Chapter Forty-Five

"Is it different?" Arthur says, apropos of absolutely nothing at all, as they make their way up the stairs into the castle.

"Is what different?" Merlin asks absently, half his mind on his conversation with Kilgarrah and the remainder with Gwaine, trying to work out what to say to him, assuming he's willing to let Merlin say anything at all.

"Merlin," Arthur answers, like he thinks Merlin is being deliberately obtuse. He waves his hand vaguely, gesturing between Merlin and the tapestry hanging on the wall ahead of them, because apparently Arthur thinks that's meant to be more informative. "This," he continues, a circular, all-encompassing waft to go with it, and concludes, "When you're both men, I mean."

Merlin gawps at him, suddenly stationary, clueless, and more than a little horrified. "I'm not answering that," he says, because so far tonight he's used magic to knock unconscious his partner, had the resulting argument witnessed by his king and then interrupted by a dragon, listened to Gwaine talk about his first two years in Camelot from an entirely different and very uncomfortable perspective, and then had to prevent Gwaine from being incinerated. He's not finishing up the night by explaining to Arthur the mechanics of a relationship between two men. "I'm really not answering that."

Arthur looks equally horrified and really quite uncomfortable (Merlin chooses to believe it's the same kind of uncomfortable he feels at the thought of Arthur and Gwen doing anything more intimate than kissing – because they're his friends and he really doesn't want to know – rather than because Gwaine's a man and Arthur's show of acceptance is no more than a show). "I didn't mean that," he splutters, and even the guttering torch on the wall next to them is enough to illuminate the fierce red of his cheeks. "I meant" – he pauses, does that same utterly uninformative handwave that he did earlier, and continues in a way that suggests he thinks it's the most disgusting word ever – "emotionally."

It takes a moment for Merlin to realise he's still gaping at Arthur, another moment for him to think how dim witted he must look (No more than usual, he can almost hear Arthur say), and a third to actually do something about it. "I don't see why it would be," he answers uncertainly (after all, he has only slightly more experience with women than the absolutely no experience at all Arthur has with men, so neither of them is really in a position to make an accurate comparison).

"That's what I thought," Arthur agrees. "But then we walked past the hallway leading to your bedroom five minutes ago, so…"

"I don't think-" Merlin starts, then pauses, swallowing. "Gwaine doesn't want to see me, Arthur."

Arthur sends a deeply dismissive glance in his direction. "Don't be an idiot, Merlin," he says.

"It's a bit late for that," Merlin answers quietly. "Did you not hear what I did?"

Arthur stops walking, just stands there in the middle of the corridor frowning at Merlin; Merlin squirms under his scrutiny, even as he acknowledges he deserves a hell of a lot worse than an uncomfortable look and any harsh words Arthur may be about to say.

"I heard," is all Arthur says on the matter. "Even so, I also heard – and, for that matter, saw – him pick a fight with a dragon. Not because it tried to destroy our kingdom only a couple of years ago; not because it poses any kind of current threat to anyone. Gwaine stood there shouting at a creature capable of killing him in any number of ways as easily as you or I could squash a fly, and he did it because he didn't like how it spoke to you."

Merlin winces at the reminder, at the memory of Gwaine standing mere feet from Kilgarrah and telling him exactly what he thought of him and the terrible, fearful certainty that he wasn't going to be able to keep Gwaine safe.

"He could have died because of me," he says, barely more than a whisper. "I almost got him killed, Arthur."

Arthur shrugs and, looking like the sentimental gesture pains him a great deal, reaches out to pat Merlin's shoulder. "But you didn't," he says practically. "I'm not telling you what you did wasn't terrible, Merlin, but Gwaine spoke to the dragon exactly as he would anyone else, and when it got predictably pissed off and tried to kill him, Gwaine walked away. He didn't even look back – that's how sure he was that you would keep him alive."

That's a good thing, or so Arthur clearly thinks, but… It's not that simple, and just because Gwaine trusted Merlin to protect him in that moment, it doesn't mean he wants anything to do with him now that it's over, and,

"It doesn't mean he'll forgive me," Merlin finishes the thought aloud, though if he'd been hoping it would be enough to end this conversation, he'd be sorely disappointed; rather than dropping it, than letting Merlin drift back to his miserable silence, Arthur stops outside the door to his bedroom and gives him a very familiar gods, Merlin, you aren't half daft sometimes look.

"He won't if you don't try," he says, placing his hands on Merlin's shoulders and looking him dead in the eyes. "Gwaine loves you, Merlin, and if you don't do absolutely everything you can to prove you deserve it, you're even more of an idiot than I thought you were."

"But-"

"He picked a fight with a dragon for you," Arthur reiterates, too close and way too intense for comfort. "I fail to see how you can possibly think there's a but that would get close to negating that fact, but by all means, please, enlighten me."

Arthur waits there, his nose no more than a couple of inches from Merlin's, and it's as much that as it is the conviction in his voice that has Merlin nodding. "Okay, Arthur. I'll try."

Arthur beams, taking a step back and releasing Merlin's shoulders, though since he only does so in order to ruffle Merlin's hair that's rather more of a curse than a blessing.

"Good man," he says fondly, sort of surprisingly earnest, and it's almost enough to reassure Merlin that it's true, that he isn't yet the villain he so often feels he is. "Guinevere and I will see you both at breakfast in the morning."

I hope so, Merlin thinks. "Goodnight, Arthur."

"Goodnight, Merlin."

X

The candles are all out when Gwaine gets back, their room lit only by the still-glowing remains of a fire that doesn't do anywhere near enough to ward off the chill in the air.

Of course, there's a chance some of that chill is coming from Gwaine himself, as he looks at the shadowy silhouette hunched in the chair closest to the fire. Merlin stares back up at him, his feet on the seat cushion, arms wrapped around his legs and chin propped up on his knees; that much, Gwaine allows himself to absorb before dragging his eyes away, pushing the door closed behind him.

"Merlin," he says quietly, balancing on his left leg while he pulls at the laces of his other boot, wincing at the cold stone floor when he has to switch feet.

"Gwaine," Merlin answers, sounding small and so tremendously anxious that a part of Gwaine wants to reassure him (and, no, Gwaine is not at all pleased with that part of himself). "Is it okay that I'm here?"

"It's your room as well, Merlin," he says, though he's well aware that's neither a no nor a yes. It's true, and Gwaine's been calling it their room for months now (and even longer than that, if he counts all times he thought it but wasn't in a place to say it), but it in no way tells Merlin whether he wants him to stay or go.

No small part of that is the fact that Gwaine actually has no idea what he wants.

Merlin is still watching him, Gwaine knows that without looking, but he's just sloshed enough to not actually give a damn. If Merlin wants to sit there staring at him, that's fine, but if he wants to talk, he's going to have to be the one who starts it.

He doesn't, though, and so it's in complete silence that Gwaine plucks at the knot holding his sword belt in place, dumping the still sheathed blade atop his boots, and then shrugs his way out of his gambeson (not the most flattering or fragrant of garments, but it's warmer than nothing, more subtle than a huge cloak and, most importantly, it was to hand when he was rushing after Merlin).

He drops that and his shirt on the floor, the air cold against his skin for a moment before it heats a little, becoming the gentle, not quite warmth of an early spring afternoon. Gwaine doesn't say anything, acknowledging it only by his hands clenching into fists and wishing, almost certainly futilely, that Merlin could just learn to leave things well enough alone; he's expecting it to be chilly, was planning on going straight to bed as soon as he's done undressing, and yet Merlin still feels the need to meddle.

And, gods, Gwaine knows he means well, but for once, couldn't he just not.

Back still turned to Merlin, Gwaine slides out of the rest of his clothes, leaving them in a heap on the floor. He makes his way to the bed, ignoring the way he can feel Merlin's gaze following him around the room, the several sharp inhalations Merlin takes, like he's about to say something but changes his mind.

Not that Gwaine thinks ignoring him will work for all that long: Merlin always, always gets his own way.

Sure enough, barely seconds after Gwaine has pushed back the blankets and sat down he hears the creak of wood as Merlin unfolds himself, the soft thud of his feet on the stone floor, and a quiet word from the foot of the bed. "Gwaine…"

"I'm tired, Merlin," Gwaine answers, pulling the blankets up over his legs and lying down, eyes on the stars overhead. It's true, anyway; he may not be sleepy, but he is so, so tired. "I'm tired, I've had a drink, and I really don't see the point in talking about this."

"But I'm-"

"Sorry?" Gwaine interrupts. "I know you are, and I know you'll think you mean it when you promise not to do it again."

The ensuing silence has an edge of confusion to it, like Merlin has no idea what else to say, now that Gwaine has stolen his main line of argument from him.

"I do mean it," he manages eventually, hovering at Gwaine's feet, and okay, fine, clearly they are going to talk about this, so Gwaine is just going to have to resign himself to that fact; reluctantly, and just as exhausted as he was when Merlin helped him to their bed earlier in the evening, Gwaine sits up, propping his back against the headboard and meeting Merlin's gaze.

"I don't believe you, Merlin," he says, waiting a moment for that to sink in. He can see it when it does, see it the way Merlin recoils slightly, and he both hates and is glad of it; as unkind as he feels he's being, at least he knows Merlin is listening and taking him seriously. "If you thought it was the best way to protect someone you cared about, you'd do the exact same thing again."

Merlin stares at him, still, and the silence is more than a little uncomfortable, almost enough to have Gwaine breaking his resolution to make Merlin carry the conversation. Only almost, though, and Gwaine can wait until Merlin finds something to say.

"Do you want me to go?" Merlin asks eventually, and now he sounds not so much anxious as he does heartbroken, like he thinks Gwaine is going to say yes, leave.

"Only if you want to," he answers, then has to take pity on him, on the look of wretched indecision he's wearing, has to make sure they're both clear on what's going on here. "I don't forgive you, Merlin. I love you, and now that I've met the bastard I understand why you did it, but I'm not ready to forgive you just yet. I'm not telling you to go, but if you're going to stay, you need to accept that. Okay?"

The staring continues, though Gwaine is pretty sure he's endured it for long enough, and Merlin can make his decision just as easily regardless of whether Gwaine is sat gazing back at him or curled up under their blankets waiting for sleep to hit him.

Nodding more to himself than to Merlin, Gwaine lays back down again, turning his back on Merlin's side of the bed. He tugs the blankets up over his shoulder, closing his eyes and ignoring the sound of Merlin's uncertain shuffling as best he can.

"Okay," Merlin says, so very quietly. There's the faint whisper of cloth on cloth, though thanks to Merlin's sock-clad feet it's entirely lacking the accompaniment of footsteps either towards or away from the bed; Gwaine resists the urge to peek, if only because he doesn't want to fight the part of himself that would object if he had to watch Merlin walk away.

Eventually, he feels the mattress shift, followed by a gentle tug on the blankets as Merlin tries to extract enough to wrap himself in them as well.

"I am sorry," Merlin murmurs.

"I know, Merlin," Gwaine answers, still not rolling over to face him, but he does reach his arm back behind him, patting vaguely at Merlin's shoulder. It's not entirely comfortable, but then very little about the night has been, and when Merlin's fingers close around his, Gwaine decides he can live with that as well.

X

There's an unusual atmosphere hanging over the breakfast table when Gwen arrives with Arthur. It's not hostile, precisely, nor is it unbearably uncomfortable, but it is decidedly present, and not quite disguised by the way Montague, Elyan and Gareth seem to be taking it in turns to talk far too quickly and a tad too loudly.

In fact, all their slightly awkward attempt at carrying a conversation manages to do is draw attention to the fact that Gwaine and Merlin are both sat in absolute silence, the former frowning down at his highly unappetising looking porridge while the latter seems to think gnawing uncertainly on his bottom lip poses a better meal option.

"At least they're sitting next to each other," Arthur murmurs, looking down at her with a vague, don't mind me sort of smile. "I wasn't sure they would be," he continues, and Gwen vividly recalls him getting back last night, the slightly peculiar intensity with which he greeted her and the very emphatic way he'd announced his love for her.

She doesn't ask – it isn't her concern unless one of them chooses to talk to her about it and, much as she loves him, Arthur isn't necessarily the most reliable conveyor of information – and Arthur doesn't say anything more, just presses a kiss to the top of Gwen's head, his expression one of intense gratitude.

Gwen leads him over to the others, a blithe, unknowing smile on her face, and sets about persuading Gareth to move over far enough that she can sit at Merlin's left.

"You're here," Elyan says, interrupting himself mid-sentence the very moment Gwen and Arthur's bowls touch the table. "Does that mean we can find out what's going on now?"

"It might be nice if you gave us the opportunity to eat first," Gwen answers, doing her very best impression of their father's will the two of you just stop it voice.

"Merlin can tell us while you eat," Elyan answers, clearly not remotely bothered by her tone (though, to be fair, he never particularly listened to their father either). "He's been refusing to say anything until you showed up."

"Thank you, Merlin," Gwen says, smiling. "That was very considerate of you."

Merlin's answering smile isn't entirely genuine, but the effort is more than she was expecting. "I aim to please."

"Your cleaning would suggest otherwise," Arthur says. Like Merlin, his attempt at lightheartedness falls a little short of the mark, and after a moment of somewhat uncomfortable silence he moves the conversation on. "Still, you can cease waiting for us now."

Merlin nods, blinking a long, slow blink that Gwen suspects is intended to hide the golden glow of his eyes. "Okay," he says, his voice still quiet despite the spell he's just cast; Gwen feels very slightly claustrophobic as everyone leans in to hear him better. "Last night, Arthur and I went to speak to the Great Dragon. I've asked his advice before, and I thought maybe he'd know how to break the curse."

He pauses, and if it was anyone else or any other situation Gwen would suspect him of an overdramatic attempt to build suspense. It's Merlin, though, and the situation is critical enough that he's unlikely to be so flippant; it's more likely that he's just lost in thought, and Gwen nudges him gently with her elbow.

"Well?" she asks softly, because other than the overly intense I love you about all Arthur had said to her last night was Merlin hadn't told him what he'd found out.

Merlin blinks again, the distance in his eyes sharpening as he looks down at his bowl, spoon scraping through the remnants of his porridge. "He gave me a spell," he says, and the words would sound promising if it weren't for the way his brow wrinkles into a very troubled frown. "He thinks it should be enough to break the curse, but… I need to understand it first."

He's still looking down, so Gwen feels safe in glancing at the rest rest of the group, trying to establish if anyone has any idea what that means or if they're all just as confused as she is.

"For those of us who didn't spend our childhoods courting execution, do you want to explain what that means?" Arthur suggests, as tactful as ever.

"Erm," Merlin says, looking somewhat uncertain. It wouldn't be a good start, coming as it is from the closest thing their kingdom has to a magical expert, but for the fact that Gwen thinks his uncertainty is more a result of trying to explain it than because he doesn't actually know. "The spell from Kilgarrah should counteract Morgana's curse, but it's… Okay, so, even if two people cast the same spell, there's going to be differences in it. It's less obvious with the small stuff – my light spell is more or less identical to anyone else's – but with something like this, it's going to be a lot more obvious. The words and the gestures are the same, but this is big enough that thoughts and feelings and intentions will have a big impact. If I'm going to unpick it, I need to know where the knots are."

Gwen looks at the others again, trying to gauge their reactions to Merlin's explanation (lesson, maybe? That's how it feels, at least, and it's good, the idea that some day soon Merlin will be able to teach what he knows, and to find people to teach him what he doesn't).

"Okay," Lancelot says, apparently having followed Merlin's words a little better than the rest of them. "Do you know how to find them?"

"I need to check something with Gaius," Merlin answers. "I should have an answer by lunchtime, though."

There's something about his words, or maybe just his voice, but it makes Gwen more concerned than before, when he actually sounded unsure. "Do you need help with research still?" she asks.

Unsurprisingly, Merlin shakes his head. "I've got this," he says. "I know you've got other things to be doing, Gwen, and the rest of you have missed enough training helping me. Besides, it's just a couple of questions, not something I need help with."

He falls silent, smile not entirely convincing, and Gwen wonders if she should say something or if one of the others will, because clearly there's still something troubling him. Then again, he's already refused her first offer to help him, so he'll probably only do the same thing again; perhaps Arthur will have more luck, or Lancelot, given how much Merlin usually respects his opinion, and of course there's-

"Great," Gwaine says, scraping up the last of his porridge and slapping his hands down on the table as he stands up. "Training it is, then."

Or not, Gwen thinks, and wonders what the hell happened last night.

X

"Let me check I understand you, Merlin," Gaius says, though from his expression Merlin thinks he probably already understands and does not approve. "You want to put yourself in a trance state and spread your awareness over the entire kingdom in order to try locate the epicentre of Morgana's curse, and you're asking me whether I think it's a good idea to do so without an anchor to bring you back again?"

Merlin flinches under his gaze, so terrifyingly judgemental that meeting his eyes takes actual effort. "Not if you think it's a good idea." he starts.

"Good, because I don't, and it isn't."

"I," Merlin continues, firmly ignoring Gaius' interruption, "just want to know if it's possible."

"If it's poss- Well, yes, of course it's possible, Merlin," Gaius tells him. "But so is walking up to Uther and confessing to him all of the many and varied times you've broken his laws. That you can do something does not mean that you should do it, particularly when it will greatly decrease your chances of survival."

"Yes, but-"

"Merlin," Gaius interrupts, not loudly but very, very firmly. "There is no but. What you are suggesting is one of the stupidest, most ridiculous things I have ever heard. Not including myself, I can think of at least five people who would not hesitate for a moment before volunteering, and I can't even imagine how Gwaine would react if you were to tell him you're planning on leaping headfirst into danger and that you aren't going to let him do whatever he can to help ensure you survive it."

Merlin tries not to flinch – tries very hard not to react at all, actually – but judging by Gaius' frown he doesn't do too well. "I don't want to bother him," he says, as though that's likely to be a remotely convincing argument.

"And you don't think he'd want to be bothered?"

I think it's much too late to worry about that, Merlin doesn't say, because it's bad enough that Arthur knows and is judging him for what he did (not that Arthur's acting like he's judging him, but Merlin can't understand why he wouldn't be). He doesn't want to tell Gaius unless he absolutely has to, and even if Gwaine is hurt and angry and not really talking to him all that much, they're not actually over, which means Merlin doesn't need to tell anyone how badly he's screwed up this time.

"Okay," he says, because without explaining he can't argue against any of Gaius' perfectly reasonable reasons for him to ask someone to help him out. "Thank you for the advice."

Gaius frowns. "Merlin, that's not-"

"It's fine," Merlin interrupts, because that was too short, too abrupt and ungrateful, and Gaius doesn't deserve it. Merlin asked for his advice, and maybe he doesn't like the answer he got but it's not Gaius' fault he was hoping for something different. It's no one's fault but his own that he screwed up with Gwaine yesterday, screwed up so badly that he doesn't know if Gwaine will agree to help him with this, and as rubbish as that is, he can't go being a brat about it. "I'm sorry, Gaius. I'll talk to the others."

"Good lad," Gaius says, patting Merlin on the shoulder. "And in the unlikely event they all refuse to help you out, you will speak to me before doing anything foolish, won't you?"

Merlin nods, pastes a less than perfect smile on his face, and gets to work helping with the day's medicines.