Chapter Text
Goldbluff had to be, by far, one of the busiest towns Merlin had ever traveled to.
There were just as many people on foot as there were on horseback, with seemingly no order as to who was going where. People clumped in the street and outside of storefronts, haggling for lower prices on tack while their kids played catch perilously close to the horses and buggies. In any given patch of shade there were a half a dozen people playing some kind of card game, and someone was chasing a dog up one of the walkways. Merlin ultimately had to dismount just to avoid inadvertently trampling somebody.
His horse Aithusa didn’t seem to mind the commotion, too busy nosing at strangers’ pockets in an attempt to find a snack. Merlin, though, couldn’t help but feel a bit overwhelmed; his bounty-hunting work typically took him to the outskirts of any given place, and he generally liked to keep to himself otherwise. This was definitely a change of pace.
It certainly didn’t help in finding an inn, that was for damn sure. By the time Merlin found a place not already chock-full of people the sun was hanging low in the sky, blanketing the town with warm rays made hazy by the dust. The sign outside proclaimed the place as “Golden Horizons Inn”, which Merlin might have found a little funny if he wasn’t bone-tired and sweatier than a city-slicker. As he might have expected, the bustling scene from earlier was largely due to cityfolk who had come to town hoping to find the gold for which it was named. That, Merlin had no interest in—he was here for a much different purpose.
But first, he needed a drink.
The Rising Sun was the closest saloon to Golden Horizons, and he tied Aithusa up outside with dinner and a promise that he’d be quick. Hanging out in bars wasn’t really his standard fare, but it was a good way to get the lay of the land, so to speak. Plus, he was exhausted, having been traveling for days on end between towns with a drying waterskin—and that was before he had had to fight the crowds to find a place to sleep for the night. There was nothing wrong with a little pick-me-up after all that.
Tacked up just outside the bar was a wanted poster, yellowed with age and torn at the corners. It boasted a handsome five-hundred-dollar reward for the capture of the infamous bandit Emrys, though the attached image was an insultingly poor recreation of said “ne'er-do-well”. Merlin scoffed, pondering it for a moment, and then went inside.
“You’re not from around here,” the barkeep said as Merlin took his seat. He was handsome in a roguish sort of way, with scruffy facial hair and dark brown half-curls that fell to his shoulders. It was the kind of face that made Merlin smile a little involuntarily, and he leaned into it.
“What gave it away?”
“You look like someone I would have made a point to know if you were,” the barkeep replied, winking.
“Flatterer.”
“That’s what my husband says.” The barkeep sighed dramatically before holding out his hand. “Name’s Gwaine.”
“Merlin.”
Gwaine’s eyes went wide with surprise as they shook hands. “The bounty hunter!”
Merlin sighed, propping his elbows up on the bar. “For better or for worse.”
“What brings you here? What juicy gossip have I missed?”
“None, I’m afraid,” Merlin replied. “Just looking for work.” Which was not, to his credit, a total lie.
“Well, I’m sure you’ll have better luck of it than all these people diggin’ for gold. Don’t get me wrong—I love when all these idiots come to town. Business is booming. Obviously. But, little town secret for you: pretty sure they’re gonna be shit outta luck.”
Merlin chuckled.
“Well, anyway. What can I do you for? It’ll be on the house, whatever it is.”
“That’s not necessary.”
“You’re the prettiest boy to walk in here since my husband. And you can hold a conversation. It’s on the house.”
Merlin wasn’t one to refuse free food and drink a second time. “You make Mule Skinners?”
Gwaine made a small, unexpected sound, grinning. “You keep surprising me, Merlin. Figured a man like you would shoot his whiskey straight.”
“I’m not a masochist.”
Gwaine laughed. “You’re better than the legends say. How do you feel about fish?”
“For free? Great.”
“Perfect.”
While Gwaine set to prepping his drink, Merlin took the opportunity to properly take in the saloon around him. There weren’t many people sitting at the bar with him; most of the patrons were scattered among the tables, chatting and laughing with a rowdy sort of loudness that always made Merlin annoyed. The decor consisted largely of mounted deer heads and kitschy posters about cowboys and finding gold—Gwaine was a master in marketing, he could give him that—along with a couple of plants behind the bar. That latter part was surprising, especially considering that they actually seemed to be alive and well. Merlin made a note to ask him about them when he got back.
Before Gwaine could return, though, Merlin caught sight of a couple of men crowded around a table nestled in one of the saloon’s corners. They were being particularly loud, which wasn’t out of the ordinary, but upon closer inspection he saw that they were all crowded around someone sitting at the table. He frowned, getting up from his seat.
As he neared the small crowd, his suspicions were confirmed, now able to make out what they were actually saying over the general din of the saloon. “Come on, now,” one of the men goaded, a big burly blond bloke with a cruel smile set in his face. He shoved the sitting man’s shoulder with an unkind force. “Do you really think you’re going to make anything of yourself out here?”
“Alright, come off it,” Merlin said loudly. The blond man turned to look at him, raising an amused eyebrow. He was dressed in a red button-down with white threading, tucked loosely into a pair of too-clean pants that were held up by a garish belt buckle. He also had on a nice leather vest, and a cowboy hat that clearly hadn’t seen a whole lot of actual work. It all pointed towards him being another idiot from the city who had come out to Goldbluff looking for gold and a quick buck.
“What’s that now?” the man asked, clearly expecting Merlin to back off.
“Sorry, I didn’t realize I was speaking to a simpleton. Let me rephrase.” Merlin stepped between the group and the table. “Leave him alone. He’s just having dinner.”
The man barked out a shocked laugh. “And just who do you think you are?”
“A halfway-decent person. You oughta try it.”
The man was twirling a pistol around in his hand, over and over like an anxious habit. Merlin figured it was supposed to look threatening, but he couldn’t be less bothered.
“You have some nerve coming into my town and telling me how to act,” the man seethed.
“ Your town?” Merlin laughed, resting his hands on his hips. “Who the hell are you? The president?”
“Arthur,” the man replied hotly. “The sheriff’s son.”
Well. That made things easier.
Tales of Goldbluff’s sheriff and unruly son had been making their way across the West for years. While it didn’t seem to stop anyone hoping to get rich quick off the town’s rumored gold, Merlin had never been keen on sheriffs, let alone kinds like this. It had become a haphazard sort of life goal to be a nuisance wherever possible to people who didn’t know how to take it like they gave it, often involving cattle theft (was it really theft? did one man really need that many cows?) and other fairly benign crime. His last bounty job had put him just a few towns over from Goldbluff, giving him the perfect opportunity to wreak some havoc on the infamous Pendragon family.
And here was Arthur, talking down to him like he owned the whole goddamned West, making things personal.
“You say that like it should mean something,” Merlin said, pursing his lips in a smirk.
For the record, Arthur threw the first punch.
His crew of cowboy cronies formed a circle around the two of them, chanting and hollering as they brawled. Merlin knew he wasn’t very strong, but he was lithe, and Arthur was growing frustrated over the fact that none of his punches seemed to land. Merlin managed to duck out of the circle and Arthur chased after him like a rabid animal chasing its last prey, knocking over chairs and into people in his efforts to snag Merlin as he weaved much more easily through the crowded bar. The string of disturbances caused other men to get up and into fights, and Merlin yelled a very loud, “Sorry!” in Gwaine’s direction as he moved to dart out the door.
But then Arthur caught him by the collar, yanking him back and spinning him around so they could face each other. The saloon had fallen into serious disarray behind him, though the man Arthur had been harassing was getting to eat his dinner at the very least. Merlin cocked his head, nodding down at where Arthur was furiously gripping him by the shirt beneath his neckerchief.
“That’s not very sportsmanlike.”
“Neither is running away like a coward.”
Merlin shrugged noncommittally. He was starting to sweat again from the heat of the saloon. “Cowardice is picking on men much smaller than you.”
Arthur’s friends gave a loud “Ooo!” from the background and Arthur got even closer to his face, if that was even possible. Their hats touched, Arthur’s pushing Merlin’s up and back ever so slightly, and Arthur’s pistol pressed into Merlin’s thigh.
“I could kill you right now, you know that? My father’s the sheriff. I can do whatever I want.”
“Do it, then,” Merlin said confrontationally. He couldn’t help but give a small, sly grin, egging Arthur on.
Before he could find out whether or not Arthur was bluffing, the saloon doors burst open, and in walked a man Merlin could only describe as “pressed”: his expression was pressed, his mood was pressed, his clothes were pressed. And adorned on his immaculate vest was a shining, six-pointed star, denoting him as the other man Merlin was looking to annoy: Uther, the iron-fisted sheriff of Goldbluff.
This was going to be interesting.
“What is the meaning of this?” Uther demanded, gesturing towards where his son had Merlin by the collar. Arthur released him, crossing his arms.
“I’m not from around here,” Merlin said before Arthur could speak. He looked over at him with an appraising eyebrow. “He took it personally.”
“I did n—that is a gross misinterpretation of—” Arthur sputtered, but Uther held up a hand to silence him.
“Enough,” he said. “You’re from out of town, you say? Where from?”
“Nowhere,” Merlin answered. “Just a traveler.”
“He’s Merlin the bounty hunter,” Gwaine offered helpfully, in the midst of wiping down all the tables now covered in broken glass and spilled drink. Merlin gave a small huff, straightening his back. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Arthur’s expression widen.
Uther’s expression remained largely neutral, though Merlin did see it twitch slightly in recognition. “Of course. The pinto mustang outside is yours, then.”
That made Merlin feel a bit sheepish. Being recognized by his horse was a new level of weird fame he had never really intended to get. “Yes.”
Uther offered a hand, smiling broadly. It was a strange expression on his face, skin crinkling in the wrong places like he didn’t do it often. “I apologize on behalf of my son. We’re delighted to have you here in Goldbluff. Are you looking for work?”
“Always,” he said, shaking Uther’s hand awkwardly. Taking money from a man he knew he was going to steal from was probably not great morally, but neither was being a jackass.
“Excellent.” Uther clapped his hands together. “Meet me at The White Horse across town tomorrow morning? They do great eggs. I have work to give you.”
Merlin gave a thin smile. “Gladly.”
After Merlin gave Gwaine a hefty apology tip and the promise to come back for his Mule Skinner tomorrow, they all funneled out of the saloon, Arthur stewing quietly as he trailed closely behind his father. Merlin hadn’t been paying attention before, but now, looking at where all their horses were tied up, it was easy to pick out Arthur’s mare—a red roan Appaloosa with a white blanket patch, riled up from the commotion and stomping her hoof impatiently. Showy horse for a showy person. Aithusa was tied up immediately to her left, practically napping amid the fuss.
Uther’s horse was also an easy mark, a dark Saddlebred stallion that was probably no shorter than sixteen and a half hands. It, too, seemed calm amid the chaos, in an eerie sort of way.
“Beautiful horse,” Merlin said to Arthur as they approached, just to annoy him. Earning Uther’s good graces was not something he had expected, and he’d be damned if he wasn’t going to have at least a little fun with it. All he got was an agitated grumble in response, and some needlessly hard shoves as they untied their horses in close proximity to each other.
Yep. Merlin was going to have a lot of fun.
Arthur left in a storm of dust and agitation, unsurprisingly, while Uther followed more calmly behind him. Merlin was about to mount Aithusa and set off himself when a woman from the saloon approached him. She had dark brown ringlets that framed a kind face, and wore a simple lavender dress with a white collar and cuffs.
“Leaving so soon?” she asked with a small smile.
Merlin patted Aithusa’s withers. “Gotta get the baby off to bed,” he said. The woman laughed.
“I’m Gwen,” she said, and they shook hands. “I must say, I’m afraid I don’t know much about bounty hunters—but it’s about time someone stuck it to Arthur.”
Merlin gave a genuine smile, glad to finally have a real conversation. “Why hasn’t anyone before? From what I’ve seen—and heard—he’s a right prat.”
“Few people here would dare cross the sheriff,” Gwen said. She sighed, a bit forlorn, but recovered quickly. “You, though; the sheriff seems to like you. Or, tolerate you more than most, anyhow. You might actually have a shot at teaching that boy a lesson.”
It was Merlin’s turn to laugh. “I don’t think I’m your guy, unfortunately. Seems like he needs a good knock in the head, and I don’t throw the best punches.”
Gwen smiled. “On the contrary, someone like you might be precisely what it takes.” She nodded towards Aithusa. “Well, I won’t keep you, especially since it sounds like you have early plans with the sheriff tomorrow. You ought to stop by the schoolhouse when you’re done, though—it’s a short walk from The White Horse, and I’d love a chance to talk to you more properly.”
“You’re a teacher,” Merlin surmised aloud. Gwen nodded. “That’s impressive. I imagine you have to handle dozens of little Arthurs on the daily.”
Gwen laughed again. Merlin was really growing fond of it. “Somehow, the children are more bearable.”
“I’m not sure I’m surprised.” Merlin mounted Aithusa with practiced efficiency, nodding his head down at Gwen. “I’ll be sure to stop by. See you tomorrow, Gwen.”
“And you, Merlin!”
The White Horse was definitely more “upscale” than The Rising Sun, as much as anything could be “upscale” out in the West. The decor was minimal, the furnishings were definitely better kept, and there was no lingering smell of stale alcohol to induce a headache when drinking it wasn’t enough. The consequence was that it felt horribly sterile; given what he’d heard about Uther, it was obvious why this was his place of choice.
Uther was already there when Merlin arrived, which he found bothersome. He’d been hoping to have a coffee to himself beforehand to organize his thoughts, and had left quite early to make that happen.
“Good morning, bounty hunter,” Uther said, with what Merlin could only imagine was faux-cheeriness. He tried to hide his grimace at the title. “Take a seat. How do you fare this morning?”
“First time I’ve slept on a bed in a week,” Merlin said honestly, settling down across from Uther. “It was nice.”
Uther chuckled. “I can imagine. You young people have a much higher tolerance for that sort of traveling—my back wouldn’t be able to take it.”
Merlin pressed his mouth into a thin line. “You mentioned work?”
Uther gave a surprised laugh, a perfect mimicry of Arthur’s the night prior. Like father like son, Merlin supposed. “You’re quite blunt, aren’t you?”
Merlin shrugged.
“Order some breakfast first, at the very least.”
Merlin ended up ordering some eggs and a coffee, just to appease Uther. While they waited for their food, Uther finally began to divulge the work he had in mind.
“I’m sure you’ve heard of the infamous bandit Emrys,” Uther said. Merlin stiffened.
“In passing,” he offered carefully.
“I imagine in your line of work you’ve encountered many stories, no?”
“Stories do not make truths,” Merlin said, a bit callous. “I’d rather invest my time in the people I’m hired to go after.”
Uther’s face scrunched up, clearly frustrated with Merlin’s lack of interest. “Well, let me catch you up, then. He’s a cattle thief and a cheat, with several kills under his belt. Including women.”
Cattle thief—yes; cheat—maybe; several kills—no. He could recall paying people who had gone after him handsome sums of money to leave him alone, but if they chose to fake their deaths to avoid the shame of returning empty handed that certainly wasn’t his doing.
“Sounds like a nasty guy,” Merlin said, fidgeting with his hands under the table.
“Quite. It’s rumored Goldbluff is next on his hit list—I’d like you to take him down before that can happen.”
Merlin raised an eyebrow. “I capture people. I don’t kill them.”
Uther squinted his eyes. “You know damn well what happens after you collect your pay.”
“What happens after I’m paid is not my concern,” Merlin replied. “I’m not fond of blood and guts, you know.”
“The point is—bring him to me. Dead or alive, I don’t care. But if you can do that, I’ll double the reward posted outside of The Rising Sun. I know you saw it.”
Merlin’s eyes widened at the fact that Uther was willing to make such an offer. It really was too bad he wouldn’t be able to collect on it.
It would, though, give him a reason to stick around for the time being while he set to figuring out the best way to pillage from the Pendragons. That had a nice ring to it; it was almost like they were asking for it, really.
“Deal.”
Uther gave one of those uncanny smiles again, and they shook on it just as their breakfasts were coming out. Merlin had resigned himself to a meal of awkward small talk when Uther stood up. “Regretfully, I must get going. You understand.”
Merlin did not, in fact, understand, but he was grateful to not spend more time with Uther than necessary. “Of course. But what of your food?”
Uther waved his hand, and it was then Merlin realized all he had ordered was a pastry. “Easy enough to eat on the go. I have the tab covered. Stay as long as you’d like.”
He left the saloon without so much as a word of thanks to the staff, and Merlin frowned after him before digging into his eggs. They were good, to be sure, but he had a sinking suspicion that The Rising Sun would do them better.
After slowly working his way through a cup of coffee (and thanking the staff), Merlin set off to the schoolhouse, hand-walking Aithusa the short distance. There was another horse settled in the shade just outside, and Merlin assumed it to be Gwen’s—a pretty sorrel Quarter Horse with a star and two hind socks. He set Aithusa out to make friends and then gave a gentle knock on the schoolhouse door.
“Come in!”
Gwen was in the middle of cleaning when Merlin entered, and she hastily set her things down to greet him like they were old friends. “I’m so glad you took me up on my offer,” she said, smiling. “How was your meeting with the sheriff?”
“He has me hunting down Emrys,” Merlin scoffed. Gwen cocked her head.
“You don’t seem too concerned.”
“I suppose I’m not,” Merlin said, once again choosing his words carefully. “I’ve never failed before. No reason why I would start now.”
Gwen continued to look at him curiously. It made Merlin uncomfortable.
“You know, Arthur’s supposedly been after Emrys for years ,” she finally said. “He’s not going to take kindly to the news that he now has you to contend with.”
“Arthur doesn’t seem to take kindly to anything,” Merlin replied. Gwen chuckled.
“He’s been that way since we were kids. I—and probably everyone else in this town—was hoping that age would make him more mature. Clearly, that didn’t work out.”
“Surely he has some redeeming traits.”
She pretended to think. “Hmm. His horse, maybe.”
Merlin laughed. “That’s what I told him! He got all grouchy.”
“Grouchy is a good word for it.” Gwen gave that forlorn sort of sigh again, and Merlin frowned.
“What’s that for?” he asked.
Gwen patted his arm. “Nothing for you to be concerned about.”
“None of that,” Merlin said, flicking her shoulder playfully. “If it’s related to Arthur, I probably should be concerned about it.”
“It’s petty small town drama, you know. Not interesting for a suave traveler such as yourself.”
“Goldbluff is hardly small. And, who’s to say I don’t like petty small town drama?”
Gwen finally broke, laughing a little behind her hand. “You’re a delight, Merlin. If you ever think of giving up the bounty hunter thing, you ought to stay here.” Her expression sobered. “But, to finally stop beating around the bush—while it’s true both Uther and Arthur have sticks up their asses, Uther is a lot more careful about how he goes about things. He finds Arthur’s blatantly crass behavior…unsavory.”
“As does everyone.”
“I’m supposed to marry him.” Gwen said flatly. “Arthur.”
Merlin gaped. “What?”
“We grew up together. It’s not like it’s a wild prospect, or anything—I think everyone kind of assumed we’d get married one day, including us. It’s just; well, I kind of hoped he would have mellowed out by the time our fathers put their foots down about it.” She huffed. “Instead, I think Uther is hoping marriage and a family with the local schoolteacher will fix Arthur’s behavior, nevermind the fact that neither of us are keen on it.”
“Why not flee?”
Gwen laughed loudly. “Oh, Merlin, he’s not that bad. It’s more so that I—oh, I really shouldn’t say, but—I think I’m in love with someone else.” Quickly, with a blush rising to her cheeks, she added, “And don’t ask who!”
“I won’t. As long as it’s not me.”
Gwen gave another loud laugh. “You’re cute. But, no, not my type.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Merlin said gently, laying a hand on her shoulder. “About—Arthur. Not me.”
Gwen shrugged. “Like I said, small town drama. But, if you can whip him into shape before you leave—well, I’d be mighty grateful.”
Merlin pulled his hand back, chuckling. “I can certainly try.”
“That’s more than anyone else will do around here.” Gwen patted his cheek affectionately. “I guess you have big bounty hunting things to do now. I just wanted a chance to get to know you better. You really are a peach.”
“As are you, Gwen. Maybe you can join me at the saloon tonight for drinks?”
“You’re really looking to cause a stir here, aren’t you?” Gwen grinned. “I accept.”
The schoolhouse was pushing towards the end of town opposite from where he had entered, so Merlin figured he would ride out in that direction to fill up his early afternoon under the guise of investigating Emrys, or something. He’d been in Goldbluff for scarcely a day and already needed a break from it—it was a wonder the locals didn’t go stir crazy.
Or perhaps they did, because Merlin had ridden maybe five minutes out of town when he heard the sound of galloping behind him. He sighed, knowing with almost one hundred percent certainty who was so hellbent on catching up to him, and slowed Aithusa to a halt to wait for him.
Sure enough, in just a few moments Arthur and his mare came to a screeching halt beside Merlin. He was red in the face and panting, and Merlin had to hold back a snicker.
“If you had asked, I would have waited,” Merlin said idly. As expected, that only seemed to further irritate Arthur.
“As if I would ever want to ride anywhere with you,” Arthur rebuffed. “I’ve just come to tell you that between the two of us, I am absolutely going to find Emrys first. And when I do—well, I’m not afraid of blood and guts.”
Merlin cringed, thinking about a bullet in his heart from Arthur’s smoking gun. To his surprise, Arthur actually seemed to soften a bit at Merlin’s reaction, losing some of his scowl.
“Have at it,” Merlin said, squeezing Aithusa’s sides to walk. Arthur sputtered, quickly moving his horse to do the same.
“Don’t you understand? I’m going to ruin your precious bounty hunter reputation.”
Merlin laughed. “Arthur, I don’t really care about my reputation.” He patted Aithusa’s neck. “I care about my horse, and good food, maybe. What I don’t care about is whatever snide comments you intend to throw my way in a cheap attempt at being discouraging.
“You, though—I’ve been in town for a day and all I’ve heard about is what a cantankerous arse you are. Maybe you’re the one with a reputation problem.”
Arthur was quiet for a long moment, which was a bit of a miracle all things considered. “You’re quite a strange man, Merlin.”
“What, because I have different values than you?”
“No, because no one speaks to me like you do.”
“Do you think you’re the biggest jackass I’ve met out here?” Merlin asked seriously. “Whether or not I care about my reputation, I’m still a bounty hunter. I’ve met men ten times yourself and brought them in without breaking a sweat. You do not frighten me.”
Arthur blanched.
“I think you have me beat in the jackass department,” he finally managed, and Merlin laughed.
“You’re not going to find anything out here, you know.”
“Then why are you out here?”
“Because I was hoping to get a break from your grating voice,” Merlin drawled. He gestured with his free hand. “It’s a nice day for a ride, anyhow, and unlike you I know how to have fun not at other people’s expense.”
Arthur gaped. “I do too know how to have fun! In fact, I’m going to go back and have so much fun without you.”
“I thought you were too busy hunting down Emrys.”
“Maybe that’s fun for me.”
“Somehow, I sincerely doubt it.”
“Well, you’re wrong,” Arthur said, which must have sounded as stupid to Arthur as it did to Merlin because he turned around and rode back towards town without another word. Merlin listened to him go, combing Aithusa’s mane back over to one side with his free hand. There was something about Arthur Merlin couldn’t place his finger on—for a man who apparently cared so much about reputation, he didn’t seem to give two flying fucks about Merlin’s status as a renowed bounty hunter. It was fascinating.
Merlin spent about two hours out on Aithusa before turning back, deciding them both deserving of some rest and relaxation for the remainder of the day. Only, Merlin was incapable of sitting still, and he found himself wandering through Goldbluff until he was due to meet Gwen at The Rising Sun. The town was less crowded than it had been the day prior, and Merlin actually found himself enjoying the subdued hubbub a bit. He ended up buying a new, somewhat decorative bridle for Aithusa, which probably wasn’t the best financial decision but it ended up looking and fitting great, so whatever.
He had also taken the opportunity to see where it was, exactly, that the Pendragons lived, which turned out to be a massive and ugly house set just outside of town. Even just looking at it made Merlin irritated. What could one family possibly need such an elaborate estate for?
On the bright side, it wasn’t naturally sequestered like some of the other wealthy properties Merlin had had the pleasure of messing with. Stealing cattle and being a general pain in the ass was easier when the escape route was vast, so now it was just a matter of figuring out when.
He met Gwen at the saloon just as the sun was beginning to fall back towards the horizon, making small talk with another woman Merlin hadn’t yet met. She had pale skin and long, dark curls that fell down far past her shoulders, and wore a deep green dress much more elaborate than Gwen’s own. When she turned to face him Merlin saw that she had the same piercing expression as Uther, but with much less unspoken violence to it.
“This is Morgana,” Gwen said as Merlin walked up. “Morgana, Merlin.”
“I’m charmed, truly,” Morgana said, shaking his hand firmly. Her voice was like smooth silk. “Anyone who can rile my brother up as much as you do is a friend of mine. I had to meet you.”
Merlin’s eyes widened. “Brother?”
“I know. Horrible, isn’t it?”
Merlin laughed. “You have a much better sense of humor than he does. Will you be joining us this evening?”
Morgana shook her head. “I have other things to attend to, I’m afraid. I’m sure Gwen will be in good company.” She tucked one of Gwen’s unruly curls behind her ear. It was surprisingly intimate; Merlin felt like he was intruding. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”
“Of course,” Gwen said, sounding fond. Morgana nodded to Merlin.
“It really was a treat to meet you. Promise me you’ll stay in town just a bit longer? I’m thoroughly enjoying your exploits.”
“Certainly, my Lady,” Merlin said, mock-bowing. Morgana mounted her horse—another black Saddlebred, but with a blaze and white socks (and a considerably shorter height than Uther’s)—and headed off.
Merlin offered Gwen his arm. “Shall we?”
“Scandalous! I’m to be a married woman soon!” she said with a faux-gasp, but she took his arm, laughing as she did.
“What can I say. Anything to get on Arthur’s nerves.”
Emrys’s wanted poster watched them with an ugly scowl as they entered The Rising Sun. Merlin fought the urge to grumble about it.
They settled themselves down at the bar, where Gwaine jubilantly greeted them and collected their orders. Notably not on the house this time, but given the chaos and probable property damage Merlin had unintentionally caused the night prior, it wasn’t exactly surprising.
“Sorry again,” he said when Gwaine returned with his cocktail. Gwaine huffed out a laugh.
“Oh, don’t be. Arthur’s an insufferable prick on the best of days. I’m more amused by the fact that you actually got on his case about it.” He gestured towards Gwen. “Looking to stir up more trouble, I see.”
Gwen rolled her eyes. “It’s only dinner, Gwaine. It’s not like we’re French-kissing.”
“And this is Arthur we’re talking about, Gwen.”
She swatted him playfully across the bar, and he went off to check on their food. “Did you grow up with him, too?” Merlin asked. Gwen shook her head.
“No. He came to town…gosh, five years ago now, probably? I don’t think he had plans to stay. But, then he met his husband, and, well.”
“I keep hearing so much about this elusive husband. Is he even real?”
“Yes. Shockingly.” Gwaine had returned as she said the second part, so she said it loudly to catch his attention.
“Hey!” he called back. Gwen smiled teasingly in his direction.
“He’s the one making our food,” Gwen continued, talking to Merlin again. “His name is Percival. Him I did grow up with. He and Arthur used to be pretty good friends, but I think that more or less ended when Percival matured and Arthur just…didn’t.”
“And yet he married Gwaine.”
“Hey!” Gwaine called again. Gwen and Merlin both laughed.
“You know, I ask myself that too, but the heart wants what it wants I suppose.” Gwen kicked Merlin playfully. “What about you?”
“Hm?”
“Your heart. What does it want?”
Merlin considered for a brief moment. “Soft pretzels? And another Mule Skinner, maybe.”
“Oh come now,” Gwen said incredulously. “You don’t even have a type?”
“I definitely do,” Merlin said. He grinned. “But he’s married.”
“Who’s the flatterer now?” Gwaine asked, having taken to leaning on the bar in front of them while he polished glasses. “Your food will be out shortly, by the way. Percy wants to make a good first impression.”
“The elusive Percival that I still haven’t met.”
Gwaine laughed. “He’s not really a people person. That’s why I’m out here, and he’s back there. I’m sure he’d like to meet you, though—the guy who pissed off Arthur and lived.”
“Oh, please. He’s like an overgrown cat.”
“Case in point. Let me go fetch Percy.”
Whatever Merlin had been picturing Percival to look like, he was not correct. Given Gwaine’s half-assed flirting, he had kind of been expecting a man with a similar build to himself; on the contrary, Percival was practically a giant by comparison, but with a kind face and gentle demeanor about him that Merlin instantly took a liking to.
Percival set Merlin and Gwen’s plates down in front of them with a small smile. “Nice to meet you, Merlin.”
“And you. I’m shocked to see that Gwaine does actually have a husband, and you’re not made up.”
Gwaine grumbled, and Percival gave a small smile. “How long are you in town for?”
“As long as it takes to finish the job Uther’s put me on, I guess.”
“Messy business, being a bounty hunter,” Percival agreed, thankfully not asking for details. Merlin was kind of tired of pretending to care about the whole “finding Emrys” thing. “Well, if you ever want to quit that life, I’m sure we could use the help here.”
Merlin smiled. “I appreciate the offer.”
Percival bowed his head and went back to the kitchen, and Merlin turned back to Gwen and Gwaine. “You’re all such lovely people. Even Morgana. What went wrong with Arthur?”
To his surprise, that didn’t yield the laughs he was aiming for. “His father is a permanent paradox of letting him do whatever he wants while maintaining that he’s frustrated with Arthur’s behavior,” Gwaine said with a sigh. “I don’t think he’s ever gonna learn.” Then he smiled again, looking at Merlin. “Though, with you around, who knows. He was huffing and puffing about you all morning, you know.”
“I had a five minute conversation with him on horseback,” Merlin said incredulously.
“Once again—case. In. Point.” Gwaine shoved off the counter, going to tend to the rest of his clientele while Merlin and Gwen began eating. They made it about ten minutes before the saloon doors swung open with more pomp and circumstance than usual, and Merlin turned to find Arthur sauntering in. He was alone this time, which Merlin found both curious and enticing.
Arthur made a beeline for the bar, leaning next to Merlin and raising an eyebrow at the two of them. “Is stealing my life’s mission not enough? You have to steal my fiancée, too?”
Merlin stuffed a forkful of fish into his mouth, just to be rude. It really was quite good. “Yes.”
Gwen snorted. “Oh, stop it. We’re just hanging out.”
Arthur scrutinized Merlin’s mostly-empty glass, like it would somehow hold the secret to getting him off his back. “Hey Gwaine?”
“Yes, Princess?” Gwaine called back from across the bar.
“Don’t call me that.”
Gwaine walked back over to where the three of them were gathered. “Yes, Princess?” he said again. Merlin snickered.
“A shot of whiskey,” Arthur said, ignoring the poke.
“What about it?” Gwaine asked. He had already taken up idly polishing another glass; just like Merlin, it seemed he could never sit still. Arthur scowled.
“I would like one.”
“Mind your manners, Arthur,” Merlin said teasingly. To his shock, Arthur added a “please” and “thank you” despite his deepening scowl.
“You don’t drink whiskey,” Gwaine then said in response, clearly caught between making a gibe about that and making a gibe about Arthur suddenly having manners.
“I do too,” Arthur argued. His ears were getting red.
“Make that two shots,” Merlin interjected, eyeing Arthur carefully. He could see Gwen rolling her eyes off to the side, but Gwaine eagerly set the glass in his hands down and went to pour them the two shots.
“Now this,” he said when he returned, grinning at Merlin, “is on the house.”
Merlin made direct eye contact with Arthur, picking up his shot and knocking it once on the table. “Cheers.”
Arthur continued to scowl at him even as he picked up his shot and similarly tapped it on the bar. Merlin was beginning to wonder if his face was stuck that way. “Cheers.”
They knocked their shots back.
Merlin sucked in a breath and then breathed out hard through his nose, refusing to let the burn get the best of him. He hated shots almost as much as he hated people like Uther, but he’d be damned if he let Arthur take his alcohol better than he did.
Sure enough, Arthur let out a loud, hacking cough, wheezing as his eyes watered. Merlin almost felt bad for him, but instead he just smirked in satisfaction.
“You have got to stop getting yourself into situations like this.” Merlin chided. “If not for yourself, then for my benefit. It’s exhausting besting you all the time.”
Arthur waved an angry finger in Merlin’s direction, still recovering too much to actually say anything. When he finally did speak, all he said was, “Again.”
Gwen left after their second round of shots, muttering lightheartedly about how Gwaine really shouldn’t enable them, and Merlin made a promise to go see her tomorrow evening after school let out. Between when Gwen had left and now, a small crowd had formed, and Merlin found it impossible to believe no one had taken Arthur on before him. Surely some idiot somewhere would have done it just for the attention.
“You can forfeit any time, you know,” Merlin said as Gwaine set out their fifth round of shots. He was definitely feeling fuzzy around the edges, but it was nothing a little sleep wouldn’t cure at this point. Arthur was more tipsy than he was, on the verge of slurring his words in his effort to prove…whatever point he was even trying to prove. Merlin wasn’t entirely convinced there was one anymore; it had occurred to him during shot three that maybe Arthur was just attempting to microdose on friendship.
“No,” Arthur shot back.
“What’s even the goal here?”
“Go ‘til someone pukes!” a member of the crowd offered helpfully.
“Yeah,” Arthur agreed. “Let’s do that.”
The bar of people counted down from three, and Merlin and Arthur obediently did their fifth shots of the night. It really hadn’t gotten any better, and Merlin almost gagged. A smarter version of himself would have just given up by now so he could stop knocking back awful alcohol—maybe being in Arthur’s presence was actively making him dumber.
By shot eight, Merlin was definitely drunk. Arthur was also definitely drunk, so at least there was that.
“I’m cutting you two off,” Gwaine announced. The crowd booed. “I’m not trying to kill them!”
Merlin mouthed a ‘thank you’ in Gwaine’s direction, except he must have said it out loud because Arthur gave a dramatic, “Hah! I knew you couldn’ do ‘t!”
“Yes, I can,” Merlin argued, trying (and failing) to not sound as drunk as he was. “Just because I dun wanna doesn’ mean I can’t.”
Gwaine sent them both off with copious amounts of water and those big soft pretzels he’d joked about earlier, which Merlin would find endearing in the morning; in the meantime, he just focused on putting one foot in front of the other to the saloon door. Thank God he’d left Aithusa back at the inn.
The night air was pleasantly cool on Merlin’s face as he staggered out, and the sky was clear—thousands upon thousands of stars scattered across the deep indigo, lighting up the otherwise dark night. He turned back to face Arthur, who had stumbled out behind him, and did his best to point up.
“Look at that. Real pretty.”
Arthur scoffed. “Just like your fruity lil’ bar drink.”
Merlin gave one of those drunk laughs that edged a little bit on hysteric. “At least I didn’t gag taking shots.”
Arthur grabbed him sharply by the collar, shoving him halfheartedly against the saloon wall and pinning him there with his body. He didn’t even say anything for a long moment; they just stared at each other, breathing. Merlin could see the reflection of stars in his irises, little blue mirrors of the night sky.
“You gonna threaten me again?” Merlin asked. Arthur’s breath was hot on his face, and his thigh was warm where Arthur was pressed against it. Dizzyingly, he dared to consider what might happen if they stayed like that.
“There’s something about you, Merlin,” Arthur said quietly, voice husky.
Merlin’s pulse quickened inexplicably.
Then Arthur released him, and the night air that had been so welcomingly refreshing before became just cold now. Merlin watched Arthur amble away, feeling something funny in the pit of his stomach.