Chapter 2: Count on Gwaine

"This isn't half bad, Merlin," Arthur said, surreptitiously tasting the stew. It was evening, and the trio was setting up camp for a night under the stars. Or rather, Merlin was setting up camp. Arthur and Gwaine ate their portions ravenously, while Merlin tended the campfire, laid the bed rolls, hauled water for the horses, and undertook anything else his royal arse demanded in the moment.

Gwaine broke apart a rock-hard loaf, and taking a piece, soaked it in the soup and stuffed it in his mouth. "My goz Moylin, you haf outduh yosef," he said and gulped down the bread. "Arthur, I insist you knight the lad here and now."

"Yeah, yeah," Merlin said, moving to rub down Arthur's horse. "Hope you're enjoying it, all cozy by the warm fire over there." He had to admit, the supper smelled divine; his stomach clenched in an all-too-familiar hunger.

"Seriously Merlin, what did you do differently this time? Use some sort of secret ingredient? Usually this tastes like how Gwaine's feet smell."

"Hey, my feet do not smell. Merlin, a little backup?"

"I can neither confirm nor deny," Merlin said gravely.

"Merlin!"

Arthur smirked. "See, even Merlin won't defend you, and he tends to defends criminals, Gwaine. Criminals."

Gwaine huffed. "I'll have you know I have been told that my cleanliness is above average."

Arthur looked incredulous. "By who?"

"Why, princesses and baronesses and other ladies of the court, of course." He cocked an eyebrow.

Arthur snorted as he reached for the remaining portion of soup. "That's about as believable as—"

"Wilddeoren," Merlin said matter-of-factly.

"What?" Arthur asked.

"The secret ingredient to this scrumptious stew is wilddeoren meat. Found a dead one while I was gathering firewood. Seemed like it was still good to use—not rotten all the way through." Merlin shrugged his shoulders and continued brushing the horse.

Arthur and Gwaine stared at him for a beat, finding the young servant dead serious. Then both of them sprung up as if possessed and spit out the contents of their mouths. Yelling out various combinations of Merlin's name and curses, they ran to the nearby creek to wash out their palates with cool water.

Merlin smiled. Humming cheerfully, he put down the brush and made his way to the fire. He helped himself to the rest of the meal, savoring each bite.

Both of the men returned, looking rather pale and disheveled. Upon seeing his manservant calmly eating, the royal rushed at him with murderous intent, only to be held back by Gwaine's strong arms.

Merlin serenely finished the last spoonful, handed the bowl to a wide-eyed Arthur, and made his way to his bedroll, where he promptly and soundly fell asleep.

"So where do we go from here?" Arthur asked, turning to Merlin. It was early, the dawn barely breaking, and they had finished packing up their supplies.

"Well from your scout's report, it seems that Odin has an idea of the location. We should follow him – they may have a head start, but he's moving slower with the thirty-odd men with him."

"Truly your intellect astounds me. Of course we need to follow him. The problem is, clotpole, we need to find the man in order to follow him."

"That's my word!" Merlin sputtered.

"You don't get to just possess words, Merlin."

"Gentlemen, gentlemen," Gwaine said smoothly as he threw an arm over each of their shoulders. "Count on good ol' Gwaine to have the perfect solution to our predicament."

Arthur and Merlin stared at each other, apprehension etched on their faces.

"Welcome, friends, and experience the wonder that is Eofham, home of tinkerers, barons, and the occasional pirate." Gwaine raised his arm in a grand sweeping gesture. They passed the gate of the walled city, nestled at the base of the west-most mountains of the Isgaard range. Located almost half-way between the coastal territories and Camelot, it served as a hub for merchants, traders, and traveling dignitaries.

They winded their way slowly amongst the busy market street, lined with wooden structures two to three stories high haphazardly overlapping one another, piecemeal stands occupied by peddling merchants, and the lilting sound of a pipe played by a street musician, rising above the incessant hum of the crowd.

Merlin quickened his horse's pace to catch up with Gwaine. "You know someone here that can help us?"

Gwaine threw him a sly grin. "You could say that."

He smiled back in wonder. 'You and your informants."

"Someone has to keep tabs on the latest kingdom gossip. And they're particularly useful on the movements of certain people—ones that it would be best not to encounter."

"Such as who?"

"Well you know, those that think—mistakenly mind you—I owe them money, or those that hired me for jobs that didn't exactly go to plan." He shrugged his shoulders. "Or my late father's men."

Merlin looked over at Gwaine, contemplating. "Does she know if you're even alive?"

Gwaine rode silently for a moment, eyes directed ahead on the crowd they were passing through, yet seeing nothing in particular. "Maybe, maybe not. Not sure it makes a difference anymore."

"Surely it does for her—"

"Most of all not for her."

"How can you know for sure? I mean, have you ever sent a word to her? Even something like, 'I'm not coming back but at least I'm still kicking.' Not knowing…is worst of all."

'You sound like you have a bit of an expertise here, mate," Gwaine said gently. "Merlin, my father's death broke her, and I was just a painful reminder of it every time she saw me. Trust me when I say it is better this way."

Merlin looked at him sadly, recognizing the finality in his voice.

Noting Merlin's slightly despondent face, Gwaine reached over and slapped his back. "Thanks Merlin," he said with a small smile.

"For what?"

"For being the only one to ever give a damn."

Finally, Gwaine halted them in front of a sign that read The Pied Stag.

"Behold! The solution to our problem!" Gwaine exclaimed, spreading his arms towards the tavern.

Arthur looked unimpressed. "We can't just drink our problems away, as much as you and Merlin would like to."

"Alas, this is not a trip of hedonistic delights," he said with great regret. "The tavern is home to all sorts of drunkards and vagabonds, yes, but it is also a verifiable gold mine of information and the witness of many underhanded deals." He grinned knowingly. "The fates of kingdoms are often decided in the most unpresuming of taverns."

Arthur lifted his hands in resignation and sighed. "Lead the way."

Gwaine and Arthur headed towards the door, while Merlin remained behind to secure their horses.

Inside, Gwaine and Arthur were instantly hit with a clatter of voices, and the stale air of unwashed bodies and alcohol. Gwaine led Arthur to an empty table, and said as they sat, "Watch and learn from the master."

As if summoned, the barmaid sauntered to their table. "What can I get fer ye gentlemen?"

Gwaine turned his head and flashed her a gleaming smile, all teeth and twinkling eyes. "Mary, my love, the sun itself would hide in shame to look upon your radiance."

Mary, the barmaid so prettily addressed, glared at him. "You have some nerve showin' yer mug round here. You best leave now ya hear? Before you cause any trouble."

"Love, I'm a changed man. The Gwaine you knew whose sole talent was to start—and win—tavern brawls no longer exists. Look," he said, pointing at Arthur, "I even have a steady job."

Mary squinted at Arthur suspiciously. "Out, before I get my boys to throw you out."

Gwaine raised his hands placatingly. "We just need a tidbit of information and we'll get out of your hair."

"Oh don't think I'm falling for that again. Do you know who is the one that has to clean up the messes you make each and every tim—" Mary stopped abruptly as a young man entered the tavern, lean and tall and with deliciously soft-looking raven hair. An unassuming Merlin walked to their table.

"Got the horses tied round back. Are we waiting for some…one…?" He trailed off as he finally noticed the heavy-lidded stare directed at him. He met her eyes, and Mary tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear and giggled.

Gwaine's mouth hung open, and he looked at Arthur in disbelief. "Are you seeing this?" he whispered.

Arthur nodded. "Oh trust me, I know…"

But Gwaine, if nothing else, was masterful at spotting an opportunity. "Merlin, lad, sit! You must be parched. You have been working yourself ragged lately."

"Thanks Gwaine—"

"Mary, would you get the lad a tankard of ale?"

"Anything for the handsome fella," Mary said, all thoughts of forcibly removing them from the tavern now forgotten.

Once she left, Gwaine moved in on Merlin. "Now listen here, Merlin. We need to get on Mary's good side—she's the one that can tell us about Odin."

"She's your informant?"

"That woman is perhaps the most well-informed person in the entire kingdom."

"Her?"

"Yes, and you'll need to butter her up, if you know what I mean."

"Butt-er her…up?"

"Yes, you know, lace your words with the sweet smoothness of honey. Let's see some of that ladykiller charm the maids are always swooning about."

"The maids say that?"

"Merlin, focus man! We need to know the route Odin is taking, and Mary is our best bet. And you're our best bet to get it out of Mary."

Mary returned and plopped the tankard in front of Merlin. "Need anythin' else there young man?" she asked, her lip curling suggestively.

Merlin gulped. "Yes, uh Marta…"

Gwaine kicked him under the table. "Mary!" he hissed under his breath.

"Ah Mary," Merlin said, "you're looking…physically well today." Arthur had to stop himself from snorting, and Gwaine wanted to groan from his friend's lack of basic courting principles, or hell, even the knowledge of how to be a normal human.

"Oh stop," Mary said, covering her giggles with her hand, as demure as a red-cheeked milkmaid. Knight and king looked at each other, aghast.

"H-how is your existence…on this fine day?" Merlin asked. Gwaine winced, wondering if this could get any worse, and Arthur was grinning like an idiot. Oh, he would never let Merlin forget this moment.

Mary's eyes widened. "How am I doing?"

"Yes, exactly what I mean," Merlin said, nodding his head vigorously. "I want to know how you are. I could listen to your timber-like voice…for minutes on end."

Mary seemed about ready to jump the poor servant's bones there and then. "No one has ever," she said, voice slightly breaking, "for all the years I worked in these bloody taverns, has ever, ever asked me how I am."

Arthur almost choked seeing Mary's lecherous expression aimed at Merlin. He mouthed, "Is this real?" to Gwaine, who leaned back with his hands behind his head, smirking and not a little proud of his boy.

Merlin shrugged his shoulder modestly, as if knowing the deepest desire of Mary's heart was a given.

"Tell ya what," Mary said. "The next round for you and yer boys is on the house, and I'll tell ya all about my day, hmm sugarplum?"

"I would love that, sweet fruit."

And with that Mary left, a skip to her step.

"Sweet fruit?" Arthur repeated. "You couldn't even think of a fruit?"

"What can I say, sire? When you got it, you got it."

While Arthur looked like he was questioning everything he ever knew, Gwaine ruffled Merlin's hair. "I knew you had it in you lad. Well done!"

Mary returned with a round of tankards and sat at their table, close enough for Merlin to feel her hearty breath down his neck.

"Mary," Merlin began, "I hear your vast amount of knowledge rivals even royal advisors."

"Oh I do love a man who notices a woman for more than her shapely form. Yes, I do hear quite a bit hear and there. What would you like to know, my pet?"

"There's been word that Odin and his men are after something…powerful. Have you heard anything about the route they're taking?"

Mary glared at Gwaine and Arthur. "I knew they were bad influences, and now they get ye involved in all sorts of trouble? Walk away, my dear. This isn't something for nice young men to get mixed up in."

"Please, Mary. We would all be in danger if we can't get to him on time."

"Don't I know it. Alright, I will tell you, but promise me you'll be careful. If one hair on his lovely head is harmed," she said, turning to Gwaine and Arthur, "I will personally hunt you down and serve you up for afternoon stew." Both of the men gulped.

Mary continued. "Odin and his men are heading northeast to the Valley of the Kings from the coastline of The Great Seas. Once they reach the river crossing near the valley, they plan to split the group off further to throw off any stragglers. But be careful ya hear? You will not be the only ones following Odin."

"We will be. Thank you, Mary."

"Anythin' for ye, lad," she said as she looked past Arthur's shoulders. Mary's face stilled, all stony business. "Don't look behind ye lads, but there is a table yonder with a group of men who haven't taken their eyes off ye since ye got here. Seven of them, fixed up nicely with fur and armor and ferocious lookin' mugs. Armed to the teeth too."

Gwaine and Arthur looked at each other, assessing. They could instinctively read one another after so many skirmishes together, and here they considered their current assets, using their battle acumen to determine their odds.

"No!" Mary hissed. "Not in my tavern! I am not cleaning that up again. And those are trained warriors if you couldn't tell, and you are outnumbered. Yer best bet is me. I will create a nice hubbub, you make a run fer it, ya hear me? You will run."

They nodded, agreeing reluctantly.

"Get ready," she whispered. Mary got up to get a tankard as the three followed her movements. She walked over to what looked to be the ring leader of the group, winking and smiling flirtatiously; Merlin couldn't help feeling a little betrayed.

Mary got a little too enthusiastic in her ministrations, and accidentally tipped the tankard onto the man, spilling ale all over his beard and the fur on his chest and shoulders.

With the group's attention occupied, the three men took this as their cue to leave.

"Oh! I'm so sorry! Clumsy me! Please let me help you clean that up," she said, dabbing uselessly at his chest.

The man growled and grabbed her wrist in a vice-like grip. "Please, e-excuse me," she started, but one of the men had shouted and pointed at the entrance.

The three men were near the door when the warriors sprung up and charged after them, readying their weapons: three with swords, two with battle axes, one with a dagger, and one with a bow.

This time, they didn't need any further encouraging when Mary screamed, "Run!" They bolted out the door for their lives, the warriors following right on their heels.