I do not own Grimm. I do not own Merlin. NBC and BBC do. The Arthurian Legends and Grimms' Fairy Tales are Public Domain
Warnings: Brief mention of violence towards an adolescent. Excessive mangled Not-English.
Many thanks to the lovely rmonroe (she's awesome, go check out her stories!) who beta-read this for me and is now suffering from a Merlin addiction as a consequence. Your sacrifice shall always be appreciated. Welcome to the fandom.
Contrary to popular opinion, Gwaine actually does think quite a lot, about many different things, not just alcohol, apples, and women. (Though he freely admits that he does think about those things quite often.) He thinks about a lot of things. Like the other knights and how dysfunctional the whole lot of them, himself included, are. He thinks about new ways to beat Arthur at their training. Maybe someday one of them will work. Most of all though, he thinks about Arthur and Merlin.
Gwaine has traveled through many lands and seen many strange things, but he has never seen something quite like Merlin. He isn't Falachcreutair, not like Percival, who he recognized as Beraheorte before he ever saw him atharraich. He takes a moment to wonder idly, not for the first time, if Percy has the ability to make the full transformation. It isn't exactly something he can mention in a casual conversation; Percival has become more comfortable around him, but it still makes the big guy nervous if Gwaine brings up any Falachcreutair related topics.
Merlin though…If Gwaine didn't know better he'd almost think that Merlin was Síth. But Merlin glows warm, protective gold, not cold, angry blue. He'd think he might be one of the Tuatha Dé Danann, but while they aren't as cruel as the Síth, there is still something alien, something…different about them that is lacking in Merlin. Besides, they glow silver, not gold. At least, the one Gwaine had met had. (Èirinn is a very interesting place, humans are actually the minority there, which is unusual. Not very comfortable if you are like Gwaine though.)
But Merlin isn't human either, at least, not entirely. Not even just a human who can use magic. They glow too, but it is much fainter than Merlin's and more bronze than gold. Reddish-bronze when they are trying to kill you.
He isn't Ban-draoidh either. First, Gwaine has only ever seen two, both of them at a seaport on the east coast, trying to get back to Germania. (Not native to this part of the world.) Also, they seem to be mostly female (and despite Arthur's teasing, Merlin is not.) and lastly they are something in between Falachcreutairean and Síth and mean enough for both. Besides, he thinks he'd have noticed if Merlin had ever atharraichte into a melting, rotting corpse. And then there's, you know, the whole thing where he glows.
Though the way Merlin follows Arthur around like a puppy is pretty similar to Ban-draoidh if what Gwaine has heard is true. Apparently those creepy ladies are something like right-hand minions to the rulers over in their own territory. But no, Merlin is too comfortable on this land to be a foreign creature like that. He belongs here, in a way that Gwaine knows but can't explain. Belongs with Arthur.
Arthur.
He remembers the sick feeling that had appeared in his stomach when he'd realized that the young man he had fought beside in a tavern was what he'd been running from his whole life. He'd never told anyone, not even Merlin, the full reason that the king of Caerleon abandoned his family. He'd thrown them out because he'd thought that Gwaine hadn't inherited his father's eyes, his father's abilities. And what use to a king is a foreign hedge-witch and her two-soon-to-be-three brats, the eldest not even ten summers? Gwaine has never told anyone that he was relieved when they had been cast out into the winter's snow with no food or money and only the clothes on their backs. He was relieved because it meant he had been successful at hiding what he could do and that he wouldn't die the way his father and grandfather had, as a war-hound at Caerleon's heel, the geas binding him as surely as any collar or chain. He had never told anyone how he had felt like laughing for joy as he bore little Gaheris on his back while breaking a path for his eight months pregnant mother through the snow, heading north.
They had found refuge with his mother's family, and had dwelt in Orkney for six more years. Hard years, but good. Màthair had brought in a little money by selling potions. Potions for healing and harming and loving and hating. Gwaine had earned a little more doing odd jobs, and had spent what little free time he had sparring with shadows on the grassy cliffs overlooking the sea, and teaching Gaheris and Gareth to do the same. His heart had broken the day that Gareth, at the time nearing his third winter, had gleefully explained all the secrets that their neighbors had to Gaheris. (His three year old interpretations anyway.) He knew then that of his brothers, the youngest would be the one to inherit the abilities should aught happen to him. He redoubled his exercises that day, determined to survive to an old age so that Gareth, bright-eyed, flame-haired, laughing Gareth would never have to see the monsters that lurked in the shadows.
Then, the spring before the summer Gwaine turned sixteen, his mother had learned how he had hidden his abilities.
She had been so angry, screaming at him about how selfish he was and how they could have lived in luxury if he hadn't pretended. And Gwaine had gotten angry back and had snapped at her that at least they were free. She had struck him.
It wasn't the first time, but it was the last. She had disowned him that day, cast him out like Caerleon had those years before. So Gwaine took his sword and his father's hunting knives and left. His only regret was that he hadn't stopped to say goodbye to Gaheris or Gareth and that he had left them with That Woman.
For a little more than ten years he had wandered the kingdoms, fighting, drinking, and learning. It was lonely. No matter how much he protested, he could not deny to himself that it had been lonely and cold. Days of hiding in taverns and drinking himself into a stupor interspersed with nights spent fighting for his life against Falachcreutairean or for his freedom against whatever local overlord had figured out what he was and decided that having a pet Rùn-coimhid would be a nice feather in his cap. But Gwaine would die before he would be anyone's attack dog. That is what he had told himself over and over.
And then he had put himself in danger for a servant and his prince. Had fought for them, more than once, had come when Merlin called, and now? Now he has sworn service to Camelot and wears its livery, a land that had declared war on his kind (among others) when he was little more than a babe in arms. He doubts Arthur even knows what Rùn-coimheadaiche are. Or Dēcapitāres, or whatever they call them down here in this Romanized kingdom of theirs.
Now, he fights side by side with a Beraheorte of all things, and his best friend is…who knows what. A glowy-thing (Not always though, Merlin is really good at hiding it, even from Gwaine most of the time which is really sort of sad because Gwaine sees secrets and someone who can hide secrets even from him? They have to have a lot of practice.)
A shout that he automatically identifies as Arthur draws his attention away from his thoughts to the field outside of Camelot where the Round Table members, except for Gaius, have gathered for a relaxed afternoon picnic organized by Gwen who was of the opinion that Arthur and Merlin had been working too hard lately. Arthur is on the ground, wrestling playfully with Merlin who is glowing brightly gold in a very relaxed and contented way. Elyan is laying prone under a bush, asleep it looks like, oblivious to his sister decorating him with daisy chains as swiftly as she can manufacture them, Lancelot and Percival looking on in badly-concealed amusement.
There is a great deal of laughter as Merlin manages to wriggle out of Arthur's grip and takes off across the field towards Gwaine's tree at top speed, the Crown Prince Regent dashing after him with no regard for dignity. The noise wakes Elyan who appears to choke on a mouthful of flowers causing Gwen to cease her own merriment and bend over him in concern, Lance and Percy forgotten as they both roll in the grass with the careless abandon of complete mirth.
Good, Gwaine thinks. Lancelot is way too serious and Percival is still too sad about losing his family. They need to let go and live.
"Gwaine!" Merlin yelps as Arthur tackles him to the ground once again. "Help!"
With a sigh Gwaine tosses aside his long forgotten tankard and hoists himself to his feet.
It's about time he shut up and took his own advice.
Glossary: (In alphabetical order)
Atharraich – mangled Scots Gaelic for "change". Woge. Past, Atharraichte. Woged.
Ban-draoidh – Scots Gaelic for "Witch" or "Old crone". Gwaine uses it to refer to the Hexenbeists he has encountered. I decided that they weren't native to Britain, so he hasn't come across many.
Beraheorte – mangled Old English for "bear heart". Jägerbar.
Dēcapitāres – Latin name for Grimms. Sing. Dēcapitāre.
Èirinn – Scots Gaelic name for Ireland
Falachcreutair – mangled Scots Gaelic for "hidden creature". Wesen. Pl. Falachcreutairean.
Màthair – Scots Gaelic for "Mother".
Rùn-coimhid – Mangled Scots Gaelic for "Secret-Watcher". Grimm. Pl. Rùn-coimheadaiche.
Síth – Scots Gaelic version of Sidhe.
Tuatha Dé Danann – A mythical Irish fairy people. Look 'em up if you want to know more.
Other Notes:
When Gwaine says that Merlin glows he is not referring to the way Merlin's eyes turn gold when he does magic. He is referring to the (for lack of a better word) aura that he can see when Merlin is relaxed or angry or sad or in any way not concentrating on keeping his magic hidden. It's his magic leaking out I suppose.
So this came about when I engaged in a regular "I'm bored" activity of mine. Namely, deciding who, from certain fandoms, would be the "special person" from another fandom. Sentinel/Guide/Immortal... etc... Lately, Grimm has been added to this list and so I decided to find who the Grimm in Merlin was.
My first conclusion was Arthur, but I discarded that fairly quickly if for no other reason than the poor guy has enough problems already. I didn't even consider Merlin for various reasons.
Then I though of Gwaine.
It was a lightbulb moment.
We don't know much about his past, he has a very Grimm-like lifestyle pre-Camelot...The more I thought the more it fit.
So this happened. I do plan on expanding this universe, but I will finish the last two chapters of Cyððu first. (They are coming, I promise.)
Bob has been very hungry lately.
Please feed the Review-Dragon!