- "Rise and shine!" trumpets Merlin's voice and Arthur groans, sinking back deeper under the covers.
Why so much energy in the morning? It's ungodly ...
The manservant draws open the curtains and the sun invades the room, spilling its warm light on the polished furniture and the breakfast table in a smell of bacon and fresh loaf from the bakery. Arthur inhales the delicious scent, but refuses to open his eyes and get out of his cocoon. He fumbles around in search of something to throw in the direction of the intruder, but is forced to crack open an eyelid when he finds nothing.
- "Mmm…Mr'lin ... g'way ..."
- "Get up, Sire!" tweets the manservant, undaunted. "The day's beautiful and you have work to do!"
In the next five seconds, he will pull the quilt in one go and send Arthur to the floor like a sheet-twined sausage.
Or perch on the bed casually, and that, that means only one thing.
Oh no, not AGAIN ...
The prince rolls to his side and opens his eyes, wrinkling his nostrils, dazzled by the sun playing in his spiking-in-all-directions blond hair. He lifts himself on his elbow, putting his naked arm over the vermilion velvet blankets.
- "Merlin. Don't tell me you got another one."
The servant grins, his sharp cheekbones almost hiding his blue eyes sparkling with mirth. He half-opens his jacket to preserve the surprise, then puts on the bed a ball of gray and tawny fur that sputters angrily.
- "She was in the armoury. Cute, innit?"
Arthur moistens his lips and pinches the bridge of his nose, taking a deep breath.
- "It's a bloody cat, Merlin."
Why is it that these wretched animals always end up crossing paths with his manservant? It's not sorcery the king should ban but feline romance! In two years Merlin was at his service, the Prince has seen hundreds of kittens. There's no way he'll manage again to smuggle one to Cook to drown it quietly : the woman would have a stroke.
All the villages surrounding Camelot are equipped with rat-catchers for the next three decades and the knights have warned Arthur that they do no longer believe in his fibs (he told them cats were the ultimate key to mollify a lady's heart).
The prince sighs, scratching distractedly the small pointed ears of the kitten that staggers on the scarlet quilt, her tail straight in the air like a hazel catkin.
It's his dogs that should be sleeping in the bedroom and wake him with their yapping, like any other young nobleman fond of hunting. This is what would be normal for a virile king's son. But the hounds almost devoured Merlin alive the only time he tried to set things right ...
- "Merlin, you can't save all the cats in the kingdom. You have to let natural selection do its deed."
It's a lost cause, but he keeps preaching it, hoping that one day will come when he is not woken up in the morning by a feeble meow - like a girl.
Ha. An idea.
- "Why don't you ask Morgana to keep it?" he asks with renewed incentive, sitting up and swinging his legs out of the four-poster bed.
- "Guinevere forbid it", pouts Merlin, indignant, while slipping the sleeves of the linen tunic over his master's arms.
Arthur rolls his eyes and puts on his boots.
Guinevere is a genius to have achieved this.
He goes to his breakfast tray, picks up a cherry tomato on the plate and gobbles it up while thinking. On his bed, the kitten walks in circles, squealing plaintively.
- Anyways, I can't keep your new best friend. And, no, Merlin, this is not a gift, and I will not accept it. Do whatever you want, but get rid of it before I come back from the Council."
The manservant's ears flop down as he glances towards the cat he had hoped to settle in the prince's chambers and play with every morning. Then the cobalt orbs lighten mischievously.
- "Uh-oh."
Arthur frowns and turns round before gasping in disgust.
- "Ha, he pissed!" he yelps. "No, Merlin, not again! Get this vermin out of my room right now! Shift! And I warn you, if you ever bring another one again, I'll slay it!"
Merlin hurries to remove the kitten by the scruff of her neck and flees into the corridor, leaving the prince alone with his breakfast and a lovely fragrant yellowish halo in the middle of the mattress.
Good thing he's got people to do the laundry ...
At noon, the case is not yet forgotten. Arthur has decided he has to hit hard if he no longer wishes his bed to be used as a latrine for the stray cats of the kingdom. He sends Guinevere to the terrace to get his manservant who is hanging out the sheets flapping in the wind to dry them, and orders Merlin to prepare their horses and food for several days: the weather is nice and his father does not need him for forty-eight hours so he has decided to go hunting.
Merlin drags his feet and grumbles, but he can not help but obey. From his window overlooking the courtyard of the castle, Gaius shakes his head, amused, watching them leave. He holds in his arms the kitten rescued by his ward. Perhaps this family in the lower town will enjoy the gift of the creature doomed to all the torments by Arthur: they are street vendors and they have a little girl the old physician treated for her bad cough.
Gaius is starting to run out of ideas to dispatch the blasted cats ...
Two days later, the prince and his manservant come out of the Eastern woods, mucky and tired, and gaze at the village below. The nice weather has given way to a warm drizzle and the chimneys are smoking under the dull sky.
- "Do you know what's more enjoyable after a hunt?" asks Arthur, resting his crossbow against his shoulder.
- "A bath?" Merlin ventures, sulking. "Sleeping?"
He carries several dead beasts – gray furry rabbits and pheasants hung on a hemp thread like beads on a necklace – and his face is smeared with dirt. He is cold, wet and he hates the smell of gamy meat that surrounds his load.
- "A nice tankard of mead!" says the prince still in a hopelessly good mood. "See the pointed roof, there? I bet it's a tavern. Let's go!"
They get their horses from the clearing where they slept and go down the hill to the quiet village nestled in the valley. Merlin is rumbling again: public places make him nervous, he prefers a thousand times to gather herbs for Gaius in a dark corner of the forest rather than going to the market. The prince, who is still on a pay-back scroll enjoys hearing him rattle on his heels and goes in the tavern after tying his horse to the fence outside.
- "Now, remember", he whispers one last time, "I'm just a boorish peasant like everyone else in here."
- "Boorish part's right", Merlin mutters under his breath, following his master, his nose on his worn-out boots.
- "What did you say?" Arthur asks, sitting down at a table after a satisfied look around.
- "I said mead's all right."
The young man gives a big slap on Merlin's shoulder, and the boy rubs his arm with a pained look.
- "Oh, but you are not drinking mead!" grins the prince. "You believe you're a goblin after guzzling three drops of cider, I don't wish to tempt fate."
It is very lively around them, there are roaring of laughter, strong odors and dice games. A man sucks his soup noisily, some others are watching what might be a dung beetles race, a drunkard is dozing on the edge of the counter, his hair matted with what can be remnants of vomit or porridge.
- "What'll it be?" asks the matron, approaching to wipe the table with a cloth as dirty as her apron. Her opulent chest joggles almost out of her dress and Merlin stares at it, his eyes slightly bulging.
- "A tankard of mead for me and a cup of goat milk for this one", coughs Arthur, kicking his manservant under the table.
The woman goes away after whispering "aren't you one handsome fellow?" to Merlin who blushes to the tip of his protruding ears when her dress grazes his shoulder.
The Prince is on the verge of exploding with laughter when he hears the tenant send her maidservant to "get mead to the blonde one with mouse teeth." He's mortified and Merlin giggles uncontrollably, muttering something about Arthur's dislikes for his cats.
Then a big burly man smelling of urine and boiled leather walks across the tavern and bullies the fat lady. Arthur hears the call of chivalry - or perhaps has drunk his mead too fast - and stands up to defend the woman's honor.
- "Get out, brat, if you don't want to be fed to the pigs", growls the man with the scarred face, giving a grim look at the bulky blonde who thinks he's stuff of legend.
- "I'd like to see you try", chuckles Merlin in the suddenly very quiet room, drawing all eyes to him and getting a scolding frown from Arthur.
- "Oh, you had to open your big mouth, didn't you, Merlin?"
Next thing they know, the whole place is a mess. Benches are flying, fists crushing cartilage, there is blood, bile and beer everywhere, plates shattering and the tavern has turn into a melee like the one that took place in Camelot a few days ago – minus the swords, fortunately.
Merlin sneaks into a corner after distributing a few kicks and dodged a substantial number of strokes: he's lithe and so thin that it is difficult to aim at him, even from close. From behind the counter, he flings mugs at the fighters and helps the matron to save the jugs that are still in one piece, until someone calls out to him.
It is a young bearded man with brown hair billowing around his face with style, even though he seems to fight while being drunk. Taken by surprise, Merlin gives him the pitcher he's asking for and, stunned, watches him quaff large swigs of mead before slamming the jug on the head of one of the pugilists.
- "What do they call you, then?"
- "Merlin", stutters Arthur's manservant, fascinated by the masterly way in which the bloke strikes down his opponents while looking bored.
- "Gwaine. Pleasure to meet you!" states the man before resuming to the fight with delight.
He grabs a ruffian three times bigger than him and twists his arm behind his back, knocks out another, swirls in the melee kicking with knees and elbows skillfully and ends up back to back with Arthur who smiles despite the sweat dripping down his face and continues to smash the rogues with the back-up of the young man who is clearly of a different kind than the rest of the customers.
Five minutes later, it's over.
The man who assaulted the fat lady is pinned to the ground by Gwaine who has hurled him down before he could stab Arthur.
- "Thank you, my friend", says the prince, holding out his hand.
- "Gwaine's the name, mate", snorts the young man getting up with a sassy smile that quickly turns into a grimace of pain.
- "He's hurt!" Merlin cries, rushing to him – and bumping his forehead against the edge of the counter when he stoops to pass under the board instead lifting it.
- "Ouch", sighs Arthur wearily, before monitoring his manservant who ties a cloth around the wound, and ordering someone to put the thug who started this mess in the stocks. People mutter, not quite sure who he thinks he is, but they obey.
When Arthur takes this air of authority, he always gets what he wants. Merlin calls it "his majestic voice."
When the tavern is about tidy - the prince himself helped to put back the tables on their feet – two peasants hoist Gwaine on Arthur's saddle and the prince leaves after promising the villagers Camelot will come to their help if they ever need it again ... He is incredibly cool when he drops that they have "his word, the word of the king's son" and Merlin would smirk if he was not so worried about the injured stranger.
Back at the castle, Gaius sews nicely the not too serious gash and Gwaine spends the night in the small bedroom. The old physician subjects him to interrogation the next day and learns he is the son of a knight from Caerleon's army. Gwaine begs him to conceal his identity, he would much rather be a vagabond and does not want to tie himself to land or master. There is bitterness in his jaunty voice, something resigned that Merlin does not understand. The manservant came back from Arthur's chambers all excited. Uther wants to thank Gwaine in person, but the man turns down the reward and simply enjoys the free lodging for the few days of his convalescence.
Arthur visits him, laughs and shoves shoulders with him, exchanges tales of brawls and girls, trying to convince him to stay. He sees in Gwaine the same loyal and courageous soul he found in Lancelot and really struggles to accept his new friend will be gone when he could stay and become a knight – which is forbidden to Lancelot.
Gaius would like his chambers to be back to a sanctuary of science and rare herbs, rather than being the extension to the tavern where Arthur can not go because of his status. The day before Gwaine's departure, the old physician sighs as he's putting blankets on the shoulders of the two men asleep, their tankards of mead still in hand, then he slips into bed, wondering where Merlin's gone when his master is here, completely drunk.
Arthur dreams of what his life could be if he was not the son of Uther Pendragon, if he didn't have to face every day the man who is responsible for the death of his mother, if he didn't need to stay away from people he feels at ease with, and in his heavy slumber, his lips are sadly pinched.
Meanwhile, Merlin has other worries. The king has two guests, knights the boy immediately put in his "creepy" category. Sir Oswald and Sir Ethan may have perfect manners among the Court, they behave like two hogs with the castle staff. Sir Ethan made Guinevere cry and wash her mouth ten times at the fountain and now she trembles like a leaf every time she hears his voice down corridor. Merlin's arms are aching from carrying the heavy trunks back and forth, he never got time to eat and his lower back burns, where Sir Oswald's whip scourged him when he was not fast enough to bring the man his armor.
The next morning, he is late to bring Arthur his breakfast and the prince, who has a hangover, acts quite shabbily with him. When he leaves the room with a tray of dirty dishes, tears well up in Merlin's eyes and he's clenching his jaws angrily when he bumps against Gwaine who's wandering the castle, snacking on an apple.
- "What's up, mate?" kindly asks the young man, peering at the manservant's dreary face.
- "Nothing", grunts Merlin, hiding the frustrated sparkle in his blue eyes under his long dark eyelashes.
- "Is it something the royal prat said?" Gwaine insists.
- "No", mutters the boy who runs off, not realizing that he limps a little.
In his anger when discovering his bath was tepid, not hot, Sir Ethan has thrown him against the door, this morning, and his hip hurts.
They're nobles, it's useless to complain, has repeated Guinevere last night, while brushing the soap-soaked tunics she was washing as if to crush them.
Merlin only comes to understand that Arthur really is a good master, even though he often pitches things at him.
Arthur has never thrown a knife at him.
Arthur makes fun of him when he's exhausted during the hunts, but he slows down his horse and calls for a break.
Arthur locks him under his armpit and knuckle-shampooes him sometimes, forces him to don a far too big armor for his thin frame and makes him hold the target when he practices the mace - which it's terrifying - but he has never hit him just to be mean.
Merlin is miserable and he does not know who to talk to.
Gaius seems annoyed and answers in monosyllables, immersed in his sorting of vials.
The Prince and Morgana are having lunch with the king, and Guinevere and George are serving them.
The lanky boy brings the tray to the kitchen, then he slides in a corner in between two columns in the courtyard, and buries his face in his folded arms.
Someone sits down next to him and an elbow settles on his shoulder, unceremoniously friendly.
- "What's the matter, mate?" Gwaine asks.
Merlin wipes the tears smearing his chin.
- "I'm fine", he says hoarsely.
Gwaine scratches his eyebrow, chewing on nothing, then he throws back his brown curls and his white teeth smile in his beard.
- "I reckon you're not", he says simply.
The ripple of the hooves of a horse entering the courtyard interrupts him.
- "MERLIN!" roars a roguish voice.
The gangly boy stands up immediately, his body tensing. Gwaine stays crouched behind the white column to observe the scene.
Sir Oswald dismounts and complains of who knows what, a boar or the bad weather. He grabbs Merlin's slender shoulder and shakes it so hard he could dislocate it. The young man frowns and gets up.
- "You all right, Merlin?" he inquires grimly.
The manservant's cobalt orbs beg him silently. Sir Oswald eyes Gwaine up and down scornfully, snorts disdainfully at his mended clothes.
- "Scram", he barks.
- "I'm not talking to you", says Gwaine in a threateningly composed voice.
He puts his hand on Merlin's shoulder and his look becomes icy when he feels the tremor that shakes the frail body of the boy.
- "I thought I told you to go to hell", utters Sir Oswald, angry and incredulous at the lack of attention payed to his orders.
- "Let's go, Merlin", says Gwaine, dragging away the manservant.
Sir Oswald shivers with ire and draws his sword out, earning a hiss of despise from Gwaine who turns back.
- "You'd attack a man from behind? So not only are you a swine, but also a coward."
The knight surges forward in front of Merlin's horrified gaze, but Gwaine loosely dodges the attack and chortles sarcastically, driving his opponent mad.
When Arthur and the other lords come out in the yard, a few moments later, Gwaine is presently teaching a lesson to Sir Oswald with his own whip that was rolled against his saddle.
The king is outraged and calls the guards who quickly separate the two men and force Gwaine to kneel on the cobbled ground. Merlin bits his lips in despair, entangling his hair with a helpless gesture. Arthur frowns and when Sir Oswald is done giving his version of the events, the prince intervenes before his father condemns Gwaine.
Surely, the young man who saved his life at the tavern deserves to be allowed to explain himself.
Gwaine acidly describes the scene he has just witnessed, and to Uther's surprise, Morgana steps forward to say her maid also suffered ill-treatment from the knight.
It is not enough to release Gwaine, however, because a commoner has no rights to hassle a noble in front of the law. Arthur wracks his brains to pull the hot-blooded fool out of this mess, but he is short of arguments and sees coming the moment when his father will banish Gwaine from Camelot at the very least, if he doesn't actually hang him.
This is when Gaius walks through the crowd at his slow pace, his long purple robes brushing the cobblestones with the dignity of a wise old man. Unmoved - and placidly ignoring the fulminating glances that throws Gwaine at him - he explains the man is of noble blood.
And everything suddenly changes.
The king relents, suggests Sir Oswald could clear the affront in a duel with swords, and the day ends with the sudden departure of the humiliated and furious knight.
Merlin is beaming, Arthur mumbles someone should have let him know his people were in troubles, Guinevere smolders Morgana with a grateful look and Gwaine shrugs. He crakes one last joke, flirts with the maidservant under the suddenly much less brotherly gaze of the prince, pats Merlin's shoulder with fondness, then picks up his bag and goes off, just like he had said he would.
Gaius gets back the usual quietness of his chambers and smiles like an old prophet, looking out the window at the figure of a generous tramp who disappears down the main street of Camelot.
Who knows, maybe one day Gwaine will return.
When Arthur will be king ...
A king worthy of the loyalty of a man who is still seeking his right place in this world.
TBC...
Now, this chapter was supposed to be only the first part of chapter 3. Somehow...well, something happened and there you go.
Anyways. Next chapter should be back to 'normal'.
In which Gwaine meets Lancelot, Percival joins the gang, Arthur and Merlin meet a man called Balinor and Morgana makes a decision.