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“I tell you what, mate, when you hide you do it well.”
“Gods, Gwaine!” Merlin exhales in relief, his shoulders sagging where he stands in the forest clearing. “Announce yourself next time!” The quickly approaching footsteps had had Merlin ready to attack. If it hadn’t been Gwaine that had stepped out from the trees, Merlin would already be throwing spells.
Gwaine steps closer, one hand resting on the hilt of his sword. Despite the weapon, he’s in casual clothes and wearing a bright grin. “Calm yourself, Merlin! Who else could I be?”
“Bandits? Morgana’s men? Whatever raging beast is next preparing to unleash itself on Camelot?”
“Precisely,” Gwaine nods as if Merlin has proved his point, whatever that may be. “Arthur was right pissed when he heard you’d left the city on your own.”
Merlin scowls. “It’s my day off.” His first ever, in fact, and he’d been planning on taking full advantage by working on his magic. In the forest. Alone. “He does realise that means he can’t tell me what to do, right?”
“I think technically he can still tell you what to do, he is the king.” Gwaine shrugs. “I dunno, I’m not the expert on kingly rights. He wanted me to come and find you though.” Right. Of course he did. Because Merlin is weak and defenceless and would never survive on his own. He sighs.
“I can look after myself.”
“I know that.” Gwaine raises an eyebrow at Merlin, who only stares blankly back. “But the princess worries. And it never hurts to have backup.”
Merlin huffs and looks away. “Right. Yeah.”
“You’re not alone, Merlin.” Merlin’s eyes snap back to Gwaine, who’s making that weird serious face again. One hand comes up to rest gently on his shoulder. “Whatever happens, I’m on your side.”
The air seems to grow hot around them, fizzling with the kind of energy Merlin feels every time he stands too close to Gwaine. The knight’s eyes are dark and serious. Merlin can’t look away. He can’t speak. He doesn’t know what Gwaine is trying to say, he doesn’t understand, and more than anything, he wishes he did. But all he can do is nod helplessly.
Gwaine sighs and steps back. The tension pops, and Merlin is suddenly more aware of the trees rustling around them and the birds singing above them. “You ready to head back?” Gwaine sounds disappointed. Merlin’s missed something, something important. Frustration wells up within him.
“Yeah.”
“Arthur’s glaring.”
Gwaine flicks his hair. “Arthur’s always glaring.”
“Probably because you’re never training,” Merlin counters, trying to hide his smile. If he smiled then Arthur would see it as encouragement and yell at both of them.
“We’re doing one on ones, what does he expect me to do, jump in the middle?” The two men stand on opposite sides of the sparring ring fence, Merlin leaning forward with his arms crossed on the wood, Gwaine leaning back without a care in the world. Leon and Elyan are currently battling it out with dulled swords, but Arthur keeps looking away to stare daggers at Gwaine. “I think it’s because you’re here.”
“Me? What did I do?”
“Nothing,” says Gwaine with a grin, “yet. I think he’s mad that I’m corrupting you.”
Merlin scoffs. “Hardly. I’m not some innocent flower.”
Gwaine turns his gaze on Merlin, his eyes twinkling. “Is that so?”
Merlin can feel the tips of his ears going red, and focuses perhaps a bit too hard on the sparring knights. “You know that’s not what I meant.”
“Shame.” The smirk is audible in Gwaine’s voice.
“Gwaine!”
“Balls,” Gwaine curses under his breath. He straightens up and pats Merlin’s arm before walking confidently up to the irate king.
The warmth where Gwaine touched him doesn’t seem to leave Merlin all day.
The path feels uneven under Merlin’s feet and he frowns down at it. He walks the cobbled streets of Camelot every day. Has this one changed?
His foot snags over the stone and he tips forward, held up only by the strong arm around his waist. “Whoa, there,” Gwaine laughs, pulling Merlin back up against him.
“’M not a horse,” Merlin mutters, leaning further into Gwaine’s side. How is the man always so warm?
“No, just very drunk,” Gwaine replies cheekily.
“Probably,” Merlin sighs. He thinks about it. “Why aren’t you drunk?”
“Because you didn’t invite me.” Gwaine takes on an offended tone, but Merlin thinks he’s joking. He’s pretty sure. It’s kind of hard to tell right now. “The one time, the one time you decide to get properly drunk, and you don’t invite me. What’s up with that?” Merlin just sighs again and stops moving. He doesn’t want to walk anymore. He’s tired of walking. He sits down instead, wriggling out of Gwaine’s grip so that he can. “…okay. I can work with this,” Gwaine says amiably, and sits down next to Merlin in the middle of the road.
The stars are sparkling against the dark backdrop of the sky, and Merlin is staring up at them when he speaks. “D’you think people become stars?”
Gwaine is skilled at rolling with just about anything, but apparently this stumps him. “Sorry?”
“Mother used to tell me stories as a kid,” Merlin explains, and he feels proud of himself that he only slurs a little. “She said that when someone dies, they go up and become their own star. And they look down on us and guide us through our lives.”
Gwaine is quiet for a moment. “She sounds like a good woman,” he says finally.
Merlin nods distractedly. She is. “I know it was just a children’s story, but sometimes I like to believe she’s right. That the people we lost, they’re still watching over us.” He shrugs. “It’s a nice thought at least.” Freya would have liked that story. He should have told it to her.
Perhaps he would have, if they’d been given more time. If they’d escaped to live the life they had dreamed of. They could have spent every single night telling each other stories.
He brings his gaze back to earth and focusses blearily on the man next to him. Gwaine is looking at him with a startling intensity and there are worry lines around his eyes. Merlin frowns. Gwaine shouldn’t have worry lines. He likes the laugh lines much better. They show how pretty Gwaine’s eyes are.
Merlin frowns harder, and leans forward until his forehead is resting on Gwaine’s shoulder. “Freya had pretty eyes too.”
Gwaine’s hand comes up to stroke his hair gently. “Who’s Freya, Merlin?”
Merlin feels much more sober now. He’s very thirsty.
He snorts. “We sitting in the middle of the road.”
“We are.” A pause. “Do you want to keep walking?”
No. “Okay.”
Gwaine helps Merlin to his feet and they continue their trek to the castle. Merlin wonders if he’ll dream tonight. He hopes he doesn’t.
Merlin arrives back at camp, a fresh pile of wood in his arms, to the sight of the knights sitting around the fire and cheering as Gwaine and Percy… wrestle. Percy clearly has the upper hand but Gwaine is wily and as Merlin watches, he manages to twist a leg around Percy’s, bringing them both to the ground with a solid thud and extra yelling from their audience. Arthur sits next to Leon, his arms crossed and a scowl firmly in place.
“If the citizens of Camelot could see their brave knights now,” Merlin comments, dropping the wood nearby to feed the fire through the night. The cheering and wrestling immediately stop, with everyone’s eyes swivelling towards him. Merlin tries not to feel uneasy. “Uh… what brought this on?”
Leon tries to answer but Gwaine lunges forward, clapping his hand over Leon’s mouth and accidentally knocking the both of them backwards. Without removing his hand, Gwaine smiles sunnily up at Merlin. “Nothing,” he says innocently. There’s a twig in his hair.
Arthur’s scowl gets deeper.
Merlin looks from him to the other knights. Percy looks smug from where he’s pulling himself up off the ground and Elyan appears to be sniggering behind his hand. No one looks Merlin in the eye.
“…I don’t want to know, do I?”
“Good instincts,” says Gwaine, nodding hurriedly, “very good instincts.” Leon rolls his eyes, his mouth still firmly covered. A moment later Gwaine yelps and swipes his hand back, grimacing as he wipes it on his pants. “You’re all a bunch of plonkers.” Arthur makes an agreeable sound.
It’s probably the first time Merlin’s ever seen Arthur and Gwaine on the same side.
Merlin sits on his bed with his knees under his chin, his arms wrapped around his legs. He stares unseeing ahead of him, and no matter how hard he tries he just can’t seem to stop shaking. Yelling and jeering floats through the open window and Merlin turns his head away. He tries to block the voices out. He tries to stop picturing the massive pile of sticks in the middle of the courtyard. He tries to stop thinking about the woman tied up on top of them. He can’t.
Gods, but he can’t.
There are quiet voices coming from the stairs. Someone must be visiting Gaius. He thinks spitefully, not outside to watch the entertainment?
There’s a knock at his door and Merlin curls further in on himself, and all he can see is the woman on the pyre, but now he’s joining her, and the flames are growing, and –
“Merlin?” It’s Gwaine. Merlin didn’t see him come in but suddenly he’s sitting on the bed in front of him, reaching a hand out to touch but not quite closing the distance. Merlin lets out a sob, in anguish or relief he doesn’t know, and he falls forwards. The knight wraps his arms around Merlin and silently holds him as Merlin cries. The yelling gets louder. Merlin can smell smoke in the air. Gwaine hugs him tighter.
There are no words.
Later, when Merlin lies in his bed with Gwaine asleep and still wrapped around him, he looks up at the ceiling and trembles.
It’s possible that Gwaine knows.
Gwaine is sitting on one of the stable walls, swinging his legs back and forth and rambling aimlessly as Merlin brushes down Arthur’s horse. Merlin isn’t really listening and he knows Gwaine doesn’t really expect him to. They’re just enjoying the other’s company.
Merlin puts the brush down and steps away from the horse. He takes a deep breath and interrupts Gwaine’s one-sided discussion on which is the best season of the year. “Can I show you something?”
Gwaine immediately quiets. He hops down gracefully and steps towards Merlin, keeping his dark eyes on him the whole time. “Of course,” he says softly.
Merlin breathes in. Out. In again. He brings up his hand and lowers his gaze. He can’t watch Gwaine’s reaction. In case he’s wrong, he can’t… he can’t see the disgust in those gorgeous, friendly eyes.
So instead he focuses on his hand. He calls forth a flame with a single word and it dances in a small, controlled ball above Merlin’s palm. It flickers and grows stronger, brighter. Gwaine doesn’t move. He doesn’t make a sound.
Finally, unable to take it any longer, Merlin looks up. Gwaine isn’t even watching the flame, he’s watching Merlin, and there’s a small but warm smile on his face. “So you did know,” Merlin whispers. He’s scared of talking too loud. Of breaking the spell.
Gwaine nods. He slowly reaches out, bringing his hand to Merlin’s, trusting he won’t be burned. Merlin lets the flame die out and Gwaine grabs him. The smile hasn’t left his face. Gwaine gently tugs Merlin towards him and Merlin goes willingly. He can feel himself trembling again.
The kiss is slow but firm. Gwaine holds Merlin’s hand between them and brings his other hand down to rest on Merlin’s hip. Merlin leans forward, pushes closer, and Gwaine’s smile grows against his lips. The grip on his hip tightens.
They pause for air, and Merlin can feel Gwaine’s hot breath on his face. Gwaine brings his thumb up and drags it along Merlin’s chin. “You’re a little slow on the uptake,” he says.
Merlin snorts and brings his head down to rest on Gwaine’s shoulder. It gives him a strange sense of déjà vu. “Little bit.”
“It’s okay, Merlin,” Gwaine says. He holds Merlin close to him, and Merlin feels warm all over. “I’m still on your side.”