Things That Merlin Isn't Allowed To Do (According to Prince Arthur)
21: Polish and/or Sharpen Swords in Public
Normally, the quartermaster isn't the kind of man who forgets about propriety, or stares blatantly: it just isn't proper. But...
But the door is wide open, anyone passing by in the corridor can see inside, and the servant boy is sitting cross-legged on the floor, sword in lap, a cloth in hand, carefully tending to the blade. The hand moves up and down gently yet firmly. The boy hums quietly; his face a pleased expression, delight shining in his eyes, and the quartermaster can't help but stare, his mouth suddenly dry and eyes wide. When the servant rubs carefully near the hilt, the quartermaster swallows. Hard.
And he can't take his eyes away - taking in the slightest detail of the scene, the servant's slight smile, the corners of his mouth (such lips! Beautiful and soft and wonderful to look at, he wonders how they'd feel to touch) quirked upwards; the boy moves his hand upwards again, running it along the whole length of the blade. Up, down, slowly, gently, firmly, almost lovingly and the quartermaster feels a sudden strong ... urge ... stirring someplace southward. He barely forces himself to stay still.
The servant doesn't notice the audience and the quartermaster (ashamed as he is to admit it) quite likes it that way - and when the interruption inevitably comes, he's severely disappointed. He jerks and lifts his head when there's a bang in the corridor, a door slamming open, and the quartermaster is spurred into motion, hurrying to walk past the armoury before the prince's servant can notice that he's been staring. Or that the man might have a hard problem left to deal with.
"Merlin!" a voice echoes through the corridor into the armoury, a man stepping over the threshold. "I've been looking all-over the plaa–"
The knight stops in midsentence, mouth open, footsteps halting.
"Leon?" The servant looks at him inquiringly. "You've been looking all-over...?"
"...A-all-over the place for you," the knight says thickly (no, that's not a waver in his voice!), laughing nervously, then coughing when Merlin looks even more bewildered. "I - uhm - wondered if you could help me?"
He coughs again. The words somehow come out far more...laced with undertones than he'd meant to. So he backtracks as quickly as possible. "I mean - my shield and my s-sword - I wonder if you've seen my shield and sword?" The knight bites his tongue. That didn't sound good at all! It sounded positively naughty!
"I seem to have lost them! Will you help me find them?"
Merlin just smiles, oblivious. "Of course I'll help!" He puts the prince's sword and the cloth away, both still glistening with oil, just like his hands, oh those lovely hands, and stands, using a nearby rag to try to get rid of the stubborn oil. But it won't come off completely, leaving the skin gleaming in the light from various candles and torches scattered about the room.
"I know my way around the armoury pretty well now," Merlin says as he walks across the room. "Arthur insists on sword-training and jousting so often, it's almost insane. I wonder if the prat ever find time or desire for anything else. And when he does it he's always so eager, it's almost unbearable!"
Oh heavens! sir Leon thinks, as the servant's words hits him and fills his head with images of the prince and Merlin jousting and other inappropriate things, and the knight glances again at the blade sitting waiting on the floor, just seconds ago being tended to by Merlin's careful hands.
Said servant has walked over to a stand in the corner full of swords. Merlin looks at the weapons closely, picks one up wrapping his hand around the handle, the grip steady and the other moves alongside the flat side of the blade, a smooth silky motion over the steel, as Merlin inspects the blade carefully.
Then, with "No, it's not this one." he puts it back in its place and picks up the second sword from the left. And does the same thing again. But, it's not this one either, so he moves on the next, and fainly Leon recognizes it as his own: the handle vaguely familiar. Merlin does the same with this one, his lips forming a brilliant smile and a look of pleasure comes over him of finally finding what he's looking for - Leon becomes slightly dizzy. (Although later he'll argue and say that it was only because the room was so hot. Uncomfortably so, it was a warm summer day after all. It had nothing to do with the servant. Or the sword. Or anything like that.)
Throat inexplicably dry, Leon feebly tries to remember what he's even doing here.
Still looking pleased and proud, Merlin walks back to the very still knight and presents the blade. "Here! It's this one. I recognize it, it's not as long as Arthur's but broader."
Oh sweet heavens, the knight thinks, vividly wondering if the boy is aware of his own words. It takes a couple of moments for Leon to regain his voice.
"... Th-thank you, Merlin."
The words are rather scratchy and high-pitched and squeaky, and he coughs again. A tiny voice in his head reminds him that he's not only come for the sword or to stare at the prince's very lovely manservant. No. No he didn't. Although the view isn't at all bad-
"... I ... uhm, shield..."
Merlin's eyes widen. "Right, the shield! I'll be right back."
He scrambles to the other side of the room, rummages through some stands and eyes the shields on the walls, until he spots the right one. "Aha!" He grabs it and tries to get it off its shelf, but it's stuck somehow so Merlin tugs firmly, the shield sliding down and into the manservant's arms. "Uff," Merlin grunts, "This is heavier than it looks like."
Would it be all right if I went to search for a private alcove now? Leon wonders, glancing at the door, eyes unwillingly falling on the prince's sword instead. Then he glances down at the blade in his hands. To his dismay he finds it's true: the prince's sword really is longer than his own.
"Err, Leon? Could you give me hand, please?"
Merlin's voice cuts through his thoughts, pulling him out of the gutter. "Right, of course!" The knight strides over and tales the rather heavy shield from the servant's arms. Rather lovely arms, he notes, the servant's sleeves rolled up to the elbows. The skin is smooth and pale, and the limbs long and graceful just like his hands …
"Leon? You okay?" Merlin asks concernedly. "You look a bit dazed."
"No ... no, I'm ... fine. Absolutely fine. Well I got to go! Training, err, footwork and sword techniques and all that! Have a nice day, Merlin!"
The servant says good day, but continues to look after Leon's back oddly as the knight hastily retreats. The man's behaviour reminds him of that of a man in fever. Maybe he should ask Gaius later. But first he needs to finish polishing Arthur's sword; the prat will be totally excruciating if it's not done in time.
()()()
"...Well, I knew all along," Gwaine is saying and takes another swing of ale. "Of course!"
"H-how?" Elyan stammers, unable to resist the curiousity gnawing at him.
"The sound tells everything, mate! Walking past the princess' chambers can give you lots of information on this kind of thing. I thought you were the kind of guy who knows everything about swords," Gwaine says with a wink.
The smith come knight bristles. "I do know everything about there is to know about a sword! Including how to properly tend to it!"
"I can't believe I decided to sit at the same table as you," Leon says, face red. He really shouldn't have mentioned his encounter with Merlin. No. He's not managed to take a single bite of his lunch yet. There's a risk of coughing and getting it lodged in his throat, thus suffocating himself, and it's not the way he wants to go to the history books: Sir Leon of Camelot, Honourable Knight, Killed By a Potato a Sunny Summer Day, Because of Sir Gwaine and Sir Elyan's Untimely Conversation Regarding Swords. Yeah, not the way he wants to be remembered, thanks.
"Your own fault, mate. I can't believe you wouldn't let me go and see Merlin polish Arthur's sword!" Gwaine says.
Leon retorts with a sharp glare. "You'd try to flirt with the boy and convince him to polish yours! It'd end up in disaster, with your head on the chopping block when Arthur finds you. Which he definitely would. There would be other missing body parts involved as well - and I would have to write the king a report!"
"So what? There's nothing wrong with a man wanting having his blade properly tended to now and then. 'Sides, mine's bigger than Arthur's."
"Excuse me," sir Gareth, who's been sitting quiet until now, says rather loudly, causing most of the people in the tavern to turn their heads in the knights' table's direction. "I've got to - to go back to training. Like, now."
Leon is quick to follow. He really needs to find some better company off the training court, or he might go mad.
"Really?" Elyan demands narrowing his eyes at Gwaine. "Is it really?"
"Yup. Just ask Merlin."
"WHAT? You've - with - with Merlin?" the smith and knight asks incredulously, his expression telling everything: Do you have a death wish? Because even though it's not officially announced (yet), Merlin is Arthur's property and lover and to indulge in anything with Merlin without Arthur's permission/knowledge or even with it, is like begging to be hanged/burned/banished. "Are you crazy? You've ... with MERLIN?"
Gwaine smirks. "Wouldn't you want to know..." With a mysterious glint in his eyes he stands, putting down the now empty cup on the table and calling the barman over so that he can pay for the drink. (Not mentioning he might have borrowed a couple of coins from Lancelot to do so - only a fool would drink away his own money!)
Elyan is left sitting there gaping like a fish.
()()()
"He's what?"
"I-I'm afraid it's true, sire."
"WHAT? NO! I WILL NOT ALLOW IT!"
Yeah. Gwaine clearly has a death wish.
Prince Arthur storms past the knight who has delivered this dreadful message (the knight quivering in his boots and the onlookers pitying him wholeheartedly) and down the corridor, and bursts into the armoury at full charge, yelling at the top of his lungs: "MERLIN! MERLIN!"
The boy looks up from his work like a startled hare with a squeak, dropping the cloth he's been using. "...Arthur?"
"WHERE THE HELL IS GWAINE!"
"I don't know, at his chamber or down the training field probably, but could you stop yelling please?"
"ARE YOU POLISHING HIS SWORD?"
"No..." Merlin says slowly, staring at the prince, confused. "Well, I did that last week, but I'm doing yours now, see?" He lifts the blade he's been tending to. "And I fixed your shield and your armour too," he adds proudly; he's running before schedule which the prince should he happy about. But he isn't for some strange reason. What's with the angry yelling and quick harsh breathing?
Has Gwaine beaten him during training again? Merlin wonders, remembering last time that happened. (It'd been an awful week; everyone, servant and knight and councilor alike, staying on their toes. Lots of goblets had been thrown around for no apparent reason.)
The prince manages to tune down his volume a bit. So that instead of the whole castle hearing him, just people in the nearby corridors can. "You're not polishing his sword? I mean - you haven't polished Gwaine's sword have you?"
"Arthur, you're not making any sense." Merlin points at the blade in his hands. "No, this is your sword."
Arthur growls something intangible about swords and knights and servants. "I don't mean that kind of sword! I meant his ... sword!"
"There are different kinds of swords?" Besides from slight differences in size and weight, all swords he's seen in Camelot look pretty much the same to Merlin.
But then it hits him. Square in the face, causing Merlin's breath to hitch.
Arthur thinks he's been ... polishing ... Gwaine's. Well. His. That kind of ... sword.
Oh.
"Oh."
"WHAT DO YOU MEAN, 'oh'? HAS THE MAN NO SHAME! HOW DARE HE, HOW THE HELL DARES HE TOUCH MY-"
"Arthur!" Merlin cries, cutting through the prince's tirade. "I haven't. Polished Gwaine's. Err, sword. That kind of...sword."
Air wheezes out of the prince's lungs, wide eyes fixing him on the spot: Merlin doesn't dare move. "You...you haven't?"
"I haven't!" Merlin says assuredly because the only sword he's ever, erhm, polished, that way, is Arthur's and surely the prince knows that. "I'd never do that to - anyone but you! Err. You know? Uhm, I thought you meant his ... sword. The metal one."
Arthur looks very pleased and relieved. Thank god. Thank god. At least Gwaine knows some boundaries - although Arthur is pretty sure he needs to reinforce those boundaries. Strongly and hastily. And maybe he should lock Merlin away in some high tower somewhere and let him be guarded by a dragon - he's got plenty of dragons around, it'd keep them busy.
But. Hang on.
"Wait, you've polished his sword? The metal one?"
"Yes, last week, I told you. I was tending to yours and he asked me if it was okay I did his too, and I said yes, and he gave me a couple of coins for it as well, for the trouble. But it was his metal sword! It was nothing like ... Like that. ..."
"..."
"..."
An awkward silence falls over them, and they avoid each other's gaze. It goes on for a couple of minutes. Merlin grabs Arthur's sword to finish working with it. His hand is not quite steady when he grabs the cloth, though.
"Err, well I should. Finish polishing your...sword."
"Yeah," Arthur agrees, "Yes, that's a good idea," he says and his mind suddenly spins into full motion, of coming up with pleasant, gleeful ways to spend the rest of his day (and night and following morning, day and night) alone with Merlin and a bottle of oil for sword polish.
()()()
Nobody is surprised when Gwaine gets completely thrashed by Prince Arthur at training. Or that there are extra guards put on duty so that said knight can't pass by the prince's chamber or the armoury any longer (or at least without an escort, such as Morgana when she's in a bad mood).
But they're a bit disappointed when from that day on Merlin does all polishing, sharpening and tending to the prince's sword in the prince's chamber, behind locked doors and covered windows. When given this rule, Merlin tries to form some kind of apology to Gwaine, Percival and some other knights with puppy-dog eyes, holding up a piece of parchment written and signed by Prince Prat. "Sorry, but I'm not allowed to sharpen your swords any longer. Read here, it states very clearly..."
Which is a very, very awkward conversation now when he's suddenly aware of in what angle the words can be interpreted, and even more awkward when the knights pout and Gwaine says, "It's a pity, you've got such skillful hands, Merlin."
(After which he's trashed by Arthur. Again. For the one hundred-and-eighty-fifth time, or something like that.)
Merlin thinks about taking a vacation. Someplace far off. In a peaceful valley village with a large green forest and a gentle brook, or something. Without castles or prats. Someplace where there are no swords. Swords in need of polishing, that is. Not that Arthur would ever let him; if he does, Arthur will be adamant of going with him and of course then there'd be sword polishing (of various kinds) and the prat won't let Merlin polish anyone else's sword, or anyone but Merlin polish Arthur's sword. Or his ... sword. Well, the original duty of sword polishing mentioned.
(Sword polishing is clearly overrated.)