Real Men Don't Wear Girdles, Part 2/2
Title: Real Men Don't Wear Girdles, Fitts 3 and 4
FITT THREE:
Then dawned the fourth day of the fateful quest,
and Gwaine the Gallant and Merlin the Gorgeous
(or so the two were termed in Gwaine’s head)
were out of food and following no path,
just going where intuition guided them.
Through dark and lawless lands they ventured,
vanquishing beasts which beset them there
with wind and sword and swaths of fire,
‘Til at last they glimpsed a glorious castle,
so stark against the softening dawn,
a gray-stone marvel of massive towers
and sky-high turrets slicing the air.
Merlin insisted they invite themselves in
to gather rations and review their options;
Gwaine didn’t like the look of the place,
and his too-kind friend was far too trusting
that the lord of this imposing land,
with its magic beasts and its food-stealing birds,
would deign to welcome weary travelers.
But Merlin asked, and Gwaine acquiesced
when Merlin blinked his luminous bright
blue eyes.
So, though he felt quite sure
that it would not be wise,
he knocked upon the door
and braced for a surprise.
Gwaine knocked for a third time, obviously hoping there wouldn’t be an answer. “This is a terrible idea, Merlin.” Exhausted from all the animal-vanquishing and from their lack of breakfast, he leaned his forearm against the enormous wooden door and rested his forehead against it. Merlin was undeterred.
“Come on, don’t you have sort of a good feeling about this place?”
“No, I don’t! I have the opposite of a good feeling about this place! What kind of castle just sits out on its own like this, without walls or defenses or even townspeople around it? I mean, Merlin, we’re knocking on the door. That’s not natural.”
Merlin shrugged, feeling oddly complacent. “Well, I feel like we’re supposed to be here. Like somebody wanted me here.”
“Yes,” agreed Gwaine. “Me too. That’s the trouble. If somebody wants us here, they may want to attack us with more mutant forest creatures.”
“This is getting backward, you know,” Merlin complained, leaning back against the imposing stone wall and trying to catch Gwaine’s eye with a comforting smile. “I’m supposed to be cautious. You’re supposed to be all drunk and devil-may-care and looking for adventure and not thinking things through. This is an entirely new side of you.”
Gwaine’s shoulder’s slumped. “Well, I understand that this is hard to believe, but I can be practical. And, god forbid, intelligent. If I need to be.”
Damn it. “Gwaine-”
“You said I was a good knight. Though god knows why.”
“You are a good-”
“I’m just trying to look out for your safety. You let Arthur look out for you.”
Merlin snorted. “Hardly. Arthur’s king now and he counts himself lucky if I remember not to scold him about eating his vegetables in front of the foreign ambassadors.”
“You’ve never scolded me about my vegetables.”
Merlin blinked. “I think I’m losing track of this conversation. Did you get any sleep last night?”
Suddenly, the heavy door swung open, sending Gwaine stumbling forward. He recovered his posture with a graceful, fluid roll of his body that had Merlin both impressed and fascinated. Perhaps it was from all that swordfighting, but Arthur was the best warrior in the land, and had Arthur ever been that graceful or mesmerizing? Merlin didn’t think so.
“My lord,” said Gwaine, still sounding a bit awkward and forced with the formality but oozing irresistible charm all the same; “I am Sir Gwaine, a knight of Camelot. My companion and I are seeking shelter for the night, and perhaps some food if you can spare it. Ours was… lost, and most of the game in this part of the forest seems to want to kill us.”
“Ah, yes!” chortled the pleasant-looking man who had opened the door. “Had some trouble, have you? Well you may stay here as long as you like; I have nothing but room here, my friend, for a knight of Camelot!”
Gwaine bowed low, tense with the unfamiliarity of the gesture. Merlin tried to smother his smirk. “Thank you, my lord. We are very grateful.”
“Now, would your servant like to be shown to the kitchen to help prepare breakfast?”
Merlin was about to agree, albeit with a great deal of inward groaning and eye-rolling, when Gwaine said “I’m sorry, you must have misunderstood. I did say that this is my companion, Merlin. He is not my servant.”
The man quirked a half-smile. “Of course. Yet with his clothing, you must forgive me for assuming…”
“I would prefer,” Gwaine said, with a hint of sharpness under his conciliatory tone, “that such an assumption not be made again. Merlin is my equal-in many ways my superior-”
Merlin’s eyebrows shot up.
“-and he is to be treated as such, no matter how unfortunate his clothing may be.” Gwaine tugged lightly on Merlin’s blue handkerchief to emphasize his point.
“Hey!” said Merlin, but he felt warm all over.
“I shall show you both to your room, then,” said the man, smiling outright now. “You will of course join my wife and me for our morning meal, and then we may hear about what you are doing out in these lands with no provisions or soldiers. Summon me if you have need of me before then; I am called Bertilac.”
“At least I don’t have a bloody necklace around my neck day and night, what’s that about?” said Merlin once they were alone in their shared room, which had two beds (something Merlin found to be both a relief and a disappointment). “The handkerchief keeps my neck warm. So you can lay off it right now.”
“Real men,” said Gwaine, breezily, “wear necklaces, not handkerchiefs. It is incontestable fact. Your handkerchief hides your throat-”
“Hides my what?”
-“and it is not at all flattering. And also, this,” he said proudly, touching the sturdy chain around his neck, “is my mother’s necklace.”
“That doesn’t make it any less poncy,” Merlin pointed out in a singsong voice, and Gwaine laughed out loud, rubbing the pendant between his fingers.
“You’ve got me there. But you and I understand what it is like be all your mother has. I don’t mind looking a bit poncy to keep her close.”
Merlin tried hard not to find this ridiculously appealing, and failed. “What about the ring?”
“The what?” Gwaine was gazing at him absently, and had moved from stroking the pendant to fiddling with the gold ring that hung next to the pendant.
“The ring,” Merlin pressed. “It looks like a man’s.”
“Ah.” Gwaine’s mood went a bit somber. “It was my father’s.”
“Oh, Gwaine… I’m sorry, I should have guessed. I didn’t mean to bring it up.”
“It’s all right.” Gwaine assured him. “I didn’t even know him, as you know, and actually the ring isn’t supposed to be mine. He gave it to my mother before he left home for the last time.” He shrugged, overly-casual. “Maybe he knew. That he wouldn’t be coming back. But my mother, she gave the ring to me when I turned sixteen. She said I should hold on to it, and wait, until I’d met the one person who I wanted to keep at my side always. And that I should give this ring to that person.”
“Oh!” Merlin’s sigh was, admittedly, a little girlish. “Your mother believes in true love, then?”
“One true love. That’s the way it was for her, she says. She’ll never want another.”
“Do you believe in all of that?” Merlin wondered, “or is it just something you agreed to do to make her happy, and you’re actually going to wear that ring around your neck forever?”
“Merlin,” Gwaine gasped in mock horror, “I have never in my entire life lied to my mother. I do plan to give this ring to somebody, someday.”
“What if you never find her?” Merlin prodded, perversely fascinated by the subject of Gwaine’s nebulous soulmate. “How do you know she’s out there?”
“Merlin, I can state with absolutely certainty that at this very moment, there is a person, a lovely, wonderful, nearly-perfect person, who completely deserves this ring, along with my lifelong fealty and devotion.” He grinned. “This person just isn’t aware of the honor yet.”
“No doubt,” agreed Merlin, feeling a little sick at the idea. “And this perfect girl, when you find her, she will wear this ring.” He reached up boldly and circled a fingertip over smooth gold, where the edge of the ring was warmed by Gwaine’s skin.
“Whomever I give this ring to,” Gwaine said, seriously, “will wear it forever.”
“Well, only, it’s a man’s ring,” Merlin pointed out. “No offense, of course, but would it not look a bit out of place on a woman’s hand?”
“Yes,” Gwaine agreed, easily. “It would.”
A servant knocked on their door to call them to breakfast, and Merlin was saved from any further painful contemplation of of Gwaine’s still-hypothetical yet apparently-inevitable discovery of True Love.
~*~
“So,” chortled Lord Bertilac, “Tell me if I have this straight: you have been traveling, directionless and without an army, looking for a place called the Green Chapel but not knowing where such a place may be, for the sole purpose of allowing a giant green man to decapitate you?”
Gwaine cleared his throat. “Well. When you put it like that it sounds a bit silly, doesn’t it?”
“I’ll say,” said Merlin.
“I think,” said Bertilac’s wife Ceriwyn, who was entirely too lovely and interested in Gwaine for Merlin’s peace of mind, “that Sir Gwaine shows extreme bravery in accepting this challenge.” Then she leaned forward and showed some extreme cleavage. Gwaine, to his credit, seemed just as uncomfortable about this display as Merlin was. The only person who appeared unaffected was, strangely, Ceriwyn’s husband.
“Indeed he does!” agreed Bertilac, apparently blithely ignorant to the dogged seduction going on across the breakfast table. “And you are in luck, Sir Gwaine, for the Green Chapel is a place I know well. It is just a few scant miles west of this very castle.”
Gwaine’s eyes widened. “Do you mean to say I could ride west and be there before sunset?”
“Indeed you could! But as you still have three days left before your time comes, I believe, won’t you consider resting here with us? My wife and I would be delighted to have you both.”
“Delighted,” agreed Ceriwyn, turning it into the dirtiest adjective Merlin had ever heard. Oh hell. This boded badly for everyone. Gwaine had been right all along.
“We couldn’t possibly,” demurred Gwaine, glancing sidelong at Lady Bertilac. “We have nothing to offer in return for your hospitality.”
“A promise, then,” said a craggy voice from the shadowed doorway. Out stepped an old crone, bent and withered, but with piercing blue eyes so clear and sharp that they appeared to bore straight through to Merlin’s heart. “The guests shall swear not to withhold anything from us, their benefactors, as we have withheld nothing from them.”
“A marvelous suggestion, thank you, madam!” crowed Bertilac. “It shall be like a game! After each of the three days you spend in my house, you must give me everything you managed to win that day. I in turn shall give you whatever game I manage to catch during my daily hunting trips!
“How is Gwaine to win anything while wandering about the castle?” Merlin wondered aloud.
“Yes, what if I don’t get anything?” asked Gwaine, looking for the trapdoor in the proposal.
“Oh, you’ll get something all right,” muttered Ceriwyn.
“The point of the agreement is not to trick you, Merlin,” said the crone. Merlin jumped at being addressed by his name, something that had not happened since they came to this castle. “The point is to place us all on even footing.”
“Well said. Sir Gwaine, Merlin, this is Mím. She is my wife’s maidservant and an invaluable asset to our household.”
Gwaine inclined his head and Mím curtsied stiffly, but she kept her eyes locked with Merlin’s. There was something extremely unnerving about that woman. “I wish you luck in your challenge, sirs,” she said, in a voice that suggested she wished no such thing. “If you will excuse me, I have things I must attend to.”
And then she was gone, so suddenly that Merlin wasn’t sure he’d actually seen her leave.
There was a long, uncomfortable silence.
“What a charming woman,” exclaimed Gwaine, straight-faced, and Merlin spit out a mouthful of wine all over Lord Bertilac’s table.
“That was not funny,” Merlin insisted later, laughing. “I had to convince Lord Bertilac that I wasn’t choking. He was afraid for my life!”
“I was merely paying a compliment to the lovely Mím,” Gwaine said innocently. “I have no idea what you could be referring to.”
“You clotpole.”
“I’m sorry, I’m a what?”
“A clotpole. It’s the worst insult I can think of. I made it up for Arthur, so you can imagine.”
Gwaine smiled, a little thinly. “For Arthur, eh? Do I not deserve my own nickname, after our long friendship?”
“Of course you do. My special name for you shall be….” Lufræden, thought Merlin. My heart. My own. My... “…‘ponce.’”
“Oi!”
“Hey, don’t blame me,” Merlin cackled as Gwaine chased him around the room. “You wear a ring around your neck and talk about how your true love shall last an eternity, it all looks a bit poncy. I’m not judging. Do you prefer ‘princess?‘ You’ve got the luxuriant hair for it.”
“I’ll give you poncy” Gwaine growled, and when a servant came in to fetch Gwaine they were on the floor, breathless with laughter, wrestling and being generally undignified.
“Sir Gwaine, the Lady Ceriwyn requests your presence in her chambers immediately.”
“I’ll be right there,” Gwaine said cordially, digging his fingers into Merlin’s side. Merlin gave an embarrassing yelp and glared.
“Very good, my lord,” said the servant with a carefully blank expression.
They didn’t even wait until he was all the way out the door before they cracked up again.
“Oh god,” said Gwaine, climbing to his feet and giving Merlin a hand-up. “That woman.”
“I know. Did you see her at dinner? She did everything except actually ask you to take her under the table.”
“Actually,” said Gwaine, rubbing his forehead, “she did ask me to take her under the table, while Bertilac was talking with the serving boy.”
“Well…” Merlin stalled. “You aren’t actually going to do it, are you?”
Gwaine raised his eyebrows. “What, under the table?”
“No, at all! You aren’t going to do it at all!”
“Oh, aren’t I?” Gwaine asked sweetly. “Why not, Merlin?”
Merlin gritted his teeth. “You know why.”
“Tell me anyway.” Gwaine had been preparing to leave, but now he leaned back against the door, looking at Merlin like he was throwing down a gauntlet. “Tell me why not.”
“You don’t want to,” Merlin tried.
“She’s very beautiful,” Gwaine reasoned, casually, insufferably. “Surely there are worse things I could do.”
“Lord Bertilac is your host," Merlin reminded him, desperately. “You cannot tumble his wife!”
“The Lady Ceriwyn is my hostess. Should I not also do what she asks?”
“Not if it’s illegal!” Merlin cried, pulling at his own hair in frustration. “Come on, Gwaine, you’re better than this!”
“Clearly that’s not what you really think, or we wouldn’t be having this conversation,” said Gwaine, throwing up his hands. “I am going to see the Lady Ceriwyn. You should stay here and think about some more reasons why I shouldn’t bed her.”
“You are infuriating,” Merlin yelled after him, and Gwaine gave him a jaunty wave.
Gwaine didn’t come back to their quarters after that. Merlin didn’t see him until dinner, when Lord Bertilac presented Gwaine with his prize for the day: the antlers from a huge buck.
“Come, Gwaine,” he prompted. “What is it that you have managed to win in my absence? It is now mine, according to our agreement, remember!”
“It is my pleasure, my lord,” said Gwaine, and he grabbed Lord Bertilac by the front of his jerkin and pulled him into a long, slow kiss.
Merlin choked on his wine again, but this time Lord Bertilac didn’t seem all that concerned. Ceriwyn stared at the embrace, eyes huge and fascinated.
“My word!” chuckled Bertilac when he was finally released. “You did have a good day, didn’t you?”
“I did, my lord,” said Gwaine wickedly, winking at Ceriwyn. Merlin’s heart plummeted.
~*~
“Just tell me you didn’t,” Merlin was still saying the next day, unable to stop thinking about it no matter how much it hurt. “Please. Just say it.”
Gwaine groaned and flopped back down onto his bed, arm over his eyes. “I should have known. You were quiet all through breakfast. I see now that you were just… simmering.”
“I need to protect you from yourself!”
“Or,” said Gwaine dangerously, rolling to his feet, “you could stop insulting me and figure out what you’re really upset about here.”
“This is not behavior befitting a knight of Camelot, and-”
“My lords?”
“WHAT?" said Merlin and Gwaine together. The servant was shocked enough to allow a bit of surprise to creep into his permanently-blank expression.
“Sir Gwaine’s presence is required in the Lady Ceriwyn’s chambers.”
“Don’t you dare,” said Merlin.
“Tell the lady that I shall be right there,” said Gwaine, sweeping out the door. “And get Merlin here some tea. He needs to relax.”
“Ponce,” said Merlin to himself, feelingly. Then he shot up from his bed and followed, determined to stop this before Gwaine got killed for it.
Once he was halfway to the lady’s chambers, however, he was sidetracked by a feeling; a sharp, cold, bright feeling, like a star made of ice that could still burn.
Merlin heard noises, inhuman ones, coming from the cracked-open door at the end of the hall. Peering through the small opening, he saw the crone, Mím, bending down to look into the strange, intelligent eyes of a raven that was perching on her bedside table. She was speaking to it, some combination of bird-language and magic, and smiling.
The raven was chewing a piece of dried pork, and looked extremely familiar. Mím’s smile looked familiar, too, though he did not know why.
Merlin jumped back from the door and pressed his back to the wall, hoping that the woman had not heard or sensed him there. But it was a vain hope.
“Who is there?” called the crackling, weary voice, and Merlin felt compelled to answer.
“Me,” he said, pushing the door open. “I am Sir Gwaine’s traveling companion.”
“No,” said Mím with a small smile, stroking the raven’s feathers with a dry, delicate fingertip. “You are more than that, I think.”
“Well,” said Merlin, flushing. “I am his friend. And sometimes I think I am more, though I doubt he would want it that way.”
Mím raised an eyebrow, reminding Merlin unnervingly of Gaius at his most condescending. “Indeed. I was, however, referring to your power. Singular, is it not?”
“My power?” Merlin swallowed. The longer he stalled, the more the realized how pointless it was. This woman was as powerful as he was, at least, and she was sheltered, controlled. He wasn’t a match for her. “Why do I keep wanting to answer you? And why couldn’t I feel you before?”
“I am protected. You, however…” She grinned, showing a surprising number of teeth. “You are wide open, for everyone to see, to know. You feel like the rain, you know, and fire.”
“Well, what do you know,” Merlin said dazedly, “Gwaine was right about the fire.”
She laughed. “It is good to meet you. I’ve felt you all this time, approaching us. It’s comforting to see that you are not such a threat.”
Merlin bristled. “I could be. I killed Nimueh.”
“I heard. Along with that bear I sent.”
“If you go through with it,” said Merlin, taking a step closer to the witch and drawing himself up to his full height, “if you try to hurt him again, I’ll kill you too. Call the lightning right down from the sky and end you. Do you understand me?”
“You’re a green, untried boy, still.”
“But I could do it.” Merlin clenched a fist, stood his ground. “You know that I could. And I will, if you take him from me.”
“My, my,” she smirked. “Maybe not so untried after all, hm?”
“Oh my god,” Merlin groaned, letting his guard down and banging his head against the door frame. “I hate this day.”
Mím just laughed. “This day is turning out rather well for me, so far.”
Gwaine got a pair of boar’s tusks from Lord Bertilac that night, giant ones. In return, Bertilac received two passionate-looking kisses, with Merlin looking on in pure fury. Mím, who had joined them at the dinner table, gave Merlin a wink that made him want to pick up his chair and toss it through one of Bertilac’s beautiful stained glass windows. Maybe the blue and green one, which he’d heard Lady Ceriwyn say was her favorite.
~*~
The sun rose on their last day in Bertilac’s castle, and it could not have come soon enough for Merlin, who was feeling unable to cope with all the weirdness going on in this place: Mím, who seemed familiar yet threatening, indulgent yet dangerous; Bertilac, who was a complete mystery, as no man was that jovial and accommodating. Gwaine, who was shagging a complete bint, and a married one besides, and who still had the gall to look at Merlin sometimes like he was something precious. And over it all loomed the specter of the green knight, the shape of Gwaine’s destiny. By all logic, Gwaine would die tomorrow, and Merlin didn’t know if he’d be powerful enough to stop it, not with Mím around mucking up the works.
More than almost anything, Merlin wanted their stay in Bertilac’s castle to end, and for it to be just him and Gwaine again, alone in the forest. But still, he would suffer a thousand Míms and a million Lady Ceriwyns, if it meant that Gwaine would live past tomorrow.
He was silent as they were led back to their room after breakfast, with instructions to rest for tomorrow while Bertilac went hunting.
“Delicious sausages this morning, eh Merlin?” Gwaine was still in the distant, oddly-cheerful mood that he’d been in ever since Ceriwyn had first summoned him. If this was what being in love did to Gwaine, Merlin didn’t like it. “Nothing better than a hot, juicy, sweet sausage to wake you up in the mornings. Oh, speaking of juicy, looks like I’ve got a little something on my sleeve, here…” He twisted his arm around to get a look, and then gave up and stripped off his shirt in one sinuous motion.
“...what do you think, Merlin?”
“…Sorry?” Merlin raised his eyes from Gwaine’s chest, where (thank god) the gold ring was still visible on the silver chain, shining out against swarthy skin and a light dusting of dark hair. “What do I think about what?”
“The Lady Ceriwyn, of course!” Of course. “If she summons me again-and she will, let’s be honest-what shall I wear? Or perhaps she would prefer me like this?” He spun in a slow circle, arms out in an un-self-conscious display of shirtlessness, thighs flexing maddeningly in tight, dark breeches.
“I don’t care what you do,” Merlin ground out, his throat tight.
“Don’t you?” Gwaine dragged a hand through his hair, and Merlin’s own hand itched to follow.
“Whatever you want. Wear that, go on. It suits your lack of shame.”
“Being half-naked will certainly save time,” Gwaine said reasonably, crossing his arms over his chest and winking, and oh, that was it.
Merlin stalked over to where Gwaine was standing and stared him down, using every centimeter of his scant height advantage. “Shut up,” he snarled, which was admittedly a really weak threat, but he backed it up by grabbing Gwaine’s necklace and tugging him into a fierce kiss.
Merlin wasn’t quite sure what reaction he was expecting, but the one he got was nothing short of miraculous. Gwaine stumbled a bit, pulled off balance, and then let himself fall forward, into Merlin. His arms uncrossed and fell, boneless, to his sides, hands coming up again slowly to hold Merlin’s waist, thumbs stroking to the soft, steady rhythm that Merlin had unconsciously allowed the biting kiss to melt into.
Merlin pulled Gwaine’s hair a bit and sank his teeth sharply into his lower lip, just to bring this back around to his original point. Gwaine’s moan rumbled against his chest, and his fingers clenched in Merlin’s shirt.
“So, just to be clear,” said Merlin breathlessly when they had parted, “you’re not actually in love with Lady Ceriwyn?”
Gwaine growled wordlessly and pulled him back in, reclaiming Merlin’s mouth and wrapping him up tighter than he’d ever been held in his life, which probably should have felt scary and suffocating, but instead it felt fantastic.
“Sir Gwaine, I-oh!” Lady Ceriwyn stood in the doorway, eyes wide. “Excuse me, my lords.”
Gwaine sighed heavily and rested his forehead against Merlin’s. “Don’t you knock?” he rasped, which was the least chivalrous thing he’d said since being knighted. Merlin was thrilled.
Ceriwyn, surprisingly, smiled. “I wanted to come see you myself, on a matter of extreme urgency and…” she glanced at Merlin, who was still quite inextricably twined with Gwaine, “...secrecy.”
“I will hear nothing without Merlin present,” Gwaine said grandly. He released Merlin from his embrace, which was a shame, but then picked up one of Merlin’s hands and held it against his heart, which was almost as nice.
“Very well.” She unwrapped a silk belt from around her waist, a beautiful length of sage-green cloth embroidered with white-flowered vines. “I offer you this, Sir Gwaine. It is a magic girdle, and whilst you wear it, no harm can come to you.”
“He doesn’t need it,” said Merlin, perhaps more harshly than he needed to.
Ceriwyn arched an eyebrow. “Young man, if you want your champion to survive the green knight’s challenge, he will need protection.”
“That’s right,” Merlin said, dripping with condescension, “my champion. And he already has protection.” He lifted his chin. “Will that be all, my lady?”
“But, Sir Gwaine-”
“Get out, please,” said Gwaine, who was now gazing at Merlin with dark, glassy eyes.
She went, taking the green girdle with her, and Gwaine pushed Merlin against the wall.
“Your champion,” he breathed, dragging his lips across Merlin’s jaw and down his neck. “Your champion, oh, yes.”
“Don’t let it go to your head, I, ah-” Merlin squeezed his eyes shut and let out a breath as Gwaine grazed his adam’s apple with his teeth. “I just said it so she would back off.”
“Oh, I know,” Gwaine chuckled, pulling at the knot of Merlin’s handkerchief. “That’s why it was so… sexy… damn it, Merlin, is this thing sewn on?!”
“Just…” Merlin gestured distractedly, meaning to magic the thing off his neck, but overshot it a little and ended up disappearing his shirt as well. “Um…”
“We need to lie down, right now,” said Gwaine a bit shakily, moving big, calloused hands over newly-revealed skin and rasping his beard down the side of Merlin’s neck, which was wonderful.
“You just want to get me into bed, then,” Merlin accused, shuddering with happiness at the thought.
“Well, yes, but more importantly you are amazing and lovely and and it’s making my knees unsteady, so I have no desire to stand up anymore.”
Merlin giggled a bit hysterically. “Oh dear, I can’t believe you said that. Who says that?” He spread his fingers over the hard muscles of Gwaine’s stomach, and then lower, hooking them into the top of his breeches. “You really, honestly have no shame.”
“Never, Merlin,” Gwaine agreed, pulling Merlin toward one of the beds with a huge grin. “Shame is nothing more than a bad habit, and one I plan to train you out of immediately.”
The he picked Merlin up and threw him across the bed, which would have been terribly embarrassing if Merlin had had any shame at all left. (He didn’t.)
That night, before dinner, Bertilac gave Gwaine the soft, beautiful pelt of a fox that he had killed. In return, Gwaine gave him three extremely chaste kisses, while Merlin blushed and smiled into his wine goblet.
FITT FOUR:
Now dawned for Gwaine the day of death,
the morning he had dreaded most-
and yet, his heart was full and happy.
His heart, in fact, he held in his arms:
his sleeping friend, now stretching awake
and wriggling around, muscles worn-out
and aching from hours of athletic use.
Sir Gwaine had never gotten the urge
so strong to stare into someone’s eyes
in the dawn light after their dance was over.
But Merlin was someone entirely special,
he knew, and Merlin should know it too,
before…
Before Gwaine could go,
fulfilling the accord-
first Merlin had to know
how much he was adored.
“Morning,” Merlin said with a soft smile. He leaned over and nuzzled between Gwaine’s collarbones, because he had always wanted to, and now he could.
“Merlin…”
“You’re not going to die!” Merlin told him, happily. “It came to me in my dream, and probably because of that stupid bint Ceriwyn, so I guess she’s not all bad. But I can give you a charm, a powerful one, and you’ll wear it like normal clothing when you face the green man, and then I don’t have to worry about being strong enough to fight him, or Mím, or anyone!”
“Mím? Why would you want to fight Mím?”
“Oh, did I not say? She’s an extremely powerful sorcerer,” Merlin said dismissively. “She attacked us with the woodland creatures and trained her magic bird to steal our food. But it doesn’t matter, because I am brilliant and very powerful, and you will be safe, because today, there is absolutely nothing I cannot do!”
He levered himself up on one elbow and raised a hand, and his blue handkerchief floated off the ground and into his grip. He spread it out on the bedspread between them, smoothing the fabric with his hands, and put his entire heart into the incantation:
“Ealdorneru,” he whispered, reaching his other hand out to touch Gwaine’s face as he spoke. “Mín bréostcofa.” Then he grinned, feeling free and exhilarated, and knotted the handkerchief around Gwaine’s neck. “There. A favour. Now we can celebrate.” He applied himself to kissing Gwaine’s chest, but Gwaine was less pliable than expected. “Don’t tell me you’re too tired. I thought you were a big, strong warrior.” He bit Gwaine’s earlobe gently. “Mm, my champion.”
Gwaine burst out laughing. “You are terrible. Yes, yes, I shall have to ravish you thoroughly, but first I, mmm, I need you to stop what you are doing for just a moment.”
Merlin pouted and drew back, resting on Gwaine’s chest and looking up at him reproachfully. “Well, all right, but make it quick, whatever it is.”
“I have no intention of rushing this, Merlin!” Merlin groaned and fell back against the pillows as Gwaine chuckled. “You must understand… you know, of course, that I never bedded the Lady Ceriwyn.”
“What?” Merlin sat up. “But you said… you said you did! And why not?”
“Why not? Merlin, I’m not in love with that woman, I told you. She frightens me a bit, to be honest.”
“Yes, but…” Merlin waved his hands around, desperately confused. “She’s beautiful, you said it. Surely you’ve bedded women that you didn’t love before.”
“I certainly have, as I have never loved a woman. But as she is our generous host, the Lady Ceriwyn agreed that it would be unreasonable of her to ask me to be with her when I am deeply, completely, and permanently in love with somebody else. Wouldn’t you agree?”
“I…” Merlin pressed his hand to his chest, sure that his heart was about to pound right out of his ribs. “Yes. That is true.”
“And so…” Gwaine sat up and unlatched his necklace, sliding the ring off. “Perhaps you had better wear this, from now on. Just to avoid such confusion, in the future.”
He slid the ring onto Merlin’s left ring finger, and then smiled and moved it to his thumb when he realized how skinny Merlin’s fingers were. He brought the hand to his mouth and kissed the ring, then all of Merlin’s knuckles. “All right, then?’
“All right,” breathed Merlin, and Gwaine kissed a tear off his cheek.
Then they celebrated. Three times.
~*~
Bertilac led them to the Green Chapel a few hours later, Merlin’s stomach such a confusing mess of gnawing worry and fluttering contentment that he didn’t know what to do with himself. The reached a misty clearing, and Merlin halted his borrowed horse suddenly, feeling the familiar, expansive presence of the green sorcerer.
“He’s here,” said Merlin. Overhead, the ominous caw of a raven was carried away on the wind.
“Yes,” agreed Bertilac, “he is here.”
“But… this is no chapel. It’s just a rock.” It was a giant tower-shaped boulder, in fact, thickly covered in bright-green moss and exuding a disconcerting amount of magic.
“A chapel,” said Bertilac, his voice different somehow, fuller, “is wherever you feel closest to your faith. To your roots. I am here, Sir Gwaine, Lord Emrys. I am ready.”
Merlin twisted around, and there he was: the green knight, who was apparently also called Bertilac.
“Ah, well,” said Gwaine. “That was rather obvious now that I think about it.”
“Kneel, Sir Gwaine, and accept your blow,” the green knight boomed, gesturing to a small, flat stone, crusted with blood. “My ax?”
Gwaine got down from his horse, and then helped Merlin down as if he were a woman. It was nicer than Merlin would ever admit. “Er, about that…” The raven swooped down seemingly out of nowhere, bearing the satchel that held the giant green ax. The bird dropped it into Bertilac’s hand. “Never mind,” said Gwaine, and knelt.
“You are very brave,” said the green Lord Bertilac, jumping down from his horse just as he had last week, in the hall at Camelot. “Goodbye, Sir Gwaine!”
He swung the ax in a high, wide arc, bringing it down hard toward Gwaine’s neck. Gwaine did nothing except glance once more at Merlin, and then close his eyes. Merlin, however, was in a panic, his post-sex confidence from that morning dwindling to nothing as he wracked his brain for extra protection spells that he could throw unobtrusively at the last minute.
He was too late, but it didn’t matter. The ax connected with Gwaine’s neck-and shattered into dozens of pieces.
No one moved for a long moment. Then, Bertilac broke into ribald laughter, and Gwaine gasped and fell back from the stone, breathing hard.
“Excellent!” cried Bertilac. “I had no idea your enchantment would be so strong, Lord Emrys! To protect his neck, yes, but to shatter my ax! What did you do to that handkerchief?”
“You knew about the protection spell?” Merlin boggled. “And only the druids call me Emrys. And I don’t like it.”
“Of course I knew! I was never going to kill Sir Gwaine, after all. Good lord!” He shook his head. “I’m not a monster!”
“Then, what-”
“Does it really matter, Merlin? I am alive, after all.” Gwaine was still sitting on the ground, touching Merlin’s handkerchief in fascination. “Well, that was bloody terrifying.”
“My wife and I are, as you have already guessed, druids,” Bertilac was explaining. “Our power is tied to the land, and we are able to call on it or conceal it at will.”
“And that’s why I couldn’t sense it when you were Lord Bertilac,” Merlin said, nodding. “But… why do all of this? What was the point? And why does your wife’s maidservant want Gwaine dead?”
“Mím?” Bertilac chuckled. “Oh, dear, she didn’t tell you, did she? She’s learned so much, yet I fear there is still a streak of the vindictive in her. Mím!”
The old woman appeared in front of them, the raven on her shoulder. “Merlin,” she said, with a deep nod and a smirk. “I think I am ready to forgive you.”
“But… what for?”
The old woman’s form shimmered and rippled, and then it was suddenly not Mím standing in front of him, but Morgana, in Mím’s simple clothing.
“For poisoning me, and lying to me about magic,” she said, still smiling. “But then, you have a lot to forgive as well. I don’t mind if it takes you some time.”
“Morgana…”
“Bugger,” said Gwaine, climbing to his feet.
Morgana, who had disappeared a year ago, clutching Morgause’s body, her rage bringing down the castle around her. “What is all of this?" Merlin demanded. "Revenge?”
“No! Well, a little bit.” Bertilac coughed pointedly. “Just a little! Bertilac and Ceriwyn, they found me. I was…” She shuddered, delicately. “I was a mess, Merlin. I was insane. But I… I regained myself, when Morgause… when she was gone. And Bertilac and Ceriwyn, they taught me everything-where my power is kept, how to call on it, and how to control it. I could probably teach you now,” she said, wickedly, “green and untried as you are.”
“But you don’t want to kill us?” Merlin needed to get this part straight.
“No! Not exactly. I… I felt you, once I learned how. You sort of broadcast all across the land, you’re that powerful.” She rolled her eyes. “Not that I’m jealous of you, or anything.”
“She wouldn’t come out of her room for a week after she found out,” said Bertilac cheerfully, and Morgana scoffed.
“It was a day, at the most. At any rate, I wanted… a test. Something to see where magic stood in Camelot, now that Uther is gone. And Bertilac suggested the challenge. A test to see if a clearly magical knight would be treated the same way as a non-magical one. And he was.” She smiled serenely. “A good start. And I foresaw, of course, that you would either accept the challenge in Arthur’s stead or come along to protect him, so I would be able to plead my case directly to Camelot’s sorcerer, here, where I am protected.”
Merlin was astounded. All of this, and he had never fully realized-a sorcerer had revealed himself in Camelot, and he had been dealt with according to the knight’s code. Miracle of miracles. Perhaps Arthur was on his way after all. “But what about the animals?” he pointed out. “And Ceriwyn?”
Morgana blushed a bit. “Ah, well… the animals were mine, as you know. And I just wanted to scare you, a little. They wouldn’t have really hurt you!” she said, hurriedly. “I’m perhaps still a bit… bitter.”
“We’re working on that,” said Bertilac, patting Morgana gently on the shoulder.
“And Ceriwyn?” pressed Merlin, who thought Bertilac was really a nice man, all considering, and probably deserved better than that slag for his wife.
“Oh, Ceriwyn.” Bertilac laughed again. “It was her idea. She wanted to help you boys, you see, and I gather that she went a bit overboard.”
“Effective, though,” said Gwaine, grinning.
“What?” Merlin’s eyes narrowed. “What was effective?”
“She wanted to make you jealous, of course,” Bertilac boomed, clapping Merlin on the back. “Right blind, you were being.”
“I’m eternally grateful, because you,” Gwaine told him, moving in close, “are an idiot.” He picked up Merlin’s left hand, bowed low, and kissed it. Morgana made a cooing sound that Merlin had never heard her make before.
All told, it was one of the best, most humiliating, weirdest moments of Merlin’s life.
~*~
“So will she be coming back to Camelot?” Gwaine asked. “Morgana, I mean.”
“Maybe. She wants to, some day. I think she just wanted to make sure that she could be accepted, should she ever be ready to face everyone again.”
“You forgave her rather quickly. After everything she’s done…”
“She’s my friend,” Merlin sighed. “She’ll always be that, first. It’s partly my fault that those things happened to her. I’m grateful that she decided to give us another chance.” He glanced over at Gwaine, who was riding beside him on one of Bertilac’s horses, leant to them to speed their journey home. “That handkerchief looks ridiculous on you. You realize that you can take it off, now.”
“Merlin,” said Gwaine, “I want you to know that as long as I live, I will never, ever take off this handkerchief.”
“Okay, but, I think the spell must have worn off by now. It isn’t permanent.”
“That’s not why. It is my first favour,” Gwaine proclaimed, “from my first love, for my first official quest as a knight of Camelot. It is a relic of great importance.”
“Ah,” said Merlin. His smile was beginning to hurt his face. “I suppose you’d better hang onto it, then.”
THE END
Sequel/companion fic: Don't Mess With the Flow, Oh No
NOTE: The spell Merlin invents to protect Gwaine approximately means "safety/refuge, my heart," according to my nonexistent understanding of Old English. I like to think that it was so effective because it was essentially the POWER OF LOVE.
FITT THREE:
Then dawned the fourth day of the fateful quest,
and Gwaine the Gallant and Merlin the Gorgeous
(or so the two were termed in Gwaine’s head)
were out of food and following no path,
just going where intuition guided them.
Through dark and lawless lands they ventured,
vanquishing beasts which beset them there
with wind and sword and swaths of fire,
‘Til at last they glimpsed a glorious castle,
so stark against the softening dawn,
a gray-stone marvel of massive towers
and sky-high turrets slicing the air.
Merlin insisted they invite themselves in
to gather rations and review their options;
Gwaine didn’t like the look of the place,
and his too-kind friend was far too trusting
that the lord of this imposing land,
with its magic beasts and its food-stealing birds,
would deign to welcome weary travelers.
But Merlin asked, and Gwaine acquiesced
when Merlin blinked his luminous bright
blue eyes.
So, though he felt quite sure
that it would not be wise,
he knocked upon the door
and braced for a surprise.
Gwaine knocked for a third time, obviously hoping there wouldn’t be an answer. “This is a terrible idea, Merlin.” Exhausted from all the animal-vanquishing and from their lack of breakfast, he leaned his forearm against the enormous wooden door and rested his forehead against it. Merlin was undeterred.
“Come on, don’t you have sort of a good feeling about this place?”
“No, I don’t! I have the opposite of a good feeling about this place! What kind of castle just sits out on its own like this, without walls or defenses or even townspeople around it? I mean, Merlin, we’re knocking on the door. That’s not natural.”
Merlin shrugged, feeling oddly complacent. “Well, I feel like we’re supposed to be here. Like somebody wanted me here.”
“Yes,” agreed Gwaine. “Me too. That’s the trouble. If somebody wants us here, they may want to attack us with more mutant forest creatures.”
“This is getting backward, you know,” Merlin complained, leaning back against the imposing stone wall and trying to catch Gwaine’s eye with a comforting smile. “I’m supposed to be cautious. You’re supposed to be all drunk and devil-may-care and looking for adventure and not thinking things through. This is an entirely new side of you.”
Gwaine’s shoulder’s slumped. “Well, I understand that this is hard to believe, but I can be practical. And, god forbid, intelligent. If I need to be.”
Damn it. “Gwaine-”
“You said I was a good knight. Though god knows why.”
“You are a good-”
“I’m just trying to look out for your safety. You let Arthur look out for you.”
Merlin snorted. “Hardly. Arthur’s king now and he counts himself lucky if I remember not to scold him about eating his vegetables in front of the foreign ambassadors.”
“You’ve never scolded me about my vegetables.”
Merlin blinked. “I think I’m losing track of this conversation. Did you get any sleep last night?”
Suddenly, the heavy door swung open, sending Gwaine stumbling forward. He recovered his posture with a graceful, fluid roll of his body that had Merlin both impressed and fascinated. Perhaps it was from all that swordfighting, but Arthur was the best warrior in the land, and had Arthur ever been that graceful or mesmerizing? Merlin didn’t think so.
“My lord,” said Gwaine, still sounding a bit awkward and forced with the formality but oozing irresistible charm all the same; “I am Sir Gwaine, a knight of Camelot. My companion and I are seeking shelter for the night, and perhaps some food if you can spare it. Ours was… lost, and most of the game in this part of the forest seems to want to kill us.”
“Ah, yes!” chortled the pleasant-looking man who had opened the door. “Had some trouble, have you? Well you may stay here as long as you like; I have nothing but room here, my friend, for a knight of Camelot!”
Gwaine bowed low, tense with the unfamiliarity of the gesture. Merlin tried to smother his smirk. “Thank you, my lord. We are very grateful.”
“Now, would your servant like to be shown to the kitchen to help prepare breakfast?”
Merlin was about to agree, albeit with a great deal of inward groaning and eye-rolling, when Gwaine said “I’m sorry, you must have misunderstood. I did say that this is my companion, Merlin. He is not my servant.”
The man quirked a half-smile. “Of course. Yet with his clothing, you must forgive me for assuming…”
“I would prefer,” Gwaine said, with a hint of sharpness under his conciliatory tone, “that such an assumption not be made again. Merlin is my equal-in many ways my superior-”
Merlin’s eyebrows shot up.
“-and he is to be treated as such, no matter how unfortunate his clothing may be.” Gwaine tugged lightly on Merlin’s blue handkerchief to emphasize his point.
“Hey!” said Merlin, but he felt warm all over.
“I shall show you both to your room, then,” said the man, smiling outright now. “You will of course join my wife and me for our morning meal, and then we may hear about what you are doing out in these lands with no provisions or soldiers. Summon me if you have need of me before then; I am called Bertilac.”
“At least I don’t have a bloody necklace around my neck day and night, what’s that about?” said Merlin once they were alone in their shared room, which had two beds (something Merlin found to be both a relief and a disappointment). “The handkerchief keeps my neck warm. So you can lay off it right now.”
“Real men,” said Gwaine, breezily, “wear necklaces, not handkerchiefs. It is incontestable fact. Your handkerchief hides your throat-”
“Hides my what?”
-“and it is not at all flattering. And also, this,” he said proudly, touching the sturdy chain around his neck, “is my mother’s necklace.”
“That doesn’t make it any less poncy,” Merlin pointed out in a singsong voice, and Gwaine laughed out loud, rubbing the pendant between his fingers.
“You’ve got me there. But you and I understand what it is like be all your mother has. I don’t mind looking a bit poncy to keep her close.”
Merlin tried hard not to find this ridiculously appealing, and failed. “What about the ring?”
“The what?” Gwaine was gazing at him absently, and had moved from stroking the pendant to fiddling with the gold ring that hung next to the pendant.
“The ring,” Merlin pressed. “It looks like a man’s.”
“Ah.” Gwaine’s mood went a bit somber. “It was my father’s.”
“Oh, Gwaine… I’m sorry, I should have guessed. I didn’t mean to bring it up.”
“It’s all right.” Gwaine assured him. “I didn’t even know him, as you know, and actually the ring isn’t supposed to be mine. He gave it to my mother before he left home for the last time.” He shrugged, overly-casual. “Maybe he knew. That he wouldn’t be coming back. But my mother, she gave the ring to me when I turned sixteen. She said I should hold on to it, and wait, until I’d met the one person who I wanted to keep at my side always. And that I should give this ring to that person.”
“Oh!” Merlin’s sigh was, admittedly, a little girlish. “Your mother believes in true love, then?”
“One true love. That’s the way it was for her, she says. She’ll never want another.”
“Do you believe in all of that?” Merlin wondered, “or is it just something you agreed to do to make her happy, and you’re actually going to wear that ring around your neck forever?”
“Merlin,” Gwaine gasped in mock horror, “I have never in my entire life lied to my mother. I do plan to give this ring to somebody, someday.”
“What if you never find her?” Merlin prodded, perversely fascinated by the subject of Gwaine’s nebulous soulmate. “How do you know she’s out there?”
“Merlin, I can state with absolutely certainty that at this very moment, there is a person, a lovely, wonderful, nearly-perfect person, who completely deserves this ring, along with my lifelong fealty and devotion.” He grinned. “This person just isn’t aware of the honor yet.”
“No doubt,” agreed Merlin, feeling a little sick at the idea. “And this perfect girl, when you find her, she will wear this ring.” He reached up boldly and circled a fingertip over smooth gold, where the edge of the ring was warmed by Gwaine’s skin.
“Whomever I give this ring to,” Gwaine said, seriously, “will wear it forever.”
“Well, only, it’s a man’s ring,” Merlin pointed out. “No offense, of course, but would it not look a bit out of place on a woman’s hand?”
“Yes,” Gwaine agreed, easily. “It would.”
A servant knocked on their door to call them to breakfast, and Merlin was saved from any further painful contemplation of of Gwaine’s still-hypothetical yet apparently-inevitable discovery of True Love.
~*~
“So,” chortled Lord Bertilac, “Tell me if I have this straight: you have been traveling, directionless and without an army, looking for a place called the Green Chapel but not knowing where such a place may be, for the sole purpose of allowing a giant green man to decapitate you?”
Gwaine cleared his throat. “Well. When you put it like that it sounds a bit silly, doesn’t it?”
“I’ll say,” said Merlin.
“I think,” said Bertilac’s wife Ceriwyn, who was entirely too lovely and interested in Gwaine for Merlin’s peace of mind, “that Sir Gwaine shows extreme bravery in accepting this challenge.” Then she leaned forward and showed some extreme cleavage. Gwaine, to his credit, seemed just as uncomfortable about this display as Merlin was. The only person who appeared unaffected was, strangely, Ceriwyn’s husband.
“Indeed he does!” agreed Bertilac, apparently blithely ignorant to the dogged seduction going on across the breakfast table. “And you are in luck, Sir Gwaine, for the Green Chapel is a place I know well. It is just a few scant miles west of this very castle.”
Gwaine’s eyes widened. “Do you mean to say I could ride west and be there before sunset?”
“Indeed you could! But as you still have three days left before your time comes, I believe, won’t you consider resting here with us? My wife and I would be delighted to have you both.”
“Delighted,” agreed Ceriwyn, turning it into the dirtiest adjective Merlin had ever heard. Oh hell. This boded badly for everyone. Gwaine had been right all along.
“We couldn’t possibly,” demurred Gwaine, glancing sidelong at Lady Bertilac. “We have nothing to offer in return for your hospitality.”
“A promise, then,” said a craggy voice from the shadowed doorway. Out stepped an old crone, bent and withered, but with piercing blue eyes so clear and sharp that they appeared to bore straight through to Merlin’s heart. “The guests shall swear not to withhold anything from us, their benefactors, as we have withheld nothing from them.”
“A marvelous suggestion, thank you, madam!” crowed Bertilac. “It shall be like a game! After each of the three days you spend in my house, you must give me everything you managed to win that day. I in turn shall give you whatever game I manage to catch during my daily hunting trips!
“How is Gwaine to win anything while wandering about the castle?” Merlin wondered aloud.
“Yes, what if I don’t get anything?” asked Gwaine, looking for the trapdoor in the proposal.
“Oh, you’ll get something all right,” muttered Ceriwyn.
“The point of the agreement is not to trick you, Merlin,” said the crone. Merlin jumped at being addressed by his name, something that had not happened since they came to this castle. “The point is to place us all on even footing.”
“Well said. Sir Gwaine, Merlin, this is Mím. She is my wife’s maidservant and an invaluable asset to our household.”
Gwaine inclined his head and Mím curtsied stiffly, but she kept her eyes locked with Merlin’s. There was something extremely unnerving about that woman. “I wish you luck in your challenge, sirs,” she said, in a voice that suggested she wished no such thing. “If you will excuse me, I have things I must attend to.”
And then she was gone, so suddenly that Merlin wasn’t sure he’d actually seen her leave.
There was a long, uncomfortable silence.
“What a charming woman,” exclaimed Gwaine, straight-faced, and Merlin spit out a mouthful of wine all over Lord Bertilac’s table.
“That was not funny,” Merlin insisted later, laughing. “I had to convince Lord Bertilac that I wasn’t choking. He was afraid for my life!”
“I was merely paying a compliment to the lovely Mím,” Gwaine said innocently. “I have no idea what you could be referring to.”
“You clotpole.”
“I’m sorry, I’m a what?”
“A clotpole. It’s the worst insult I can think of. I made it up for Arthur, so you can imagine.”
Gwaine smiled, a little thinly. “For Arthur, eh? Do I not deserve my own nickname, after our long friendship?”
“Of course you do. My special name for you shall be….” Lufræden, thought Merlin. My heart. My own. My... “…‘ponce.’”
“Oi!”
“Hey, don’t blame me,” Merlin cackled as Gwaine chased him around the room. “You wear a ring around your neck and talk about how your true love shall last an eternity, it all looks a bit poncy. I’m not judging. Do you prefer ‘princess?‘ You’ve got the luxuriant hair for it.”
“I’ll give you poncy” Gwaine growled, and when a servant came in to fetch Gwaine they were on the floor, breathless with laughter, wrestling and being generally undignified.
“Sir Gwaine, the Lady Ceriwyn requests your presence in her chambers immediately.”
“I’ll be right there,” Gwaine said cordially, digging his fingers into Merlin’s side. Merlin gave an embarrassing yelp and glared.
“Very good, my lord,” said the servant with a carefully blank expression.
They didn’t even wait until he was all the way out the door before they cracked up again.
“Oh god,” said Gwaine, climbing to his feet and giving Merlin a hand-up. “That woman.”
“I know. Did you see her at dinner? She did everything except actually ask you to take her under the table.”
“Actually,” said Gwaine, rubbing his forehead, “she did ask me to take her under the table, while Bertilac was talking with the serving boy.”
“Well…” Merlin stalled. “You aren’t actually going to do it, are you?”
Gwaine raised his eyebrows. “What, under the table?”
“No, at all! You aren’t going to do it at all!”
“Oh, aren’t I?” Gwaine asked sweetly. “Why not, Merlin?”
Merlin gritted his teeth. “You know why.”
“Tell me anyway.” Gwaine had been preparing to leave, but now he leaned back against the door, looking at Merlin like he was throwing down a gauntlet. “Tell me why not.”
“You don’t want to,” Merlin tried.
“She’s very beautiful,” Gwaine reasoned, casually, insufferably. “Surely there are worse things I could do.”
“Lord Bertilac is your host," Merlin reminded him, desperately. “You cannot tumble his wife!”
“The Lady Ceriwyn is my hostess. Should I not also do what she asks?”
“Not if it’s illegal!” Merlin cried, pulling at his own hair in frustration. “Come on, Gwaine, you’re better than this!”
“Clearly that’s not what you really think, or we wouldn’t be having this conversation,” said Gwaine, throwing up his hands. “I am going to see the Lady Ceriwyn. You should stay here and think about some more reasons why I shouldn’t bed her.”
“You are infuriating,” Merlin yelled after him, and Gwaine gave him a jaunty wave.
Gwaine didn’t come back to their quarters after that. Merlin didn’t see him until dinner, when Lord Bertilac presented Gwaine with his prize for the day: the antlers from a huge buck.
“Come, Gwaine,” he prompted. “What is it that you have managed to win in my absence? It is now mine, according to our agreement, remember!”
“It is my pleasure, my lord,” said Gwaine, and he grabbed Lord Bertilac by the front of his jerkin and pulled him into a long, slow kiss.
Merlin choked on his wine again, but this time Lord Bertilac didn’t seem all that concerned. Ceriwyn stared at the embrace, eyes huge and fascinated.
“My word!” chuckled Bertilac when he was finally released. “You did have a good day, didn’t you?”
“I did, my lord,” said Gwaine wickedly, winking at Ceriwyn. Merlin’s heart plummeted.
~*~
“Just tell me you didn’t,” Merlin was still saying the next day, unable to stop thinking about it no matter how much it hurt. “Please. Just say it.”
Gwaine groaned and flopped back down onto his bed, arm over his eyes. “I should have known. You were quiet all through breakfast. I see now that you were just… simmering.”
“I need to protect you from yourself!”
“Or,” said Gwaine dangerously, rolling to his feet, “you could stop insulting me and figure out what you’re really upset about here.”
“This is not behavior befitting a knight of Camelot, and-”
“My lords?”
“WHAT?" said Merlin and Gwaine together. The servant was shocked enough to allow a bit of surprise to creep into his permanently-blank expression.
“Sir Gwaine’s presence is required in the Lady Ceriwyn’s chambers.”
“Don’t you dare,” said Merlin.
“Tell the lady that I shall be right there,” said Gwaine, sweeping out the door. “And get Merlin here some tea. He needs to relax.”
“Ponce,” said Merlin to himself, feelingly. Then he shot up from his bed and followed, determined to stop this before Gwaine got killed for it.
Once he was halfway to the lady’s chambers, however, he was sidetracked by a feeling; a sharp, cold, bright feeling, like a star made of ice that could still burn.
Merlin heard noises, inhuman ones, coming from the cracked-open door at the end of the hall. Peering through the small opening, he saw the crone, Mím, bending down to look into the strange, intelligent eyes of a raven that was perching on her bedside table. She was speaking to it, some combination of bird-language and magic, and smiling.
The raven was chewing a piece of dried pork, and looked extremely familiar. Mím’s smile looked familiar, too, though he did not know why.
Merlin jumped back from the door and pressed his back to the wall, hoping that the woman had not heard or sensed him there. But it was a vain hope.
“Who is there?” called the crackling, weary voice, and Merlin felt compelled to answer.
“Me,” he said, pushing the door open. “I am Sir Gwaine’s traveling companion.”
“No,” said Mím with a small smile, stroking the raven’s feathers with a dry, delicate fingertip. “You are more than that, I think.”
“Well,” said Merlin, flushing. “I am his friend. And sometimes I think I am more, though I doubt he would want it that way.”
Mím raised an eyebrow, reminding Merlin unnervingly of Gaius at his most condescending. “Indeed. I was, however, referring to your power. Singular, is it not?”
“My power?” Merlin swallowed. The longer he stalled, the more the realized how pointless it was. This woman was as powerful as he was, at least, and she was sheltered, controlled. He wasn’t a match for her. “Why do I keep wanting to answer you? And why couldn’t I feel you before?”
“I am protected. You, however…” She grinned, showing a surprising number of teeth. “You are wide open, for everyone to see, to know. You feel like the rain, you know, and fire.”
“Well, what do you know,” Merlin said dazedly, “Gwaine was right about the fire.”
She laughed. “It is good to meet you. I’ve felt you all this time, approaching us. It’s comforting to see that you are not such a threat.”
Merlin bristled. “I could be. I killed Nimueh.”
“I heard. Along with that bear I sent.”
“If you go through with it,” said Merlin, taking a step closer to the witch and drawing himself up to his full height, “if you try to hurt him again, I’ll kill you too. Call the lightning right down from the sky and end you. Do you understand me?”
“You’re a green, untried boy, still.”
“But I could do it.” Merlin clenched a fist, stood his ground. “You know that I could. And I will, if you take him from me.”
“My, my,” she smirked. “Maybe not so untried after all, hm?”
“Oh my god,” Merlin groaned, letting his guard down and banging his head against the door frame. “I hate this day.”
Mím just laughed. “This day is turning out rather well for me, so far.”
Gwaine got a pair of boar’s tusks from Lord Bertilac that night, giant ones. In return, Bertilac received two passionate-looking kisses, with Merlin looking on in pure fury. Mím, who had joined them at the dinner table, gave Merlin a wink that made him want to pick up his chair and toss it through one of Bertilac’s beautiful stained glass windows. Maybe the blue and green one, which he’d heard Lady Ceriwyn say was her favorite.
~*~
The sun rose on their last day in Bertilac’s castle, and it could not have come soon enough for Merlin, who was feeling unable to cope with all the weirdness going on in this place: Mím, who seemed familiar yet threatening, indulgent yet dangerous; Bertilac, who was a complete mystery, as no man was that jovial and accommodating. Gwaine, who was shagging a complete bint, and a married one besides, and who still had the gall to look at Merlin sometimes like he was something precious. And over it all loomed the specter of the green knight, the shape of Gwaine’s destiny. By all logic, Gwaine would die tomorrow, and Merlin didn’t know if he’d be powerful enough to stop it, not with Mím around mucking up the works.
More than almost anything, Merlin wanted their stay in Bertilac’s castle to end, and for it to be just him and Gwaine again, alone in the forest. But still, he would suffer a thousand Míms and a million Lady Ceriwyns, if it meant that Gwaine would live past tomorrow.
He was silent as they were led back to their room after breakfast, with instructions to rest for tomorrow while Bertilac went hunting.
“Delicious sausages this morning, eh Merlin?” Gwaine was still in the distant, oddly-cheerful mood that he’d been in ever since Ceriwyn had first summoned him. If this was what being in love did to Gwaine, Merlin didn’t like it. “Nothing better than a hot, juicy, sweet sausage to wake you up in the mornings. Oh, speaking of juicy, looks like I’ve got a little something on my sleeve, here…” He twisted his arm around to get a look, and then gave up and stripped off his shirt in one sinuous motion.
“...what do you think, Merlin?”
“…Sorry?” Merlin raised his eyes from Gwaine’s chest, where (thank god) the gold ring was still visible on the silver chain, shining out against swarthy skin and a light dusting of dark hair. “What do I think about what?”
“The Lady Ceriwyn, of course!” Of course. “If she summons me again-and she will, let’s be honest-what shall I wear? Or perhaps she would prefer me like this?” He spun in a slow circle, arms out in an un-self-conscious display of shirtlessness, thighs flexing maddeningly in tight, dark breeches.
“I don’t care what you do,” Merlin ground out, his throat tight.
“Don’t you?” Gwaine dragged a hand through his hair, and Merlin’s own hand itched to follow.
“Whatever you want. Wear that, go on. It suits your lack of shame.”
“Being half-naked will certainly save time,” Gwaine said reasonably, crossing his arms over his chest and winking, and oh, that was it.
Merlin stalked over to where Gwaine was standing and stared him down, using every centimeter of his scant height advantage. “Shut up,” he snarled, which was admittedly a really weak threat, but he backed it up by grabbing Gwaine’s necklace and tugging him into a fierce kiss.
Merlin wasn’t quite sure what reaction he was expecting, but the one he got was nothing short of miraculous. Gwaine stumbled a bit, pulled off balance, and then let himself fall forward, into Merlin. His arms uncrossed and fell, boneless, to his sides, hands coming up again slowly to hold Merlin’s waist, thumbs stroking to the soft, steady rhythm that Merlin had unconsciously allowed the biting kiss to melt into.
Merlin pulled Gwaine’s hair a bit and sank his teeth sharply into his lower lip, just to bring this back around to his original point. Gwaine’s moan rumbled against his chest, and his fingers clenched in Merlin’s shirt.
“So, just to be clear,” said Merlin breathlessly when they had parted, “you’re not actually in love with Lady Ceriwyn?”
Gwaine growled wordlessly and pulled him back in, reclaiming Merlin’s mouth and wrapping him up tighter than he’d ever been held in his life, which probably should have felt scary and suffocating, but instead it felt fantastic.
“Sir Gwaine, I-oh!” Lady Ceriwyn stood in the doorway, eyes wide. “Excuse me, my lords.”
Gwaine sighed heavily and rested his forehead against Merlin’s. “Don’t you knock?” he rasped, which was the least chivalrous thing he’d said since being knighted. Merlin was thrilled.
Ceriwyn, surprisingly, smiled. “I wanted to come see you myself, on a matter of extreme urgency and…” she glanced at Merlin, who was still quite inextricably twined with Gwaine, “...secrecy.”
“I will hear nothing without Merlin present,” Gwaine said grandly. He released Merlin from his embrace, which was a shame, but then picked up one of Merlin’s hands and held it against his heart, which was almost as nice.
“Very well.” She unwrapped a silk belt from around her waist, a beautiful length of sage-green cloth embroidered with white-flowered vines. “I offer you this, Sir Gwaine. It is a magic girdle, and whilst you wear it, no harm can come to you.”
“He doesn’t need it,” said Merlin, perhaps more harshly than he needed to.
Ceriwyn arched an eyebrow. “Young man, if you want your champion to survive the green knight’s challenge, he will need protection.”
“That’s right,” Merlin said, dripping with condescension, “my champion. And he already has protection.” He lifted his chin. “Will that be all, my lady?”
“But, Sir Gwaine-”
“Get out, please,” said Gwaine, who was now gazing at Merlin with dark, glassy eyes.
She went, taking the green girdle with her, and Gwaine pushed Merlin against the wall.
“Your champion,” he breathed, dragging his lips across Merlin’s jaw and down his neck. “Your champion, oh, yes.”
“Don’t let it go to your head, I, ah-” Merlin squeezed his eyes shut and let out a breath as Gwaine grazed his adam’s apple with his teeth. “I just said it so she would back off.”
“Oh, I know,” Gwaine chuckled, pulling at the knot of Merlin’s handkerchief. “That’s why it was so… sexy… damn it, Merlin, is this thing sewn on?!”
“Just…” Merlin gestured distractedly, meaning to magic the thing off his neck, but overshot it a little and ended up disappearing his shirt as well. “Um…”
“We need to lie down, right now,” said Gwaine a bit shakily, moving big, calloused hands over newly-revealed skin and rasping his beard down the side of Merlin’s neck, which was wonderful.
“You just want to get me into bed, then,” Merlin accused, shuddering with happiness at the thought.
“Well, yes, but more importantly you are amazing and lovely and and it’s making my knees unsteady, so I have no desire to stand up anymore.”
Merlin giggled a bit hysterically. “Oh dear, I can’t believe you said that. Who says that?” He spread his fingers over the hard muscles of Gwaine’s stomach, and then lower, hooking them into the top of his breeches. “You really, honestly have no shame.”
“Never, Merlin,” Gwaine agreed, pulling Merlin toward one of the beds with a huge grin. “Shame is nothing more than a bad habit, and one I plan to train you out of immediately.”
The he picked Merlin up and threw him across the bed, which would have been terribly embarrassing if Merlin had had any shame at all left. (He didn’t.)
That night, before dinner, Bertilac gave Gwaine the soft, beautiful pelt of a fox that he had killed. In return, Gwaine gave him three extremely chaste kisses, while Merlin blushed and smiled into his wine goblet.
FITT FOUR:
Now dawned for Gwaine the day of death,
the morning he had dreaded most-
and yet, his heart was full and happy.
His heart, in fact, he held in his arms:
his sleeping friend, now stretching awake
and wriggling around, muscles worn-out
and aching from hours of athletic use.
Sir Gwaine had never gotten the urge
so strong to stare into someone’s eyes
in the dawn light after their dance was over.
But Merlin was someone entirely special,
he knew, and Merlin should know it too,
before…
Before Gwaine could go,
fulfilling the accord-
first Merlin had to know
how much he was adored.
“Morning,” Merlin said with a soft smile. He leaned over and nuzzled between Gwaine’s collarbones, because he had always wanted to, and now he could.
“Merlin…”
“You’re not going to die!” Merlin told him, happily. “It came to me in my dream, and probably because of that stupid bint Ceriwyn, so I guess she’s not all bad. But I can give you a charm, a powerful one, and you’ll wear it like normal clothing when you face the green man, and then I don’t have to worry about being strong enough to fight him, or Mím, or anyone!”
“Mím? Why would you want to fight Mím?”
“Oh, did I not say? She’s an extremely powerful sorcerer,” Merlin said dismissively. “She attacked us with the woodland creatures and trained her magic bird to steal our food. But it doesn’t matter, because I am brilliant and very powerful, and you will be safe, because today, there is absolutely nothing I cannot do!”
He levered himself up on one elbow and raised a hand, and his blue handkerchief floated off the ground and into his grip. He spread it out on the bedspread between them, smoothing the fabric with his hands, and put his entire heart into the incantation:
“Ealdorneru,” he whispered, reaching his other hand out to touch Gwaine’s face as he spoke. “Mín bréostcofa.” Then he grinned, feeling free and exhilarated, and knotted the handkerchief around Gwaine’s neck. “There. A favour. Now we can celebrate.” He applied himself to kissing Gwaine’s chest, but Gwaine was less pliable than expected. “Don’t tell me you’re too tired. I thought you were a big, strong warrior.” He bit Gwaine’s earlobe gently. “Mm, my champion.”
Gwaine burst out laughing. “You are terrible. Yes, yes, I shall have to ravish you thoroughly, but first I, mmm, I need you to stop what you are doing for just a moment.”
Merlin pouted and drew back, resting on Gwaine’s chest and looking up at him reproachfully. “Well, all right, but make it quick, whatever it is.”
“I have no intention of rushing this, Merlin!” Merlin groaned and fell back against the pillows as Gwaine chuckled. “You must understand… you know, of course, that I never bedded the Lady Ceriwyn.”
“What?” Merlin sat up. “But you said… you said you did! And why not?”
“Why not? Merlin, I’m not in love with that woman, I told you. She frightens me a bit, to be honest.”
“Yes, but…” Merlin waved his hands around, desperately confused. “She’s beautiful, you said it. Surely you’ve bedded women that you didn’t love before.”
“I certainly have, as I have never loved a woman. But as she is our generous host, the Lady Ceriwyn agreed that it would be unreasonable of her to ask me to be with her when I am deeply, completely, and permanently in love with somebody else. Wouldn’t you agree?”
“I…” Merlin pressed his hand to his chest, sure that his heart was about to pound right out of his ribs. “Yes. That is true.”
“And so…” Gwaine sat up and unlatched his necklace, sliding the ring off. “Perhaps you had better wear this, from now on. Just to avoid such confusion, in the future.”
He slid the ring onto Merlin’s left ring finger, and then smiled and moved it to his thumb when he realized how skinny Merlin’s fingers were. He brought the hand to his mouth and kissed the ring, then all of Merlin’s knuckles. “All right, then?’
“All right,” breathed Merlin, and Gwaine kissed a tear off his cheek.
Then they celebrated. Three times.
~*~
Bertilac led them to the Green Chapel a few hours later, Merlin’s stomach such a confusing mess of gnawing worry and fluttering contentment that he didn’t know what to do with himself. The reached a misty clearing, and Merlin halted his borrowed horse suddenly, feeling the familiar, expansive presence of the green sorcerer.
“He’s here,” said Merlin. Overhead, the ominous caw of a raven was carried away on the wind.
“Yes,” agreed Bertilac, “he is here.”
“But… this is no chapel. It’s just a rock.” It was a giant tower-shaped boulder, in fact, thickly covered in bright-green moss and exuding a disconcerting amount of magic.
“A chapel,” said Bertilac, his voice different somehow, fuller, “is wherever you feel closest to your faith. To your roots. I am here, Sir Gwaine, Lord Emrys. I am ready.”
Merlin twisted around, and there he was: the green knight, who was apparently also called Bertilac.
“Ah, well,” said Gwaine. “That was rather obvious now that I think about it.”
“Kneel, Sir Gwaine, and accept your blow,” the green knight boomed, gesturing to a small, flat stone, crusted with blood. “My ax?”
Gwaine got down from his horse, and then helped Merlin down as if he were a woman. It was nicer than Merlin would ever admit. “Er, about that…” The raven swooped down seemingly out of nowhere, bearing the satchel that held the giant green ax. The bird dropped it into Bertilac’s hand. “Never mind,” said Gwaine, and knelt.
“You are very brave,” said the green Lord Bertilac, jumping down from his horse just as he had last week, in the hall at Camelot. “Goodbye, Sir Gwaine!”
He swung the ax in a high, wide arc, bringing it down hard toward Gwaine’s neck. Gwaine did nothing except glance once more at Merlin, and then close his eyes. Merlin, however, was in a panic, his post-sex confidence from that morning dwindling to nothing as he wracked his brain for extra protection spells that he could throw unobtrusively at the last minute.
He was too late, but it didn’t matter. The ax connected with Gwaine’s neck-and shattered into dozens of pieces.
No one moved for a long moment. Then, Bertilac broke into ribald laughter, and Gwaine gasped and fell back from the stone, breathing hard.
“Excellent!” cried Bertilac. “I had no idea your enchantment would be so strong, Lord Emrys! To protect his neck, yes, but to shatter my ax! What did you do to that handkerchief?”
“You knew about the protection spell?” Merlin boggled. “And only the druids call me Emrys. And I don’t like it.”
“Of course I knew! I was never going to kill Sir Gwaine, after all. Good lord!” He shook his head. “I’m not a monster!”
“Then, what-”
“Does it really matter, Merlin? I am alive, after all.” Gwaine was still sitting on the ground, touching Merlin’s handkerchief in fascination. “Well, that was bloody terrifying.”
“My wife and I are, as you have already guessed, druids,” Bertilac was explaining. “Our power is tied to the land, and we are able to call on it or conceal it at will.”
“And that’s why I couldn’t sense it when you were Lord Bertilac,” Merlin said, nodding. “But… why do all of this? What was the point? And why does your wife’s maidservant want Gwaine dead?”
“Mím?” Bertilac chuckled. “Oh, dear, she didn’t tell you, did she? She’s learned so much, yet I fear there is still a streak of the vindictive in her. Mím!”
The old woman appeared in front of them, the raven on her shoulder. “Merlin,” she said, with a deep nod and a smirk. “I think I am ready to forgive you.”
“But… what for?”
The old woman’s form shimmered and rippled, and then it was suddenly not Mím standing in front of him, but Morgana, in Mím’s simple clothing.
“For poisoning me, and lying to me about magic,” she said, still smiling. “But then, you have a lot to forgive as well. I don’t mind if it takes you some time.”
“Morgana…”
“Bugger,” said Gwaine, climbing to his feet.
Morgana, who had disappeared a year ago, clutching Morgause’s body, her rage bringing down the castle around her. “What is all of this?" Merlin demanded. "Revenge?”
“No! Well, a little bit.” Bertilac coughed pointedly. “Just a little! Bertilac and Ceriwyn, they found me. I was…” She shuddered, delicately. “I was a mess, Merlin. I was insane. But I… I regained myself, when Morgause… when she was gone. And Bertilac and Ceriwyn, they taught me everything-where my power is kept, how to call on it, and how to control it. I could probably teach you now,” she said, wickedly, “green and untried as you are.”
“But you don’t want to kill us?” Merlin needed to get this part straight.
“No! Not exactly. I… I felt you, once I learned how. You sort of broadcast all across the land, you’re that powerful.” She rolled her eyes. “Not that I’m jealous of you, or anything.”
“She wouldn’t come out of her room for a week after she found out,” said Bertilac cheerfully, and Morgana scoffed.
“It was a day, at the most. At any rate, I wanted… a test. Something to see where magic stood in Camelot, now that Uther is gone. And Bertilac suggested the challenge. A test to see if a clearly magical knight would be treated the same way as a non-magical one. And he was.” She smiled serenely. “A good start. And I foresaw, of course, that you would either accept the challenge in Arthur’s stead or come along to protect him, so I would be able to plead my case directly to Camelot’s sorcerer, here, where I am protected.”
Merlin was astounded. All of this, and he had never fully realized-a sorcerer had revealed himself in Camelot, and he had been dealt with according to the knight’s code. Miracle of miracles. Perhaps Arthur was on his way after all. “But what about the animals?” he pointed out. “And Ceriwyn?”
Morgana blushed a bit. “Ah, well… the animals were mine, as you know. And I just wanted to scare you, a little. They wouldn’t have really hurt you!” she said, hurriedly. “I’m perhaps still a bit… bitter.”
“We’re working on that,” said Bertilac, patting Morgana gently on the shoulder.
“And Ceriwyn?” pressed Merlin, who thought Bertilac was really a nice man, all considering, and probably deserved better than that slag for his wife.
“Oh, Ceriwyn.” Bertilac laughed again. “It was her idea. She wanted to help you boys, you see, and I gather that she went a bit overboard.”
“Effective, though,” said Gwaine, grinning.
“What?” Merlin’s eyes narrowed. “What was effective?”
“She wanted to make you jealous, of course,” Bertilac boomed, clapping Merlin on the back. “Right blind, you were being.”
“I’m eternally grateful, because you,” Gwaine told him, moving in close, “are an idiot.” He picked up Merlin’s left hand, bowed low, and kissed it. Morgana made a cooing sound that Merlin had never heard her make before.
All told, it was one of the best, most humiliating, weirdest moments of Merlin’s life.
~*~
“So will she be coming back to Camelot?” Gwaine asked. “Morgana, I mean.”
“Maybe. She wants to, some day. I think she just wanted to make sure that she could be accepted, should she ever be ready to face everyone again.”
“You forgave her rather quickly. After everything she’s done…”
“She’s my friend,” Merlin sighed. “She’ll always be that, first. It’s partly my fault that those things happened to her. I’m grateful that she decided to give us another chance.” He glanced over at Gwaine, who was riding beside him on one of Bertilac’s horses, leant to them to speed their journey home. “That handkerchief looks ridiculous on you. You realize that you can take it off, now.”
“Merlin,” said Gwaine, “I want you to know that as long as I live, I will never, ever take off this handkerchief.”
“Okay, but, I think the spell must have worn off by now. It isn’t permanent.”
“That’s not why. It is my first favour,” Gwaine proclaimed, “from my first love, for my first official quest as a knight of Camelot. It is a relic of great importance.”
“Ah,” said Merlin. His smile was beginning to hurt his face. “I suppose you’d better hang onto it, then.”
THE END
Sequel/companion fic: Don't Mess With the Flow, Oh No
NOTE: The spell Merlin invents to protect Gwaine approximately means "safety/refuge, my heart," according to my nonexistent understanding of Old English. I like to think that it was so effective because it was essentially the POWER OF LOVE.