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After her father miraculously recovered from the magical illness inflicting the lower towns, and Gwen was imprisoned for magic, then freed, she spent the next few days floating on an unsettled cloud of queer relief and anxiety.
Relieved to be alive. Relieved her father was alive. Anxious, in case the sorcery reared its ugly curse again, or that King Uther would change his mind and sentence her to the pyre again.
Morgana spent the days after furious and pointedly silent towards King Uther. She fussed over Gwen, even after Gwen reassured her that the guards had not treated her too roughly. But once her mood improved, she would slyly retell the story of Merlin’s bravery, and how he burst into the court rooms even after she was arrested and proclaiming the sorcery to be his. Then Arthur dragged him out, once he promised King Uther that his manservant had a mental affliction: love.
She was so relieved to see her father recovered that she dared not put those nameless ideas into thoughts, let alone voice them.
(Why her father, even after so many others died?)
She didn’t put those pieces together until later. Merlin was a curious creature at the best of times.
He vanished at strange hours, and she caught him more than once sneaking around the citadel in odd places at odd times. Like Morgana’s rooms, or sneaking out of the library. Gwen only happened upon him by mistake, for she was chasing mice with the laundry ladies all throughout the castle. The citadel cats had thinned in numbers and the population of mice and pests exploded. Cook sent them all out in a fit of pique.
Merlin caught her eye as he slipped out of the door. His eyes widened in surprise. He hissed, “Gwen!?”
“Merlin?” Gwen hissed back. “What are you doing here?”
“Reading,” Merlin answered immediately. Suspiciously. “What are you doing here? It’s late.”
I could ask you the same, she thought. But she answered; “The mice. Cook has us hunting them down.”
“Ah,” Merlin said. Then: “Do you need some help?”
Gwen passed him the broom. She waved the pan with her other hand. “Yes. Please.”
Mice hunting was much easier with a partner. She and Merlin spent two candle marks chasing the wretched pests down corridors, until the little beasts tired out. Gwen scooped them up in her pan. They were oddly docile by then. Merlin was red-faced and sweating, for he was responsible for most of the chasing.
“They’re sleeping,” Gwen said quietly.
“Lucky that,” Merlin muttered.
She didn’t actually catch him in the act of anything illegal up to that point. But she had her suspicions. Though they weren’t for magic, at least not at first, and not always. He snuck out more, and she was pretty sure she caught him stealing food, and other odd items like brushes and shawls. Maybe he had a sweetheart somewhere in town. She shrugged it off.
Magic was illegal in Camelot, as it had been for almost as long as Gwen had been alive. But the Purge was only two decades old. Camelot and many of its people were older. They remembered: it was not always that way.
The Purge began shortly after she was born, but Elyan used to tell her stories sometimes. It was reckless and bold, to speak so freely of magic, but they were children. Death and banishment were adult concerns.
(Who would sentence a child to death? Banish a child for speaking of the good will of magic? Surely not, Camelot’s people thought. But Uther would, and he did.)
She remembered those secret conversations better than anything else. As her other memories of Elyan faded away, the sad ones that tugged on the strings of her heart, she clung to the oldest ones. The ones before her mother’s death, when Elyan was still smiling. Before he started running.
“They used to have these people in the market,” Elyan whispered. They were in Elyan’s room, under the canopy of his sheets, built up like a tent beside his bed. “They could make such beautiful flowers bloom from their hands. Oh, and these lights – it was like the sun, and you could hold it in your palm.”
“Why did they stop?”
Elyan’s face scrunched up in concentration, the way children would, when they were confronted with a larger answer than they knew how to explain. “Someone did something really bad to the king,” Elyan explained. “And then the queen died.”
Poor Prince Arthur, Gwen thought then. She couldn’t imagine what her life would be like if she lost her mother. She loved her mother so much, as much as she loved her father, but there was something special about the bond between a child and mother.
So many seasons had turned over and changed since those days. Elyan was gone, running to the other end of the world. Mother was gone. Father was still warm and earnest, but older and quieter.
King Uther did his best to stamp out all the old ways, and the memories of life in Camelot before the Purge.
For all that Elyan spoke of magic, she knew it couldn’t all be evil sorcerers and witches casting spells. A fair share of that did happen in Camelot, but it always…miraculously stopped, too.
That, she realized, was Merlin.
Merlin had magic. She didn’t know exactly when she realized it, but once the truth was presented to her, she couldn’t dismiss the idea any longer.
One morning at the turn of the cold season, Lady Morgana woke blearily and sluggish and requested something from Gaius to clear her head. The dark circles under her eyes belied the truth, for she was still not sleeping well. Gwen made sure she was comfortable in her bed and promised to return with breakfast, if her lady was feeling up to it later. She climbed the tower to Gaius’ chambers.
The door was slightly open before she arrived, but that was typical of Gaius to forget to close it after he left. Though today it looked to be Merlin who had forgotten. His back was turned to Gwen, muttering to himself.
Gwen couldn’t be sure, for it was surely a trick of the light, but the cauldron beside Merlin appeared to be…scrubbing itself. With a wooden brush. Gwen blinked at it.
“Uh,” Gwen said.
Merlin spun. He grinned. “Hello! Good morning, Guinevere!”
She blinked again. The brush was perfectly still against the cauldron. Gwen rubbed her eyes. Merlin didn’t seem overly shifty or suspicious during their conversation. He ground up a tincture for Morgana and passed it on.
The next time she entered Gaius’ chambers, there were thankfully no floating brushes cleaning cauldrons.
She didn’t have any concrete reason to think so, until she saw him when she walked into the armory another day and found Arthur’s sword in the air. Polishing itself. Merlin was a few feet away, kneeling.
She only caught his profile, but his eyes were lit up. Magic.
Gwen quickly stepped out of the armory. She made sure to bang the door loudly before she re-entered.
Merlin was holding the sword and the polishing cloth in his other hand. He smiled when he saw Gwen. “Afternoon. Did you need something?”
Gwen’s head was swimming with too many thoughts, and she blabbered out an incoherent reply, to which Merlin’s face scrunched up with concern. She mumbled something about Morgana wishing to watch over training in the late mid-day, and fled.
Reckless, Gwen thought furiously, as she tramped up the stairs to Morgana’s rooms. Hiding her face from passing servants for she couldn’t be sure what expression she wore and she couldn’t stomach the idea someone might ask what was wrong. She repeated to herself, torn between the urge to laugh or cry. So reckless! Merlin had to be the most reckless person she knew.
Merlin used magic. Merlin had magic. And clearly he was mentally addled, like Arthur said – for why else would he be living in a place like Camelot?
If someone asked her, she would deny it. Or if the king brought her before the throne and demanded to know whether Merlin had magic, she would deny it then, too. She would deny it for as long as it was necessary to keep Merlin safe.
He was her friend. That gentle, clumsy, kind boy who everyone thought foolish, but found themselves fond of all the same.
She would never see Merlin come to harm. Not if she could prevent it.
It was not often Lancelot visited Camelot. He wasn’t banished, and Gwen knew he wrote sometimes to Merlin. When he reappeared some seasons after his departure, Merlin’s entire frame relaxed like a swallow finding water in a desert. All of his ruffled feathers settled. He smiled more easily. He laughed louder than she had heard in ages.
She wasn’t entirely sure what sort of relationship they had, but from the way Merlin bumped shoulders with the sellsword, they were clearly close. Maybe all those letters were more than just updates about city life and travel, she mused.
Merlin invited her out for lunch in the forest with him and Lancelot. Morgana eagerly agreed in Gwen’s place, and sent her on her way. Gwen rolled her eyes, while Morgana smirked knowingly. She was unusually fond of Lancelot. Perhaps because of his skills, and how quickly he earned Arthur’s respect.
Or because he was rather nice on the eyes, and Morgana had a thing for pretty boys. (Not all the time, though. Special men who caught her eye, who charmed her from afar.)
Lancelot’s hair was trimmed short. She found herself missing the longer cut, and was pleasantly surprised when Merlin voiced his agreement. Lancelot ducked his head shyly. “It got too much to deal with,” he explained.
“The hair?” Merlin asked incredulously. “Seriously?”
“You wouldn’t understand, Merlin,” Gwen teased. “You’ve probably never grown your hair past your ears.”
Lancelot nodded solemnly. “And then nobody would recognize you, without those plates sticking out of the side of your head.” Merlin tossed a bread roll at his head. Lancelot caught it and took a large bite out of it.
Merlin scowled. “Now you sound like Arthur,” he whined. “All he does is make fun of my ears.”
Lancelot swallowed. Grinned. “He’s jealous of how much better your hearing is.”
“Hah, you’re so funny.” But Merlin was smiling. “I’ll be sure to never invite you anywhere again, if this is how you treat your friends.”
“That’s not very nice, Merlin,” Gwen chided. Merlin stuck his tongue out at her.
It was a lovely day. Bright clear skies of the deepest blue, and the forest was alive. Green and thriving. Merlin chose the best clearing in the forest for a nice lunch. He even brought a blanket, a large one that was deep crimson and gold.
“Morgana gave me the blanket,” Merlin explained, as Gwen inspected the fine needlework and details she noticed on the seams. “I’ve been instructed to return it in one piece.”
“A challenge for you, I’m sure,” Lancelot said dryly. Merlin let out a warrior’s cry and launched himself at Lancelot, where they tussled briefly on the ground, until Merlin broke out into peals of laughter. “Surrender?” Lancelot asked, as he tickled Merlin into submission.
“Never,” Merlin wheezed, but Lancelot ceased his attack. As Merlin caught his breath, Lancelot’s head picked up. He cocked his head as though listening carefully.
Gwen heard it too. Or rather, heard nothing. The chirping and bird cries were hushed. A branch broke somewhere on the ground nearby.
Lancelot rose and leaped over to where his sword was beside his bag and unsheathed it with a quiet shnick of metal. Merlin sobered instantly and jumped to his feet as well. Gwen froze where she was on the blanket.
Men appeared from the brush and bellowed a loud cry at the sight of them. Gwen’s heart stuttered. Lancelot twirled his sword, while Merlin remarkably managed not to trip over himself as he headed for Gwen. Bandits – even this close to Camelot’s citadel?
Gwen heard of increased bandit attacks surrounding the city, but what were the odds they would be the unlucky victims today?
Merlin slid into a kneeling position beside her. “Time to go,” he said urgently, and tugged Gwen to her feet.
There were men on all sides, which Merlin realized as quickly as her. Lancelot’s hard breathing behind them, followed by grunts and bitten off swears. He would be overwhelmed soon. There were over twenty men, converging on their small trio, with swords raised and merciless.
Was it too much to ask, Gwen thought despairingly, to have a normal lunch in the woods? For a small private getaway?
Lancelot would never be able to hold them all off. She and Merlin had nowhere to run. Lancelot let out a groan of pain behind her, but she faced forward, eyes on the man running straight towards her with his sword raised above his head.
She glanced at Merlin, who was grim and pale, but his jaw was set with determination. He met Gwen’s eyes and said, “I’m sorry.”
He released his hold on her arm and crouched. He raised his hands, palms downturned to the ground, and uttered sybillic words she did not understand. Then he slammed his hands down, and a shockwave split the earth. Cries of surprise and alarm filled the air. The bandits closest were thrown back, and they did not move again. The others turned heel and retreated.
Then there was only silence. Bird cries took up the call to fill the air again. Merlin was breathing heavily, kneeling there on the ground.
Gwen turned. Lancelot’s gaze was flickering around the clearing, as though reassuring himself they were truly out of danger. His eyes returned to focus on Gwen, and then tipped down to Merlin with a wary, unreadable expression.
His sword was still drawn, and he did not appear ready to sheathe it.
Magic. Merlin. Magic.
Her mind raced with panic. Lancelot twitched but he didn’t take a step towards them. So Gwen moved before he did. She lunged for the sword from a fallen bandit closest to her and raised it. The sword was heavier than the ones she practiced with, but she would make it work.
“Gwen,” Merlin called out warily. He was still on his knees, but his palms were up, as though trying to reassure her he was unarmed. Of weapons. But Merlin could defend himself without one. She’d seen the evidence of it.
Then his eyes widened as she turned so her back was to him and raised the sword to Lancelot. “Don’t move,” Gwen said. Her voice didn’t tremble, but her hands did. Mostly from the exertion of the sword’s weight. And nerves.
“...Guinevere?” Lancelot asked. His eyes flickered to her waist, where part of Merlin was still visible. She took another step to the side. So Lancelot could only focus on her.
“Put down your sword,” Gwen ordered. “Slowly.”
Merlin called her name again. “Gwen?”
“Alright,” Lancelot said slowly. He crouched levelly and gently dropped the sword. Kicked it by the hilt until it was before her feet. “Alright. It’s alright, Guinevere. Let’s talk about this.”
“I won’t let you hurt him,” Gwen said. She tightened her grip on the sword. A warm hand on her shoulder startled her, but she kept her face forward and the sword didn’t dip.
Merlin stepped into view out of the corner of her eye. His hand was still on her shoulder. “It’s alright, Gwen,” he said gently. “Really.”
Her voice wobbled alarmingly as she said, “I’ve got to keep you safe.”
Merlin smiled wryly. “That’s actually more of my job, really. I’m not sure if you noticed.” His vision unfocused as he turned his head to acknowledge the destruction around them. All of the unstirring bodies. “It’s alright. I’ll be alright with Lancelot. Put down the sword, Gwen.”
Gwen obeyed. Her arms trembled with relief. Lancelot stepped closer as Merlin wrapped his arms around her, and she shivered. She swallowed heavily. Her legs wavered, but Merlin held on as she sunk to the ground, and followed her there.
They all could’ve died. They all would’ve died, if not for Merlin. And if Lancelot turned against Merlin – well. He could defend himself, but would he defend himself against a friend? Against Lancelot?
Merlin pressed a kiss into her hair. “It’s alright,” he promised. “Lancelot – Lancelot knows. He’s known about my magic. He won’t hurt me.” He laughed, with a hysterical edge to it, and she realized he was trembling as much as her. “But you – Gwen. How long have you known?”
“A while,” Gwen answered in a whisper. “I didn’t know how to tell you.”
“Me either,” Merlin said. He bit out another sharp laugh like he couldn’t control it. Lancelot knelt before them and offered Gwen an earnest, gentle smile.
“You have nothing to fear for Merlin from me,” he said. “I’ve sworn on my life not to tell. But I’m glad he has a friend like you to watch out for him. He’s pretty reckless, though – it’s a tough job to keep him safe, even from himself.”
Merlin let out a squawk of protest. Gwen giggled, and her giggles turned to sobs as Merlin held her and stroked her hair. Lancelot braced his arm on her shoulder as she folded over and all of her muscles went lax. She felt swollen with relief, so much that her body couldn’t bear to hold it all in.
“It’s true,” Merlin said quietly. “I can’t believe you – I couldn’t tell you how I feel right now, Gwen. That you know, and you still are my friend.” He was weeping, but he was smiling as broadly as ever.
“Of course,” Gwen promised, once her voice returned. “Of course I am, Merlin.” Merlin’s arms tightened around her briefly before they relaxed. Lancelot smiled at them both. The blanket still sat behind them, ruffled and bunched up after their disruption. Their basket was tipped over, and their food was scattered all around the ground. Their lunch was profoundly ruined.
Gwen didn’t care. They would have other lunches. Other trips to the forests. Right now, all she wanted was to curl up in Merlin and Lancelot’s warm arms, safe, and never leave.