A Tavern Infested with Lice

Considering the reputation that the lower towns have, there seems to be a distinct lack of taverns the moment you're seriously in need of one. Arthur is the Prince of Camelot! He would one day rule these people, and they don't even have the decency to have a place where he could get thoroughly drunk and forget about the idea of bending his manservant over his table and showing him just where his place is! Loyalty is just dead these days. He knows he sounds like the prat that Merlin always claims he is but he really couldn't care less. He has his manservant to tell him off, why would he tell himself off too?

"Come on, Gwaine. How can you not know where to go?" Complains Arthur, in a voice which is most definitely not whiney. The Crown Prince of Camelot does. Not. Whine. Ever. Although Merlin would most definitely say differently.

"Well, in my defence…Sire" says Gwaine, only just remembering to add the title on the end before the Princess gets even more whiney, because yes, the Princess is quite fond on whining, "the last time I was in any of these places, I was too drunk to really map out my way to and fro"

"Maybe we should ask someone?" Suggests Merlin wearily, watching as his Prince and best friend glare at each other. "Then we can have one quick drink and get back to the hunt"

"The hunt? Oh, yes, I'd forgotten we were out here for a reason other than to become the new town drunkards" says Sir Leon, giving the Prince a stern look.

"We shall continue the quest tomorrow" assures Arthur "but tonight I wish to get drunker than I ever have before" and Merlin is sure that had there been a table present, Arthur would have slammed his fist down on its surface.

"Wait. Quest?" Asks Lancelot.

"Yes. Quest" replies Arthur.

"But you said we were hunting" adds Percival, his voice taking on the confused tone that is becoming far too common a thing.

"I lied" replies the Prince with an absentminded wave of his hand.

"You lied?! Why would you do that?" Squeaks Merlin (and no, he will never admit to how much of a girl he just sounded. Even on pain of Morgana.)

"Because my Father would have never let me leave the castle if he were aware of the quest in which we are going to complete. He believes it far too dangerous."

"Then maybe you should listen to him" says Merlin, and for once he feels he may have pushed a little too far. Arthur made it very clear not even an hour ago that they are only servant and master. "Oops. Sorry" Mutters Merlin, imagining the week of being stuck in the stocks which is bound to come his way, with a sinking feeling in his stomach. He really hates tomatoes.

"If I were to listen to my father, Merlin, they we would not be having this conversation, would we?" says Arthur, eyeing his manservant. Merlin won't meet his eyes, and it's the most frustrating thing ever. "You would have been dead before your first month in Camelot was up if I hadn't defied my father"

"And I thank you for that, Sire, but maybe this time is different? The King actively encourages you to pursue quests. It brings honour on him, you and Camelot itself. I doubt he is over exaggerating when he says this one is too dangerous. He surely has a very good reason behind forbidding you completing it." Says Merlin, trying his hardest to sound like the adviser to his Prince that he indulges himself in being in his dreams.

"Look at me, Merlin" orders Arthur when Merlin doesn't meet his gaze on his own accord. It is hesitant, but eventually he meets his eyes. The Knights have gone back to pretending to be ignoring them, but Gwaine's ever present curiosity in burning bright. He knows that the Princess has slightly stronger feelings for Merlin than a master should for a servant, even more than a friend for a friend. He wants some proof of it though.

"I don't think that you should ignore your father's wishes" repeats Merlin, holding Arthurs gaze.

"It will not be that dangerous, Merlin. We'll be back in two weeks with the locket, completely unscathed and my father will be so happy that we finally have such an item in our possession that he'll throw a feast in our honour" says Arthur. Merlin holds back the sarcastic reply of; 'In your honour' with difficulty, but the burning heat of his Princes' gaze is enough to force his words back down his throat.

"What's so special about this locket?" Asks Sir Leon, breaking his unconvincing ignorance to the conversation going on around him, and becoming the second in command that is always by Arthur's side.

"The locket is said to bewitch the person who wears it. It casts such a potent spell that the owner will be so blinded by the need for what they most desire that they will plough through the world to get it. Be it a person or a possession they crave. It has the ability to create the strongest warrior, consumed by that need and pumped with enough magic to make them just strong enough to come within a hairbreadth of their desire, but never enough to ensnare it. It is said to turn even the sanest man into a shell of himself." Says Arthur, the blues of his eyes blazing like lightning as he gazes at his manservant.

"Why would we want to have such a thing in our possession?" Gulps Percival.

"Because we do not want it in someone else's" replies Merlin before Arthur can explain. His gaze meets his Princes again and he can't look away. Arthurs gaze is intense, scorching Merlin and sending a hot ball of desire down into his stomach, pooling in his groin. And Merlin can't help but think that the need for his Prince must sure be strong enough to rival any spell that damn locket could ever bewitch him with.

"If you do not wish to join me on this quest now, then you may turn back" says Arthur, looking directly at Merlin, a challenging glint in his eyes. "I shall think no differently of you when I return" he promises, "I realise now that I was wrong to lie to you all about such a thing."

"What fun is there to life if we don't go on a highly dangerous quest every once in a while?" says Gwaine happily, until a frown wrinkles his forehead, "Well, apart from Taverns and the thighs of a maiden, obviously."

"I'm coming too" says Leon, looking at Gwaine with what can only be described as something close to disgust mixed with unconditional friendship.

"I'm in" says Lancelot.

"Me too" replies Percival. And then like every other bloody time all eyes turn in Merlin's direction. He can't help but grumble a little at the fact that they even have to ask him. Don't they know by now that wherever the Royal Prat goes, he's going too? Maybe Kilgharrah was right when he said that they were two sides of the same coin, that their destinies are entwined. But maybe it's more than that.

Over the last two years, Merlin has gotten to know the real Arthur. Not the arrogant, conceited, prat of a Prince. But the man. And he's starting to feel more like destiny isn't a burden but a blessing. Getting to spend his life with Arthur Pendragon has become a piece of knowledge the Merlin has started to treasure. With the slow burning of arousal in the pit of his stomach still churning away, he's starting to think that maybe he doesn't follow the Prat because it is what he was made for, but more because he couldn't imagine a life without Arthur. Well, life just got a bit more complicated and Merlin kicks himself for it. Falling in love with your Prince (or master if Arthur is in a particularly grumpy mood) is not a good plan.

"I'm by your side until the day I die" says Merlin, wondering why the world he couldn't just say a chirpy 'me too' and ride off to find a tavern to get so blasted drunk that when he's ripped apart by whatever creature this quest is bound to involve, he'll barely feel a thing. Gwaine looks at him triumphantly, Lancelot looks slightly pitying, Leon looks like someone's just told him Uther is a woman and Percival…well he just looks confused. But Merlin's eyes are for Arthur only, and the Prince smiles so blindly bright that he doesn't feel like quite so much of an idiot for his sort of, kind of, declaration.

"So, first we find a tavern" states Arthur, holding up a finger to count through his plan, "where we get so drunk that even Gwaine will have a headache in the morning, then we head off to the West, into the forest to face down the many, many horrendous things that await us on this quest." And he says it so matter-of-factly, that the prospect of the 'many, many horrendous things' doesn't particularly bother Merlin.

"Then I recommend that we ask someone for directions because if I'm going to die in the next two weeks, then I don't want to look back at my life and know that I missed out on the chance to see Lancelot the noble spewing his breakfast over someone's boots because we couldn't find the damn tavern" says Merlin, feeling a whole lot happier in the most morbid of a ways. At least he's going to die with his Prat of a Prince and his two best friends. If there's only one good thing to come of it then at least there's that.

"Aye" replies Gwaine with a face splitting grin, watching as Merlin jumps off of his horse and hurries over to the nearest peasant to ask for directions.

"He really is the bravest of us all, isn't he?" Says Lancelot, watching Merlin flap his arms around, gesturing widely during the whole conversation. The peasant woman beams up at him, wrapped round his little finger already.

"That he is" agrees Arthur without hesitation. His manservant, his Merlin, willingly entering this quest, like so many before, without the training of a Knight. Without a sword, without chainmail. And Arthur suddenly realises that there is no better a man that he could have fallen in love with.

x/x/x/x/x

Well, that is until they reach the tavern that Merlin got them directions for.

"What in the world is this place?" Demands the Prince, and Merlin has to hide a smile because the prat actually pouts.

"It's a tavern" says Merlin slowly, as if talking to a slow child.

"Yes, I know that Merlin" replies Arthur dangerously, glaring at his stupid manservant. But he can't seem to pull his eyes away again.

In the midday sunlight Merlin's skin glows almost luminescent, the strands of black hair falling over his forehead, midnight black against the canvas of alabaster. Arthur gulps, tearing his eyes away from the thing they most want to fix on. He cannot be caught staring so intently at his manservant, no matter how beautiful said manservant is. And beautiful is not a word Arthur particularly likes to use. It makes him sound far too much like the poem writing girl Merlin made him out to be that one time. But he'd be lying is he wasn't imagining running his hands through the raven hair. To tug slightly just to hear the gasp, the moan, from his manservants lips. Ugh, this can not end well.

"Then why ask the question?" Gripes Merlin, completely unaware of his Princes somewhat covert observation. Although, Merlin himself can't quite tear his own eyes away from the way that Arthurs hair is shrouded in a halo of sunshine, creating a bright, natural crown of gold above his head. His skin, already sun-kissed shines with a layer of sweat from the pounding of the sun and Merlin has to hold back his desire to kiss a path from collarbone to jaw, just to taste the salt against his lips. Just to taste Arthur.

"I think it looks perfect" says Gwaine, clapping his hands together. He can't say he's even a little bit surprised that neither Merlin nor Arthur seems to notice. Gwaine smiles happily and ushers his fellow Knights into the extremely run down tavern in an attempt to give the Princess and Merlin some privacy. So that they can finally push each other up against a wall somewhere and go at each other like they're been dying to do since Gwaine met them in that Tavern, and probably for a very long time before that. If they don't get it out of the way soon, the tension is going to be enough to give Gwaine a permanent hard on, and a frustrated Gwaine is not something that the Princess wants on his stupid quest.

"Six tankards of mead, please" says Leon, reaching the serving wench before the others and throwing some coins on the table. It smells like something died inside the actual building and the sunlight barely makes it through the grime coating the windows, casting the room in an almost twilight darkness despite the blazing sun mere footsteps away. The air is still and stiflingly hot. But Gwaine has gotten drunk in worse places, so all in all, this is a win!

x/x/x/x/x/x

Outside, the air in tense around them. Arthur can feel it. The bustling of the crowded streets disappears into the background, insignificant compared to the man stood in front of him. Merlin looks confused. Well, flushed (which is too attractive to be fair) and so holy aroused that Arthur is having to clench his hands into fists at his sides so as not to manhandle his manservant into a darkened alley and finally sink himself into that skin.

But he also looks a little scared, like a deer that's been on the receiving end of a misaimed arrow. Shot in the leg and not dying quickly enough. When it realises there are other creatures hunting it. When you can see in its eyes that it knows the fight is over. Merlin looks like that now. Like he's given up a fight and is resigned to his fate. And that look hurts Arthur so much more than he thought possible. Because if Arthur is going to take Merlin, then it will be because they both want it. Not because Merlin thinks he has to because Arthur is the Prince. One last glance at Merlin, he storms into the tavern and swallows the revoltingly hot tankard in a few gulps before demanding another one and downing that too.

Merlin just stands and watches as Arthur stomps into the tavern. It's too dark inside to actually see his Prince but Merlin knows he'll be fulfilling his earlier promise of getting so drunk as to rival Gwaine's most raucous stories. What had been going through Arthur's head as he'd watched Merlin, the Warlock wasn't sure, but he'd bet his entire years wage (not that it equates to much) on the fact that he'd been thinking that Merlin was an idiot for leading them to the filthiest looking tavern he could find. Merlin knows that this new found attraction to his Prince is not going to end well. He is resigned to the fact that it will end in tears (his) but there's just nothing he can do about the heat surging in his groin each time the prat looks at him for longer than a few moments.

Sighing to himself he drags his feet into the tavern and takes the tankard offered to him by a grinning Lancelot and swallowing it as quickly as possible. It isn't long until he can feel the heat in his cheeks and the slightly lightheaded swaying that comes with drinking mead. He's never been able to hold his drink, and something about the evil smile plastered on Gwaine's face as he hands him yet another mug tells Merlin that this is something that Gwaine is extremely happy about.

"Wh – what 'bout tat one?" Slurs Gwaine, his arm slung carelessly over Merlin's shoulders and he points to a blonde woman walking into the tavern. Her dress is a dirty yellow and she looks overworked. But pretty. Well, as pretty as someone can be in the dark, horrible tavern anyway. Merlin's eyes travel over to Arthur, sat at another table between Leon and Lancelot, and notice that the prat does still manage to look like a priceless piece of artwork.

"Too 'lellow" replies Merlin, slurring right back.

"I t'ink you mean blonde"

"Nooo! 'Lellow" Insists Merlin, rather loudly in the quiet tavern. Arthur and the rest of the Knights turn to face them.

"What's up with Mer…" starts Arthur, burping in the most unprincely way possible, "…Merlin?"

"He don't like blondes" replies Percival. Merlin might be imagining it in his drunken, hopeful state but he thinks Arthur's face might fall slightly.

"Nooo!" Insists Merlin again, sighing in exasperation, "I don't like 'Lellow. Her – her dress!"

"Oh!" Says Gwaine, looking at the woman quickly. "T'hn what colour do you like?"

"Red!" Shouts Merlin happily before slumping down a little on the stool and resting against Gwaine's shoulder, suddenly very, very much in need of some sleep. "Wed 'nd bwonde" murmurs Merlin as his eyes drift shut and everything goes black before swirling into dreams about the Prat of a Prince, whose blonde hair at the back of his neck rests against the thick red material of his jacket. And whose smile couldn't be bigger after hearing his manservants' sleepy mumblings.

x/x/x/x/x/x/

The next morning sees Arthur being dragged from his dream, which involved a very breathless manservant and things in seemingly impossible places, by the sounds of a very irritated tavern wench and being poked by the end of a broom.

"Don't you know who I am? I am Prince Arthur of Camelot!"

"And I'm King Uther!" Replies the woman sarcastically, prodding him even harder in the stomach. It takes a good few minutes to shake the others awake, another five for Arthur to calm down from a silently fuming jealous rage at seeing his Merlin squished against Gwaine on the floor beneath the table they'd spent the night talking at, before they're all stumbling through the door and into the far too bright sunlight.

"Does anyone else itch?" Asks Percival, scratching furiously at his arm, getting frustrated when his chain mail gets in the way.

"Now you mention it…" says Leon, attacking his own skin. And in no time at all, all six men are digging nails into flesh and jiggling chain mail around in an attempt to alleviate some of the torturous itch from their bodies.

"We have lice!" Declares Lancelot, looking around at the other men with a kind of 'what do you expect when you spend the night in a place like that?' look.

"MERLIN!" Shouts Arthur as the Warlock jumps, searching for places to hide before deciding on running in the other direction, keeping his magic under his skin instead of blasting out at the prat like it wants to. He can hear the pounding of Arthur's mail clad limbs chasing after him. He doesn't stand a chance and they both know it. So Merlin just waits for the moment when he Prince will catch him.

x/x/x/x/x/x/x

Review?

A/N – Sorry for my drunk speech :/ Other than that, how was it? Don't worry, it will be Merthur. Just with a little side of Merwaine because…well because it's Gwaine :)