleepily in return, turning and walking toward the entrance to the tower. He only swayed a little bit and took extra care on the stone steps, until finally he disappeared into a dark archway.
Gwaine stayed watching the archway for another moment. Then he sighed and began walking the opposite way to the stables, pulling his horse gently after him. He thought of honesty, secrets. He thought of Merlin’s warmth leaning against him, looking up at the stars as they rode home.