The Tournament is in full swing, but trouble is brewing. So are Gaius's potions, so maybe avoid the Physician's Chambers for the moment. Don't want to lose an eye.

Hi y'all. I don't have any excuses for myself, but I do just want to say that this past year has been rough, and my focus wasn't on writing. I'm truly sorry it's taken me this long to update. I can't promise my life won't get crazy again, but I hope to continue updating this fic at least monthly.

Apart from that! Please enjoy the chapter! I'd love some feedback, part of the delay was over some anxiety at the quality. It's been a while!

❮❋❯❮❋❯❮❋❯

This part of the bluffs was not a training ground. At least, not officially.

The sun cast long shadows as it rose, dappling waves with golden light and framing the town below the castle in shade. Brilliant red flags streamed proudly from the parapets, and the castle's grey stones shone like silver in the light. Blades of grass and clumps of wildflowers waved in the gentle breeze, mixing with the smell of salt on the air. On mornings like this, Camelot could truly be called beautiful.

But all the beauty in the world could not distract Merlin from his irritation.

In all his years, Merlin had never been tasked with pretending as if he didn't know how to fight. As in, didn't even know how to hold a sword, had trouble keeping his helmet on right, couldn't even properly fasten a buckle on a piece of armor. He would be hard pressed to actually remember a time when he hadn't known how to do that. But here he was, panting, stumbling, twisting his ankles and hunching his shoulders in the name of the act.

Merlin didn't even know why he was out here, being beaten to a pulp by Arthur, stuffed inside this shabby armor. Didn't he have knights he could do this with? It was either an act of revenge for the marketplace or an attempt to teach Merlin how to fight, for whatever reason.

He highly suspected it was the former.

"Sword!" Arthur called, slashing at the mentioned weapon with as much brute force as he could muster.

"Shield!"

He bashed the shield.

"Sword!"

Again.

"Shield!"

And again.

"Sword!"

And again.

"Head!"

And—

"Head?" Merlin asked. His only reward was the sound of thunder and scraping metal as Arthur's sword connected with the top of his helmet.

"Come on, Merlin! You're not even trying." With that, Merlin got smacked on the ass with the flat of Arthur's sword. What was he, a mule?

"Once more!"

"Oh, no."

Merlin could barely see out the grate in the solid iron visor over his head— inefficient design, really— and as such it was much easier to fake his very slow, very clumsy reactions. How did they even fight with these buckets over their heads?

"Left!"

Arthur pressed him more now.

"Right! Left! Right!" Arthur's sword arm tilted to just a slightly higher angle. "Head!"

Merlin bit back a groan as he allowed the sword to connect with his helmet, again, this time striking a glancing blow above his ear. And he'd thought the noise was bad the first time. Times like this, he wished he'd erased elven hearing as well (and taste, what he wouldn't give to be able to ignore the rancid clumps of mystery meat he was sometimes served) when he'd done in his physique for this damned glamour.

"Pathetic, Merlin! How am I supposed to prepare for the tournament if you're acting like this?"

Merlin retreated a bit, trying to get his bearings again.

Arthur had no such sympathies, continuing to swing his sword at Merlin. He was skilled, but undisciplined. He swiped low, catching the edge of Merlin's shield and jarring his arm painfully (he was purposefully holding the shield's straps wrong, but it also gave him every chance of breaking his arm if Arthur hit too hard). Then sword, then shield again, then a haphazard swipe at his torso, then sword again, then—

Bang! Arthur's sword connected solidly with Merlin's helmet, not once but twice, and the ringing was almost enough to send him into a fury. He compromised, letting out a weak "ow" before toppling to the ground.

"I'm impressed!" Arthur's face swam as he stood over Merlin. "Most servants collapse after the first blow."

Ah, so this was hazing. How quaint.

"Are we done?" Merlin couldn't keep the impatience out of his voice.

"Oh, Merlin," Arthur grinned wickedly. "We've only just begun!"

❮❋❯

"Ow," Merlin said blankly.

Gaius didn't react.

"Ow."

Nothing.

"Ow."

"Oh, be quiet!" Gaius said. "Honestly, sometimes I think you just do this to annoy me." He continued pulling at Merlin's arm, easing the tensed muscles and sore joints of his shoulder.

It was true. Merlin had come to like getting a rise out of Gaius. Not that the physician really minded, if anything Merlin found him amused.

"I save Arthur's life and I get this? How is that fair?" Merlin made for idle conversation.

"I don't think fairness is really a factor here, Merlin. You never know, it might be fun."

"What, getting beaten up by Arthur when he's playing knight?" Had Gaius thought he was referring to the position as unfair?

"Being his manservant, I mean." There was a smile behind his words. "You could even learn a thing or two." Gaius moved Merlin's arm to an angle that was a bit less stretching muscles, a bit more arm lock. "Like respect!"

"Alright, alright!" Merlin laughed. "Then let go of me, or I might just disrespect you, old man."

"You're lucky I don't break your ungrateful arm," Gaius said. The threat fell a little flat, seeing as he released Merlin's arm in favor of returning to his workbench, hiding a grin as he went.

"Isn't that the opposite of what a physician does?" Merlin propped his leg up on the table and reached for the book he had been reading. A Bestiary of Magicke Monstrosities and the thinner Aulde Tales were gifts from Gaius, among other books which detailed the practice of magic. Those had at least confirmed that the Court Physician had once been a sorcerer, but it also brought up many more questions. Not that he would pry, for now.

"You should hear my list of duties, Gaius." Merlin opened to the page he had marked— a laughable description of vampires.

Gaius went on ignoring him, grinding up various herbs for a poultice.

"Do all manservants of the royal household muck out the stables?"

The only sounds from Gaius's worktable were the bubbling of a cauldron and the clink of mortar meeting pestle.

"I mean, you should see this list of duties he gave me," Merlin continued, undeterred. "I'm afraid to say, I hardly think I'll be able to run errands for you anymore. I'll hardly have time to sleep!"

"We all have our duties." Gaius poured a bit of mystery liquid into the cauldron. "Even Arthur."

Yes, Merlin knew all about that. The kings, the generals, those leaders who lived and died for their people, whose hereditary responsibility was scorned by some, unwisely worshipped by others. As if they had it any easier than the rest of them. After all, everyone bleeds in the end.

For once, Merlin didn't have any objections— he supposed that he could have said something about Arthur's glory and how unfair it all was— but he wouldn't. Not even for an act. He'd seen too many kings die for their people, un-glorious and tragic, to belittle their memories like that. His old commander might have laughed at the comment, though. The ghost of biting cold and a whistling wind echoed in his ears, a determined voice rose from his memory, unbidden.

Leave glory to those who need it.

Another noise, another whistle and a sudden snap! caught his attention, most definitely not originating from his wandering thoughts.

"Um, Gaius?" Merlin eyed the cauldron carefully.

"What now?"

"What exactly did you put in that potion?"

"It's a healing draught, not a potion!" They'd had that argument before. "And it was essence of magnolia, why?"

"Was it?"

"Are you calling me daft, boy? The bottle is right… here…"

Gaius picked up the now empty bottle of what had been labelled, along with drawn skull and crossbones, 'Basilisk Venom.'

"Oh." Gaius backed away from the now frothing cauldron, which was gurgling ominously, holding his medicinal book against his chest protectively.

"Oh?" Merlin exclaimed. "What do you mean, 'oh?'"

"Oh no!"

Gaius moved faster than Merlin had ever seen him, sprinting past Merlin and hunkering down behind a table. Merlin snatched up his books and followed suit not a moment too soon. The low gurgling of the mixture had risen in volume, snapping and popping in a threatening crescendo before a bang as loud as sword meeting shield resounded through the physician's quarters.

Merlin would never admit that he flinched when a glob of something hit his leg, and his hair, and his shirt. Gaius on the other hand did not so much as twitch.

Cautiously, Merlin peeked over the edge of the table.

The room looked like, put simply, a war zone. Oddly colored potion was splattered across every piece of furniture, still bubbling a bit, and the cauldron itself was cracked down the middle. There was a shard of it embedded in the floor.

Merlin was reminded, suddenly and unpleasantly, of a certain elf lord back home. When Elrond had been younger, in Lindon, his studies of the healing arts had too often been introduced to Merlin with a loud "watch this!" and a crazed look in the younger elf's eyes, before something was added to something else and produced some sort of awful explosion. The amount of fires he'd put out…

"You don't look surprised," Merlin muttered, glancing back at Gaius. "Exactly how often does this happen?"

"I suppose you'll find out. After you clean this mess up, that is." He carefully picked himself up off the floor, surveying the state of the room himself.

"Me? Why would I clean up after you?" Merlin followed him to his feet, but still stayed carefully away from most of the liquid (he'd wiped the most of it off him with his neckerchief, which was now sporting a few more holes than it used to). He did not want to find out what it did to skin with extended contact.

"Well, this is your fault."

"Mine?"

"You distracted me with your whining." There was a distinct twinkle in the physician's eyes now. "Here," he held out the mop to Merlin. "Get to work."

"Merlin, Prince Arthur requests your presence!" A guard called from the corridor.

"Hey, don't you dare leave y—"

Gaius was cut off by the slam of the door.

Merlin didn't think he'd ever been gladder for his new "master's" incessant orders and tasks.

❮❋❯

"Honestly, Merlin," Gwen sighed. "It's not that hard to memorize. It's not as if I'm trying to teach you how to read."

Frowning, she stood in front of him with her arms akimbo.

"I can read," Merlin groused, fumbling a strap again.

Gwen just shook her head.

"Silly of me. I should've known." She laughed a bit. "The scholarly manservant who can't even fasten a suit of armor."

"Hey, now—"

"Take it off! We'll do it one more time and if you mess it up on Arthur it's on your head."

Merlin grudgingly began to peel off the various layers of beaten armor Gwen had put on him to help him practice. Honestly, he had been planning on just acting incompetent in front of Arthur a couple times before 'getting it' finally, but she'd quickly offered to teach him how to do it properly when she learned of his… predicament.

Even someone as shameless as Merlin had to admit, it was a bit embarrassing to act as if he couldn't even fasten simple armor. Because compared to the elaborate armor Noldorin royalty wore, or even the simpler design of armor Erestor had always worn, this armor was little more than sheets of hammered metal with leather fastenings, laced to an undergarment.

"So how do you know so much about armor anyways?" Merlin wondered as Gwen showed him how to tie the fastenings of the pauldron for what had to be the fourth time. "I mean, I don't think most maids would be able to do all this."

"I'm the daughter of a blacksmith. I know pretty much everything there is to know about armor." She paused for a moment, looking down. "Which… is actually kind of sad."

"Oh, no!" Merlin said. "No, that's brilliant."

He certainly thought that was true. Some of the greatest warriors he'd ever known were women, and he could just imagine their faces if they were to visit Camelot and see that the fighting force completely excluded women. Glídan would throw a fit.

Gwen blushed. She quickly resumed her attempts at teaching Merlin about armor.

"Okay, right, so the hauberk goes here… and the pauldron here… and the gauntlets here… and the helmet—"

"I think I got that bit," Merlin joked.

"Yeah?" She laughed, tossing the helmet to him.

Merlin fumbled it impressively before plopping it over his head, purposefully a bit crooked.

"Do I look fighting fit?" He puffed up his chest and mimed drawing a sword, making fun of Arthur.

Gwen laughed, slapping his arm and proceeding to wrench the helmet off his head. "Just stick to putting the armor on others. You're sure you've got it?"

"Yes, yeah," he paused. "Er, do you think you could show me how to buckle this bit, on the arm?"

"Merlin, I've already shown you that one five times."

"I still don't understand it!"

Gwen made a noise of disgust. "Alright, but if you're late for the tourney…" she warned.

"Yes, yes I know! It'll be my fault!"

❮❋❯

"You do know the tournament starts today, right?" Arthur scowled.

Merlin fumbled another strap.

"Yes, sire."

The words didn't come out as respectful as they were meant to be. Oh well.

Merlin allowed himself to look down the hill, over the newly constructed arena and the crowds which filled it. Countless banners adorned its walls and flew above the competitors' tents. People milled about below, a dizzying mix of colors, people of all station gathered to watch the spectacle to come. Drums beat, stirring up feelings of battle, of victory and defeat. Of the tournament.

Merlin hated tournaments.

And although he knew Arthur to enjoy things like this, the prince's jaw was clenched and his eyes had gone unflatteringly squinty.

"Are you nervous?"

"I don't get nervous," Arthur ground out.

"Everyone gets nervous."

"Just, shut up!" A vein bulged on Arthur's forehead, and as Merlin watched his face reddened ever so slightly. Did he have some sort of medical condition?

Merlin bit back a laugh as he tightened the final fastening and reached for Arthur's cloak. Honestly, he understood that he had to fasten the armor, it wasn't like Arthur could put it all on himself, but was it really necessary for him to tie on Arthur's cloak, and not to mention hand him his helmet? How high maintenance can you get?

"Great, yeah." He stepped back to admire his awful work. "I think you're all set."

"Aren't you forgetting something?" Arthur was looking at Merlin as if he was an idiot.

Merlin was grateful, he'd been doing his best (worst). But he'd given Arthur everything, hadn't he? He'd even handed him his sad excuse for a helmet.

"My sword," Arthur supplied.

Seriously?

"What, don't your arms work?" Merlin taunted. "If you can't even pick up your own sword how are you going to fight in this tournament, then?"

Arthur, for once, seemed at a loss for words. Looking like an enraged fish, what with his bulging eyes and pursed lips, he stomped over to the weapons rack and violently yanked out his sword. Had Merlin been a bit more easily intimidated, the glare he received might have sent him packing. Since he wasn't, he only chuckled a bit once he was certain Arthur was out of earshot, before following him down to the arena.

Horns announced the entrance of the competitors, who came to stand proudly in line at the center of the arena. Merlin hung back, sitting on a low stone wall with a few other servants. Apparently, it was known to the staff as a good spot to watch the show.

Merlin tuned out Uther's speech— honor, glory through combat, a test of skill, and a load of the same drivel over and again. He just couldn't see the honor in fighting for fighting's sake.

"So who do you reckon is going to win?" He nudged the boy nearest him. Kelton, if he remembered correctly.

"Arthur," Kelton responded immediately. "He's won for as long as I can remember. Don't see why this year would be any different."

"Oh, sod off, you fish-lipped suck up!" A young maid settled beside Kelton. This particular maid happened to be Alice, the most foul-mouthed woman on staff apart from Miss Audrey.

"I think some of the other men have a fair fighting chance this time around. Haven't you heard the rumors?" She flipped her red curls over one shoulder in a way that may have seemed haughty on anyone of higher station, but for anyone who knew Alice it was simply an initiation of verbal warfare.

"Rumors?" Another maid, Margery, indulged her.

"Well, you see Knight Valiant, the one in yellow?" Alice's voice dropped to a stage whisper. "I heard that his sword—"

"Alice!" Margery shoved her friend's shoulder nearly hard enough to displace her from the wall.

"Fine, fine!" Alice laughed. "What I really heard is he's apparently gone undefeated in the realm. He's the talk of the town. Everyone thinks he's got the highest chance of beating Arthur." She elbowed Kelton. "Finally."

Kelton scowled fiercely, but kept his mouth wisely shut. Merlin tried and failed to smother his laughter.

"And good day to you too, Merlin. Where's my hello?"

"How could I say hello when you've left barely enough space for yourself to breathe?"

"I suppose you're right." She leaned back. "Say, how have you been settling into your position?"

"Not badly, actually. I—"

He was, however, cut off by Kelton, who was flapping his arms and attempting to shush everyone at once.

"Shut up, shut up, watch!"

All eyes turned to the arena as steel flashed against steel, and watch they did. Some closer than others, as the women seemed a bit more interested with the men and the men more interested in the weaponry. Merlin was watching for something different, though.

It was one thing to watch the knights train, to watch men who'd fought one another for likely as long as they could remember test each other with the same set of skills, the same repertoire. A tournament was entirely different. The knight in sky blue finery fought differently than the one in forest green, and the man from the South used entirely different footwork than the rest of them, wielding two swords instead of one and forgoing a shield.

Arthur quickly rose through the ranks, along with Valiant and the man from the South. Merlin had to admit that among his peers Arthur moved like an automation, with tampered skill and precision, with an engineered grace. But even still… perhaps it was Arthur's age, or his lack of experience, but Merlin could not shake the thought that Arthur simply didn't look born to fight. He had none of the grace of a natural warrior, of a killer.

Merlin was glad. A king who valued only a sword was no king at all.

Those thoughts shifted his attention to Uther, who watched the matches with a curled lip and eyes alight with a sort of barbaric glee.

"So, Alice," he got her attention in an attempt to take his mind off the king. "How's your job been?"

It certainly worked.

"Oh, you would not believe what I've got to put up with, Merlin!"

"Doubt it, I work for Arthur."

"No, no you don't understand. This visiting Lady wore a green dress."

"Everyone wears green," Kelton frowned. "I don't see why that's a problem."

"You don't understand…" Margery giggled.

"Light green," Alice explained.

"Alright, questionable," conceded Merlin.

"With an orange cloak."

Every servant within earshot gave a sympathetic groan of disgust.

"And she ripped it only yesterday, on a candelabra. A candelabra!" Alice threw her hands up. "She wants me to mend it— oh, but my honor won't allow me to mend such a horrendous piece of fabric!"

"Ask Gwen to do it."

"Burn it."

Kelton and Margery glared at each other across Alice, whose eyes were beginning to smolder with something troublesome.

"Please don't actually burn it," Merlin said.

Alice stood and turned towards the castle.

"Alice…"

"It'll look like an accident."

"Just sit down and watch the tourney." Merlin grabbed her wrist.

For a moment Alice nearly seemed as if she'd rip her arm away from him (likely taking his hand with her), but thankfully at a few soft words from Margery she sat down again.

"Oh look, Valiant's up against that bloke in blue, the one from the islands!"

That he was. To be honest, Merlin didn't think much of Valiant from what he'd seen. The man was steadfast and ruthless, but lacked any sense of subtlety. He probably wouldn't know the meaning of the word "art" if Merlin smacked him over the head with that gaudy portrait of Arthur, the one with all the hounds and the furs, much less be able to apply the word to the battlefield. Valiant was a good fighter, but not a great one.

To Merlin's displeasure, he won the match. Even from his spot at the low wall, he could see Valiant's face clearly as he pried off his helmet. That sneer did not sit well with Merlin— he'd seen the ghost of it before.

"I do believe that's the last match. I'd better be going." Merlin bode his fellow servants goodbye and made the short walk over to the competitors tents. His princeling wouldn't like to be kept waiting.

❮❋❯

"May I offer my congratulations on your victories today, Prince Arthur?" Valiant leveled Arthur with an unnerving stare, his lip still ticked up into that sneer. Was it permanent?

"Likewise." It seemed a sneer had inched its way up Arthur's face too. Eru, it was contagious.

"I hope to see you at the reception this evening." Valiant gave a low bow, almost mockingly, and thankfully left.

Merlin and Arthur stared after him.

"… Creep," Merlin said.

Arthur laughed, and then as if just then registering who had spoken quickly turned it into a cough.

"For tomorrow, you need to repair my shield, wash my tunic, clean my boots—" Arthur began walking away, and Merlin was forced to follow. "—sharpen my sword, and polish my armor!"

Merlin may have protested (after all, how much did Arthur expect a servant to do in a day? It wasn't like the prince hadn't already given his manservant a list of daily duties nearly as long as his arm), but Arthur simply turned, dumping all his sweaty, dented armor in Merlin's arms, and wandered off while Merlin caught his balance.

While Arthur may have proven himself to be worthy of the crown, given some work and extensive guidance, it seemed that did not stop him from being an ass.

❮❋❯

Given the task of tending to Arthur's abused sword and dented armor, Merlin couldn't help but to slip into his thoughts. Alone, sitting at his poor excuse for a desk and sharpening Arthur's sword under the light of the full moon, going through mindless motions almost simple as breathing after so many years, his mind wandered. For the most part, the subject stayed on things regarding the tournament. If nothing else, Merlin lived in the moment.

The armor and weaponry, for one, surprised Merlin. The quality of it was staggering. Or lack thereof. Wasn't Camelot one of the foremost kingdoms on the Eastern Coast? Then why was it that their shields were damaged every time they were struck by a sword, and their armor dented every time someone landed a half-decent hit? Merlin had stepped on Arthur's breastplate by accident and he'd been fearful it would snap. It wasn't even flexible like Elven armor— just one huge sheet of metal with less structural integrity than a Sindar's hand at metalwork (Merlin's seen that. Wood elves should stick with woodwork).

And Merlin understood that as one of the Eldar, and a Noldo no less, he was perhaps a bit spoiled. But, as he held up Arthur's sword in the half light, scrutinizing the simple design and the infuriating imperfections which he had yet to work out of the metal, he could not help but think that the state of their smithies was a bit pitiful. He desperately needed to get Arthur a better sword. One fit for a future king. Maybe… No, that would never work. Unless he—

"Merlin, supper is ready!" Gaius flung open the door to Merlin's chamber, looking to the cot first. Merlin watched as he twitched, then turned to look at Merlin, who barely spared him a glance before returning to sharpening the sword.

Gaius's gaze turned to the pile of armor at Merlin's feet, and then to the opened book beside him, forgotten in favor of a whetstone and steel.

"What?" Merlin finally asked. Just what was Gaius expecting?

"Nothing." The physician turned, then paused. "You haven't been using magic, have you?" His eyes narrowed.

"Wh— no, Gaius, I haven't?"

Gaius hummed a bit, eyeing Arthur's spotless cloak suspiciously. Didn't believe a kid who hated his job and looked every bit willing to take shortcuts? Merlin couldn't blame him. Had he not spent the better part of his life in an armory, he might have actually done so.

Even in spite of his doubts, Gaius left the room with a glance that said something along the lines of I'm watching you, or maybe stay out of trouble, for the love of God.

Merlin focused back on his whetstone, and the light of the moon.

"Merlin! Supper, now!" Gaius barked.

Merlin groaned. If it was another bowl of pale white broth and chunks of mushy herring, he was going to throw himself out the window.

❮❋❯

The Court Physician's chambers, much to Merlin's displeasure, were busy. Filled to the brim with too any injured knights from the tournament, coming and going and bothering to no end. Those men, at the very least, were able to walk away. Some, like the young knight who had caught a glancing blow to the neck from knight Valiant's hilt during their match today, were not so lucky. The young man in mint green livery had lain on the dust, crumpled, while the crowds roared, a rising din blanketing the narrow battleground and its casualties, ignorant of the still body, carried out of the arena on a stretcher, in the opposite direction of the infirmaries.

No one had watched the brave young man, none in the stands noted his passing. Merlin had, silently, from where he stood near Arthur's tent. The stretcher passed near him, cloth fallen away from the boy's head with the movement. He was given a full view of sightless brown eyes and a broken neck. Glory through combat indeed.

Yes, Merlin hated tournaments. The heap of dented armor in his arms didn't help the sentiment much, and he was quite sure that if this tournament were to last more than the three allotted days, he might just go mad.

Striding (stumbling, really) into his own small chambers, Merlin dumped the armor in disgust, fetching one of his books, and returned to the main chambers, fully intending to ignore all other responsibilities for at least an hour's time. He quickly noticed, however, that in his ire he'd ignored the room's other occupants.

"Is that Sir Ewen?" He asked, joining Gaius by the knight's bedside. "I thought he'd only been knocked unconscious earlier."

"I wish it were so." Gaius gently turned Ewen's head, exposing the side of his neck. "See that, there?" He pointed to two small puncture wounds, slightly inflamed but nearly invisible against the knight's olive skin.

"That looks like a… snake bite," Merlin said slowly. He crouched by Gaius, genuinely perplexed. "Could it just be a wound from a piece of armor?"

"And make a puncture like that? No chance." Gaius shook his head. "Besides, his symptoms are consistent with poisoning." He sighed "Slow pulse, fever, paralysis."

That was certainly true, but this injury had occurred in the tournament. Merlin had watched that match, there hadn't been snakes anywhere near the arena.

"But how…?"

"I don't know, Merlin." Gaius pinched the bridge of his nose.

"…Can you heal him?" That was the question. If he was healed, Ewen could answer their questions. But Merlin knew well that healing him was unlikely. The man was on the brink of death already.

"Well, if it is a snakebite I shall have to extract venom from the snake that bit him to make an antidote." Gaius returned to one of his workstations, poking and prodding at vials of medicine, roots and leaves that he knew wouldn't help his patient at all. Merlin watched as the lines on his aged face deepened, forehead creasing in worry. Helplessness, maybe.

"And if he doesn't get the antidote?"

"Then I am afraid there is nothing more I can do for him." Gaius finally produced a rag and pitcher of water from some unknown corner of his chambers, resorting to simply alleviating the knight's fever. "He'll die."

Blunt as always.

Gaius sat once more at Ewen's bedside, dabbing at his forehead.

"He was fighting knight Valiant," Merlin pointed out.

"Yes, but we can't know if he hadn't been bitten earlier, and succumbed to the poison later," Gaius replied absently. He sighed again, and simply laid the now dampened rag over Ewen's forehead.

"Now, didn't Arthur use you for a training dummy this morning?" He turned to Merlin, raising an eyebrow.

"I… we sparred…"

"If you call that a spar, then I am court jester."

Point taken. Although Merlin would have been content to never have to imagine that…

"Shirt off, now."

What else could Merlin do but comply? (Albeit with grumbling and a fair amount of childish reluctance.)

Gaius began to apply a thick paste to the cuts, scrapes, and bruises littering Merlin's back. He tried not to think too hard about what went into the slimy brown concoction, but it worked well enough to ease the surface wounds on his delicate skin. Maybe he should have made a glamour with more durable skin. It wouldn't have been too unbelievable for a boy raised in a farming village, after all…

"Bitten by a snake in the middle of a sword fight…" Merlin mused absently, wincing at the slight sting as Gaius treated one of the deeper lacerations. "Just how could that happen?"

He wasn't expecting an answer.

"Some men hide cards up their sleeves, others simply like tricks with more of a bite," an accented voice spoke from the door.

Merlin and Gaius both jumped, turning to see the foreign knight from the South standing in the doorway. The man was dressed in more casual attire, his dark braided hair distinguishing him from Camelot's usual denizens.

"What did you just say?" Merlin questioned. Did he know something?

"Ah, nothing, sorry."

The man's eyes darted to the side.

Lie.

"Well? Who are you? What do you want?" Gaius snapped, turning back to his work.

The man seemed taken aback.

"My name is Yazid. I, uh, need a wrap for my ankle?" The request came out more timid than was likely intended, but such was the case for most people when confronted with Gaius's patented Blank Stare of Doom™.

"Well, sit down then, and take off your shoe!" Gaius barked. Yazid did as he was told, gaze lingering for a moment on Merlin's bare chest. More specifically, the rings hung around his neck. Merlin wasn't so naive as to not see the recognition in the other man's face. Their eyes met briefly.

He had expected to see hate, ill intent, maybe even unease at the sight of his house's sign. After all, only enemies or allies knew the meaning of that crest— the former outnumbered the latter significantly— but instead he saw relief. Hope, even.

Yazid broke eye contact first, sitting down on a rickety stool. Gaius was left none the wiser to their wordless exchange as he fell upon an unprepared Yazid, poking and prodding at the obviously painful joint, if Yazid's involuntary twitches were any indication.

"It's only a strain of the tendon." Gaius stood abruptly and bustled away towards one of his many overcrowded tables, forcing both Merlin and Yazid to lean back.

Poor Yazid. He still had the look of a rabbit caught between a crossbow's sights.

"Is he always like this?" Yazid whispered, watching the physician mixing vials of liquids with a sort of terrified awe.

"Pretty much, yeah."

"Stay here." Gaius jabbed a finer at Merlin and Yazid in turn. "I need to get bandages, I won't be long."

There was definitely a warning somewhere in there. Maybe a threat.

The heavy door banged loudly as Gaius exited, awkward silence stifling in the close proximity— seating for the physician's chambers was limited, as always. Merlin may have been content to remain this way, avoiding speaking to the on-edge man, if this were a normal day in Camelot. If he'd had his damn shirt on.

"That wasn't nothing, what you said earlier."

Perhaps, if Yazid had walked in a few moments later and not seen Merlin's crest, maybe he would have clammed up further, refusing to speak and denying he said anything. Even if he tried doing that now, Merlin would not drop the issue— having someone in the know about him was a liability, a wild card. If Yazid did not reveal his hand now, well.

The man did not answer, still.

"If you have something to say, I suggest you do it now." Merlin prompted, watching Yazid from the corner of his eye. The other man tensed, openly facing him, and Merlin did him the courtesy of doing the same.

Uncertainty. Fear. And there it was, that little bit of hope.

"You bear a mark that I have… seen before." Yazid said haltingly, avoidant in a way that was encouraging. Smart man, but they'd see how smart.

"How so?" Merlin pushed.

Yazid hesitated, but held Merlin's gaze.

"Our kingdom was ruled by… an evil man, when I was a boy," he began. "There was a woman who stayed with our family, she had the same rings you do. She was involved in a coup. They overthrew the tyrant. I—" he stopped, searching Merlin's eyes before finally breaking eye contact. "She told me some."

Merlin's questioning eyebrow did the work for him.

"I… know you are not always who you seem, and any who carry the mark of the Crow are skilled in battle," Yazid elaborated.

"You're from the South, yes?" Merlin said at length.

Yazid nodded, a bit of confusion shining in his eyes. It was a rather redundant question.

"Did the woman tell you her name?"

"Glídan."

Merlin hummed, sitting back a bit. Of course Glídan would forgo her vow of secrecy for a sweet little boy, but he found he couldn't quite bring himself to fault her, this time.

"You're from Tekâr, then."

"Yes. How did you—"

"I have my ways," Merlin waved him off. "That's quite a thing to tell a perfect stranger though, how do you know I didn't steal the ring?"

"All of you are buried with your rings. No offense, but you don't strike me as the grave robbing type. Sir," he tacked on.

Rude. Merlin actually had, even if he'd rather forget that specific mission.

"Touché," he laughed. "But you still haven't explained what you said earlier."

"The snake that bit the poor man over there, it came from Valiant's shield. Like the painted creatures simply sprang into being." Yazid's hands clenched the fabric of his tunic.

"How did you see this?" Merlin asked. "No one else in the crowd saw anything."

"It was when Valiant had the man pinned to the ground, just before he struck the blow that ended the match. I was behind the stands, and I just happened to catch a glimpse through a gap in the arena's wall."

"Right place, right time?"

"Right angle, maybe," Yazid said. "Valiant knows what he is doing."

"But why would he?" Merlin mused, glancing back at Ewen. "He's already a strong fighter, why would he risk cheating, and with an enchanted shield no less? There's more risk than gain to that."

"Unless he intended to make sure a fighter stronger than himself went down, permanently." Yazid said grimly.

And who was the tournament's reigning champion? Prince Arthur.

Of course, just his luck.

"We need to stop him." Yazid stood suddenly. We?

"You have no loyalties here, why do you care?"

"It is wrong," the man from the south said with conviction. "I know your people stop things like these."

"We also use similar tactics, Yazid."

"I know but— you are the good ones, right? You maintain justice?"

"I like to think so."

"Then we need to—"

"Bandages!" Gaius shouted, entering as rapidly as he'd exited and effectively ending all conversation.

Gaius puttered around for another few minutes, wrapping Yazid's ankle with explicit instructions on how to care for it, giving him a mild tonic for the pain and sending him on his way.

"Meet me in the tavern, tonight," Merlin murmured as Yazid stood to leave.

The man from the south gave a slight nod, not pausing as he walked out the door.

❮❋❯

The thing most people tended to forget about castles was they weren't built with just the rulers in mind. They had pompous designs, surely, but there were always spaces for the workers, kitchens and sewing rooms and other places tailored for their work. For servants, these were the servant's corridors, and in a castle such as this they were treated as secrets of the highest value, with important corridors only revealed to who needed direct access to those rooms. That way, it meant that only a handful of trusted people knew how to navigate the corridors, and minimized the chance of an assassin using them to reach a room in secret.

As the crown prince's manservant, Merlin essentially had run of the place— an unneeded bonus. However, he still had to watch who saw him go where, if only to avoid Arthur's criminally long list of chores while he did some actual work.

So here he was, sneaking around the servant's corridors to do something he never thought he'd sneak around a servant's corridor for: not assassinating a target.

Would it be easier to just kill Valiant now? Most likely, yes, but it was riskier than Merlin would like to admit. He had time, and he would use that time to make sure he wouldn't blow his own cover. Had this happened later, maybe he would have gone ahead and offed the man, but he'd been in Camelot for less than a season, and he was still establishing a place among the staff, still an outsider gaining the trust of his peers. The weakest link, and the first to be held under suspicion if, say, he was seen anywhere near the area a respected knight was killed. Or even if he wasn't seen— the lack of an alibi could be deadly, even for the innocent.

So! The Valiant scumbag gets to live another day.

The cool stones are a welcome reprieve from his work out in the sun, the temperature only dropping as Merlin continued down narrow corridors.

❮❋❯

Merlin dropped into the empty seat beside Yazid like a stone, accepting the ale pushed his way wordlessly. He'd chosen a secluded corner, private. Not likely to be overheard.

"That bad?" The man asked tentatively.

"The bastard's smarter than he looks," Merlin grunted into his tankard.

There hadn't been a spot of evidence against the man in his rooms— no letters, no tools for magic, not even a hint of a hair out of place. It was infuriating. Even if a magical item was a purchase there was generally some trail to follow but, no. Nothing.

After that failure he had tried to double back and access the armory, maybe get a look at the shield in question himself, but who had caught him? Arthur! Who was still in a pissy mood, apparently, because the princeling had made Merlin to muck out the stables, not once, but twice over, citing incompetency.

He'd never get the smell out of his nose, at this rate, even though he'd already bathed before meeting Yazid. His hair was still wet.

"Yes, I don't think exposing him will be an option." Yazid laughed without humor. "King Uther loves Valiant, favors him greatly."

Merlin only nodded, staring idly at his ale while he sifted through possible solutions in his mind. Bad, worse, might work but he'd be executed if it went south, possible but too many variables, bad again…

"I… have an idea," Yazid offered.

Merlin turned to face the man, giving his full attention.

"I face Valiant tomorrow. Loathe as I am to admit it, while we are matched in skill, Valiant outmatches me in strength, and I fear he may attempt to kill me as he did that other knight." He paused, taking a breath. "Am I right in assuming you're skilled in combat?"

"Yes."

Where was Yazid taking this?

"Then what if you faced him, in my place? Fell him without blame like he has done others."

That was… harebrained. An odd idea Merlin had never even considered. But Yazid's fighting style was close to his, and Merlin had skill in dual-wielding. His armor completely obscured his face— in fact all his skin was covered.

Yazid looked on, hope and fear warring on his face at the lack of response as Merlin plotted.

It would be risky. It would be extremely dangerous. It was probably more idiotic than most things Merlin had done, which was no small feat.

A slow grin spread across Merlin's face.

He loved it.

"How poetic," Merlin chuckled. "I'm in."

❮❋❯❮❋❯❮❋❯

Next chapter will finish up events for the tournament and Valiant. After that, I'm not really following the show's plot anymore, but I will take an event from here and there and smush it in. Expect time skips!