Scars

A/N- I got this idea from a prompt. I'm sorry I can't remember who handed it out, but I still give credit to the person even though I can't name him/her. Hope you enjoy this. I had had this in my drabble stories before, but I decided it fit best separate from the others. Part 2 comes very soon and it should explain what that was all about.
Also, I keep thinking that one of that characters is out of character a little . . . I don't know. Do tell me if you can see that, too.

Disclaimer: I don't own Merlin . . . or his amazing hankie.

Warnings: None

Summary: The company of friends boast about their battle scars.

Paths were always Merlin's worst enemy.

He was tall, taller than most, and had legs that felt like toothpicks carrying unnecessary weight. His stride was more carefree and less cautious than that of his fellow friends, the knights and king of Camelot. This being said, Merlin was far more likely to stumble, trip and run into things more than the others of his company.

So, while trying to keep up with the rest of the men at the rear, Merlin found himself turning to look over his shoulder at the last minute and he ran hard into a tree.

The servant's head now throbbed painfully and he could feel the immediate bruise. With a sigh, he tried back tracking away, but his arm snared on something and his best and only shirt tore from his shoulder all the way down his sleeve.

"You alright, Merlin?" Gwaine had noticed the lack of presence behind him and trailed back to see what was happening.

Merlin groaned with frustration and gritted his teeth. "Nothing, let's go," he grumbled.

Gwaine glanced at his shirt and let a stupid grin crawl up his face. For once, though, he didn't say anything and they made their way back to the group.

As they grew closer, both men picked up the conversation they had missed:

". . . I earned this while fighting a wild boar in the middle of hunting season," Perceval boasted proudly. He lifted his hand and showed the deep scar running across it.

"That's barely a scratch, mate," Gwaine came up by their sides. He pulled the collar of his shirt down to reveal and nasty cut etched on his collar bone. "Got that at a tavern. Owned a bit of money."

"So nothing new then?" Arthur and the company laughed except for Merlin who was still angrily glancing at his torn shirt. It was his best one, too.

Arthur grinned at his companions. "How 'bout you, Elyon? Have any battle wound?"

The young man shook his head and looked slightly embarrassed. "Not yet."

"You'll get it." Leon came up behind him and clapped his hand on the shoulder of his friend. "One day soon. Just don't make up stories about it like Arthur did."

"I was telling the truth!" the king defended. "I got my scar from a jousting tournament!"

Leon laughed, his soft eyes sparkling with amusement. "Sire, you and I both know that that wasn't the case."

Arthur glared at Leon for a moment with utter disbelief, yet turned away a second later, his face flushed. No one noticed, though, except Merlin who still stood off behind the circle of men now listening intently to the conversation. He couldn't help but wonder why getting a battle wound was that big of a deal. Scars lasted forever and held nothing but bitter memories of pain, sorrow and death. This could be a knight's way of dealing with all that suffering- laughing about it like a guilty pleasure. Maybe, this wasn't an entirely arrogant conversation after all.

"Merlin! Have you any battle wounds?"

Merlin jolted back to reality and let his eyes fix back upon the company of knights. Each of them now looked beyond their circle at the servant who had, until now, made himself invisible. Although these knights were some of his closest friends, he wasn't entirely comfortable being a part of their noble conversations.

"Um . . ." Merlin's mouth dried as he tried to think of a response. What had Arthur asked again?

"Sire, its getting late." a new voice said. Sir Lancelot, who'd chosen not to speak up until that moment, stepped in. "It's already grown dark. We won't reach Camelot in time."

Arthur nodded. "Alright then. We'll make camp here tonight. Merlin, grab some firewood."

Merlin gladly accepted the order and everyone went off to do ad they were told. As the servant passed his master, Arthur was kneeling over his pack, rummaging through for his water skin. He looked up at that moment and saw Merlin's shirt had ripped even more then it had before through his movements and exposed a part of his chest. Arthur saw something beneath the fabric that he had never counted on being there. It made him do a double take just as the man disappeared through the trees.

Merlin was a servant; a servant that grew up in a small village and lived off of almost nothing. He was the most clumsiest and most disobedient man Arthur had ever known. He was insulting towards him and was annoying to no end. When in great need, he would listen to everything Arthur said, comfort him in his times of trial and give off wisdom you would expect that of a man three times his senior.

So why did Merlin, the clumsiest, most insulting and wisest servant in Camelot, appear burned on the left side of his chest?

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Gwaine had never really been the sort to have friends. Before becoming involved in all of Camelot, he'd been a 'tavern hopper'. He roamed the country in search of a new tavern and hoped to get in a bit of fun with people he didn't already owe money too. He did that up until that fateful day he met Merlin, his soon to be best and only friend.

Deep down, he did care a lot about people. Unlike Arthur, Gwaine made an effort to voice his opinions. Merlin had been a great friend to him and did more for him than anyone else he'd ever known. After knowing both Merlin and Arthur for so long, he knew they were closer then Merlin and himself. So Gwaine was curious when he saw Prince Arthur staring off into space the way the servant had just disappeared. That expression only appeared when Gwaine knew something was wrong.

"You alright, princess?"

Arthur snapped his head around but his previous expression of perplexity stayed in place. His mouth opened a bit like he was going to say something yet changed its mind and closed. He looked down at his pack and began pulling things out.

Gwaine wasn't about to let that go. He came over with his sword and jabbed it in the ground between them, using it as a support to lean on. "Alright, what's going on? I know that look anywhere."

"What are you talking about?" he mumbled.

"You. Merlin. What's going on?"

The king let his head lull forward and sighed deeply. He scratched the nape of his neck and glanced up at the knight.

"Did . . . Did you know about Merlin's scars?"

Gwaine frowned. He hadn't been expecting that. "Merlin has scars . . . as in battle wounds?"

"I'll just take that as a no." Arthur took his sword and set it next to his stuff. Gwaine watched his movements. They were slow and much less deliberate than normal. Arthur must really be worrying about his friend. Cute.

"Well, what kind of scar was this?"

"It was a burn mark on his chest." His eyes glazed a bit and thoughts of that unpleasant thing eased into his mind. "It's just . . . I don't remember ever seeing anything like it. It looked horrid from what I saw. What could do something like that?"

Now Gwaine saw why the king was so worried. In truth, he was just as concerned about it now after hearing the news. "You sure?"

"Goodness, Gwaine, of course I'm sure!" he cried. "My servant was burned. What- I mean, how . . . " He shook his head and stood to his feet. Something in his eyes changed. He sent a cold glare at the other man. "Why am I talking to you? Go . . . eat an apple or something."

"In case you've forgotten, my prince," Gwaine nearly spat the title at him. "Merlin is my friend too. I care just as much as you do. You've had your head in somebody else's backside for too long."

Arthur shot him a look of disbelief. "Excuse me? You-

"You're a spoiled prat and you always have been," he continued. "You worry about your friend, but don't even do anything about it. You just hole yourself up and don't speak to anyone. And, don't think we haven't noticed the change in you. The other day, you snapped at Gwenivere. I mean, you love the woman and you snapped!" His eyes hardened. "You think you can take everything on your own just because your fathers locked himself in his rooms. You're spoiled, arrogant and completely hopeless. You effect those around you without even caring."

For part of that conversation, Arthur held gazes to him. But at the mentions of the incident with Gwenivere, he let his eyes fall away from him in fear of what the knight might see. He didn't want Gwaine to know just how guilty he was because of his stupidity. It was just two days ago, Gwenivere had spilt his goblet of wine on important documents sitting on his desk. Something in Arthur broke completely and everything slammed into the next few words he spoke. He called Gwenivere a clumsy wench. She ran out of the room, not bothering to close the door.

That was the main reason for Arthur's random hunting spree, which everyone was quite surprised at. His heart felt like it was being pulled and wrenched at. His body ached for his father to come to terms with Morgana's betrayal and longed for some sense of peace. Though he thought at first this hunting trip would calm his nerves, he found his ache only stretched further in more directions.

Arthur didn't really know what to say. Gwaine hadn't really said very much; he took all the facts and threw them out on the table in a jumble. It had an impacted, though. Arthur was now more heartbroken then ever and confused.

"I bet you haven't talked to him," Gwaine broke the silence.

Arthur nodded. No, he had not.

The old Gwaine came back then and he smirked. "I'll leave you to it, princess. Don't get your knickers in a twist."

As Gwaine strut back towards the group, he could feel Arthur burn a hard glare in the back of his skull. He continued to smirk. Somehow, Gwaine couldn't help feeling he'd made the world a brighter place.

He spotted Perceval leaning against a tree where Gwaine had set his stuff. His smirk dropped.

"Oi!" he shouted. "Get your fat back off my spot!"