Yeah..this is my first fanfic. I mean, the first fic that I decided to finish, because I have at least six unfinished stories and plots, in a folder, that I've never posted because I'm unsure. This idea came to because I'm tired of seeing Merlin so clumsy with physical activities..I want him to be a bamf in fighting with his body and sword, as well as with his magic. Hope you'll like it. I'll try to update quick enough, because I know how annoying it is to wait for a story to be updated.
Oh, another thing..this story is unbetaed * I don't even know if that's a real word* and English isn't my native language, so there's bound to be some mistakes..I encourage you to *gently* correct me because that can actually improve my English skills..just no flaming, please. I tried to find a beta but..it's too complicated and I don't know..Anyway,if someone is willing to be my beta, I'd be very grateful. Now, on to the story..:D
PROLOGUE
The only sounds that could be heard in the small clearing were the muffled hits and the heavy panting and grunting which accompanied each blow.
The sword felt heavy in his hands and he struggled to keep his numb arms lifted, and the blade – which seemed to almost possess a mind of its own – kept trying to slip from his sweaty, white-knuckled grip.
If his knuckles where white, then the rest of every visible patch of skin – and invisible too – was flushed a deep red, like the color of an over-ripe cherry, not to mention sweaty.
He never knew sweat could be so inconvenient. Sure, it was awful at best of times, damp, smelly and sticky..but he'd never before felt the sting of sweat drops in his eyes, or the salty, disgusting taste on his tongue.
In short, Merlin was miserable. Completely and thouroughly. His mind tried to gather its scattered bearings – between continuously lifting the sword and hacking away at the straw dummy – to try and remember why he'd ever thought this to be a good idea.
Needless to say, he failed.
The sun was just coming out from behind the forest that surrounded Camelot, luscious and already hot, hinting at the scorching heat that was sure to follow in two hours time.
Heat in which Merlin will have to complete his daily, monstrous pile of chores Arthur liked to saddle him with. He gave an extra loud grunt on his next hit, and then promptly proceeded in falling over, managing not to impale himself on the blunt practice sword, only by a miracle.
"Come on, you lazy boy, get up, the art of the sword won't learn itself! "a strong voice croaked across the clearing, the owner of said voice smirking in a thoroughly satisfied manner, resting under the shade of a great oak.
Merlin whimpered.
CHAPTER I
In the beginning, Merlin never felt too bothered by the fact that he was so clumsy and lousy at anything that implied a physical effort.
Sure, he couldn't say he liked it when he tripped over thin air and planted his face on Camelot's cobblestones, but he always mentally shrugged, got up and went on his way.
It did help that he knew the reason why.
The fact of the matter was that, while his mother always disapproved and scolded him anytime he'd done magic while in Ealdor, she knew as well as him that it couldn't be helped. His magic was instinctual, eager to please him in any way, which meant that his body almost never could do even the most banal of things, like catching something, or even walking..spurring his legs, directing them..simply being there, ever-present in his body. A continuous, reassuring tingling.
Hunith always said that he was so graceful, whenever he allowed his magic to run his body in the privacy of their humble hut.
Well..his grace fell away, completely forgotten the moment he first stepped foot into Camelot. It left with a swooshing sound, the moment the executioner chopped Phil Collins' head, on that first day.
Merlin, at first, was never too bothered by Arthur's jabs at his body, either. Just like with the clumsiness, he simply rolled his eyes and called Arthur a 'burly prat' and that was that.
But, over time, the verbal blows began to sting and a part of Merlin's mind,that he refused to acknowledge, wondered if it had anything to do with his..growing admiration, of the insensitive dollop-head.
It wasn't until recently that the problem became obsessive to Merlin. He'd catch himself lost in thought as he watched himself in Gaius' old, dirty and slightly cracked-in-places mirror.
He'd gaze at his body, always starting from his twig-like feet, imagining the knobbly knees underneath his shabby trousers. And then, he'd look at the equally shabby tunic which hanged of his thin, sharp shoulders and poky collarbones worse than if it would've had of a scarecrow.
He'd leave the face – twisted in disgust and shame, by now – for last, and his eyes would usually battle between glaring at his weird, skeletical cheekbones or at his jug-like, bloody ears.
Because no matter how much Merlin tried to ignore it, his ears were and always would be a problem.
If at first, when he was younger, he'd had to suffer the bullying of the Ealdor knuckle-heads, now he had to suffer the amused glances of nobles, knights and even the commoners of Camelot. Gaius had once told him a quote, 'Never judge a book by its cover', but Merlin sneakily rewrote it in his head 'Never judge a Merlin by his ears', and he found that he'd always try desperately not to blurt it out, whenever he'd catch someone staring insistently at his ears.
For the love of Camelot, it seemed like they couldn't help themselves!
Gaius had caught him once, in one of his disgust filled analysis of his body, and he'd watched his mentor's eyebrow twitch slightly higher than usual. Merlin plastered a fake smile on his face and babbled about something irrelevant until he'd managed to distract Gaius' attention from the strange scene in which he stepped in.
There were times in which Merlin forgot about it, his mind taken with other things like, well, trying to keep Arthur alive, or his apprenticeship to Gaius – to his and Gaius' surprise, Merlin managed to learn something in all the years spent by the physician's side, thus becoming decent in the art of healing– and, finally, his job as a manservant to the prince.
But then, something, some tiny event would take place that would remind Merlin, once again that he didn't fit in. Not only because of his magic, but because of his appearance as well. And if he loved the first, the second he'd started to hate:
Merlin was in a hurry. Arthur had – shockingly – gifted him with an earlier evening off, so the young man found himself hurrying down the corridors of the castle to reach his and Gaius' chambers.
He hadn't eaten breakfast that morning because he'd woken up late, as usual, so he had to scurry off to the prince''s chamber to wake him up in time for him to have breakfast before the early council meeting began. Now, he felt ravenous. He could almost smell Gaius' cooking from the opposite end of the palace and his stomach gave a painful twinge.
After passing a sharp corner, Merlin's steps faltered as he heard giggling and failed attempts at hushing said giggles from an unused guest chamber nearby.
Curious, Merlin carefully tip-toed to the wooden door and set himself against the cold stone wall, his right ear hovering almost-but-not-quite against the door.
They were two female voices, almost familiar. Merlin tried to pinpoint the timbres before his eyes widened in recognition. They were Alicia, a red-headed chambermaid and Mary, a willow-like, brunette kitchenmaid.
" – and he stammered awkwardly and went as red - as lady Angeline's lips." Mary struggled to say between girlish giggles while Alicia tutted, amused, trying to spur Mary on to stop laughing and tell the story.
Merlin almost snorted at the thought of Lady Angeline. She was the daughter of an old nobleman who was known – and sneakily made fun of – by the ridiculous habit she had of painting her thin lips a vivid, bloody red. She put the Camelot-red cloaks of the knights to shame, ridiculing herself in the process.
Even the king sometimes shook his head with a baffled expression on his face, when passing the woman in the corridors.
" – to the tips of his unfortunate ears." Mary finished her sentence, before the two girls howled with laughter, while, by the door, Merlin's blood froze in his veins.
There was only one person Merlin knew with unfortunate ears.
Himself.
He missed a big chunk of the conversation due to his stupor but then he shook his head and returned to listening in horrified fascination.
" – I mean, I can't understand how Gwen could've had had a crush on him. He looks like a skeleton all the time. Imagine trying to hug or, the Gods' forbid, trying to cuddle that, you'd get pierced by a bone." Alicia snapped, hissing Gwen's name.
Merlin stared straight ahead while still listening. His mind was blank, altugh his brain twitched at the ridiculous thought of Gwen having ever had a crush on him.
But while his mind couldn't function properly, his heart twitched spasmodically in pain at every hurtful word the two girls uttered.
" By the Gods, you're right! Or ..." Mary struggled to say, giggling shrily, " Or swooning and needing to be carried. He'd never manage to get us off the ground!".
Alicia scoffed before saying snottily " Be serious, Mary, who'd swoon for EARlin?" and soon the chamber had been filled with howls of laughter that echoed down the corridors of the palace and in Merlin's head, long after he stepped away.
Gaius never mentioned Merlin's emabarassing red eyes that evening, or the fact that Merlin never touched his food, despite knowing clearly that his ward hadn't had breakfast that morning.
Being old and wise, Gaius knew when to leave things alone as well as when to approach them.
