Chapter 1 – Mace

AN: I don't own Merlin. Constructive criticism appreciated – I haven't written for fun in about ten years!

"Hey, Gwen!"

She turned expectantly at the shout of her name, steps unfaltering as they carried her further down the sunny corridor. She broke into a smile and halted. "Yes? Merlin, right?"

He quickly pulled alongside, panting slightly. "Yeah, that's me." He leaned forward to rest on his knees, fumbling with his burden. "I'm a bit lost, I'm afraid. Are you headed toward the laundry?" He straightened and hefted his basket, nearly identical to the one she carried.

Gwen broke into a smile. "I am! Come along." She started walking briskly, Merlin falling into step easily. "You'll find your way around in no time, I'm sure of it," she encouraged.

He let out a rough sigh. "I hope so. It's been mad, all these stairs."

Gwen laughed breezily. "That's usually the first thing the new ones say. Never fails. You get used to them after a time." She studied him out of the corner of her eye as they fell into a companionable silence. The prince's new manservant, unaware of her study, continued to chatter nervously.

"How long have you been working in the castle, Gwen?"

"Hmmm." Gwen cocked her head to one side, calculating, her thoughts spinning wildly as she tried to make sense of him and answer the question at the same time. "I think this spring will be my…thirteenth? Twelfth? No, twelfth for sure. I've been serving the Lady Morgana for nine years, and she turns twenty-one this winter, and she came when she turned ten, and I was serving for a year beforehand…"

Gwen trailed off, a blush staining her cheeks. He must think me a fool.

Merlin chuckled. "That's quite a strategy for remembering." He hefted his basket with a wince. "How long did it take you to learn your way around?"

Gwen frowned a bit, but pushed forward, eager to help despite her doubts. "Oh, I'd say it took about six months. I can navigate the castle practically blindfolded now! Not that I've ever needed to. I mean, we normally don't." She snorted in derision, rolling her eyes and hefting her basket. "Prince Arthur seems to think it's a necessary skill. His servants usually quit before he tries to make them do that, though."

Merlin spluttered, stumbling to a halt. "He…he what?"

Gwen hesitated. "He's blindfolded a…few of his servants and made them run errands. The ones who don't quit before that usually quit after….or in the middle." She shrugged and grabbed his sleeve, pulling him back into pace. "I mean, he does the same thing in training. He just forgets that his servants aren't knights." She glanced up, eyes wide. "Not that you couldn't be a knight!"

Merlin shifted his basket again. "Do you happen to know how many servants the pra…prince has been through already?" he asked apprehensively.

"Well, if you only count the ones who have lasted longer than a week, I'd say….well, if you're counting only since he started choosing his own servants….Hmmm." Her eyes narrowed in consideration and she spoke rapidly in low tones. "He's been through most of the lads in the castle, but not all of them lasted a week, and I think there's been six or seven outside of the castle employ, so I'd say…thirty or so?" She paused a moment to check her calculations. Finally, she glanced up and caught Merlin's inquisitive stare. She quickly turned away again as they continued down the corridor. "It's difficult to say for certain. There's a few that stick out as more memorable, more for how they quit – or were sacked…"

Merlin chuckled. "One can only hope."

"Not that you'll be sacked!" Gwen, panicked, turned to see if he was joking, but she was only met with a playful smile and a cajoling tone.

"Tell me about the most interesting sacking."

Gwen's fears for the prince lifted bit by bit as the two of them headed across the courtyard. Question after question spouted from the young man, and Gwen could see that although his feet may wander their way into trouble, his heart seemed straight and true.

They entered the laundry with hearty laughter, Gwen's giggle pitching above Merlin's rumbling laugh. The humid air slapped up an oppressive barrier as the two pushed the door open, immediately dampening their spirits. The creak garnered the attention of several servants already at work, hair curling up outside of their head scarves or plastering to their foreheads. Gwen's mane frizzed noticeably as she walked toward the tall, lithe laundress at the ironing table.

"Helen?"

The laundress paused in her pressing, setting the iron in the brazier of hot coals at the foot of the table. Her sleeves were pushed up past her elbows, revealing ropey, taught muscles. A permanent grimace scowled her face. "Gwen."

Merlin gulped.

Gwen smiled in response, aware of how intimidating the woman looked. "This is Merlin. He's Prince Arthur's new manservant." She moved aside to reveal Merlin, who straightened nervously and thrust his hand forward, clearing his throat.

"It's …g-good to meet you."

She glanced at his hand with a keen eye before finally taking it, reluctantly. "Helen. I'm the laundry mistress. Laundry needs to be in by noon if you want it the next day. I don't do rush jobs. That's your business," she finished brusquely, before picking up the hot iron and returning to the tablecloth in front of her.

Gwen placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. "Come on," she smiled, "I'll show you the ropes."

"I don't think she likes me," Merlin muttered with a whispered breath.

Gwen's eyes twinkled with amusement. "That's just part of her charm." She pressed a bit more firmly to guide Merlin to an empty basin.

A sharp intake of breath met her ears. She smiled before teasing, "There's nothing to be afraid of, Merlin," as she set down her basket near the basin and sank to her knees.

When he didn't sit next to her immediately, she glanced up to see a grimace twisting his face. His left hand, arm across his chest, gripped his right shoulder. The basket hung limply from his right hand, clothes strewn about his feet. Gwen's eyes flew wide.

"…Are you all right?" she asked hesitantly, scurrying to right his basket and gather the clothes back into it before the foot traffic could spread it further afield. He released his shoulder with a pained sigh and sank down to his knees with her, helping her pick up the pieces.

"I'm fine."

She met his eyes and saw a guardedness there. Concern creased her face – she could feel the wrinkle forming between her eyebrows – when he broke their gaze and plunked down next to her. "Gaius took care of it and I'll be fine. Now show me what to do?"

Gwen hesitated, unsure fingers darting toward his shoulder. "What…what happened?" she asked as her fingers found the bandage padding his shirt.

Merlin puffed up his cheeks before letting out an annoyed breath. Gwen found herself blabbering an incoherent apology, trying to backtrack, before she felt his hand on her forearm. She looked back at him and found a resigned smile on his face.

"It's fine, Gwen. Arthur caught me on the shoulder with his mace in the market last week, that's all." She looked aghast. He raised an eyebrow at her. "Come on, is that particularly surprising for the prat? I'm fine, it's treated, and the worst is that I'll get an interesting scar." He turned to the basin.

Gwen's thoughts of defending one of several things – the scar, the prince, Merlin himself – were lost as he spoke again.

"Now, could you please show me how to do this? I've only ever washed clothes in the creek near my house, and I don't think that'll fly with Prince Prat."

Gwen shook her head sharply to get back to the task at hand. She focused a concerned glare at him. "Are you sure you're going to be able to scrub okay?"

"Yes, Gwen," he drawled lightly. "I'm not completely helpless." She blushed.

"Okay, then. First, you boil the water…"

And if several years later, his fingers found the pock-marks in his shoulder blade and a smile swung across his face with light-hearted memory, who is to say that a mace was a bad beginning to a friendship?