A/N: Edited: 8/1/13.
If anyone had been there to notice, they would have seen the violent twitch that entangled Merlin's leg's within his blanket. And if Gaius had thought that his eyes had been moving erratically beneath his eyelids before, it was nothing to how they darted from side to side now. His brow was creased in a frown, sweat beaded on his forehead and he moaned and whimpered as the images began to assail him. Dreams that had been vague and ghostlike and normal slowly dissipated and his sleeping mind was tortured by moments from his life and all the more recent horrors began to unfold to his mind's eye. Little made sense; it was images, sensations, feelings, recollections all mixed in with memories and the impossible imaginings of sleep.
"Arthur..." he murmured, his hands grasping in the sheets and his whole body seemed to twitch. Then suddenly he lurched upright, his eyes wide and unseeing, burning a molten gold that filled them from edge to edge. His hands clenched in the sheets tightly and his teeth bit his lower lip harsh enough that blood welled and then dripped down his chin. He remained stationary, immovable and unaware and the nightmares built and built and seemed to gain clarity, focus...substance.
Why wouldn't she just shut up? Arthur wasn't even feigning interest now; he gazed indolently around the banquet hall, elbow resting on the table, his chin propped up in his hand. Uther was shooting disapproving glares at him, but Arthur remained unaffected. Enid hadn't even noticed his lack of attention, talking about this dress, that girl that she knew, how much she loved a ball...it was exhausting just listening to her - and her voice! Arthur shuddered involuntarily. Her voice was gratingly high and she was speaking with an affected childlike lilt. What she wanted to accomplish by doing so was beyond him. All he knew was that if he had to suffer her presence for one more night, he'd have to gag her with an apple. Arthur snorted his amusement as he thought of the boar they'd had last night, it's mouth stuffed in a likewise manner. If he squinted, he could almost see a resemblance between the two. Enid continued to prattle on regardless of Arthur's disinterest, her hand occasionally alighting on his arm as she made what she must have thought was an amusing comment. He spared her the occasional glance and an infrequent grunt while fantasising about tying her to her horse and sending it on its way to its home stable. He considered whether he could get away with it...probably.
Arthur huffed and blew his fringe from his eyes, the entree sat before him untasted. He wasn't feeling particularly hungry at any rate. He took a swig of wine, feeling it warm his insides and make the world a nice kind of fuzzy. So maybe he'd probably had a bit too much to drink already but he couldn't see how he'd manage to sit through dinner all the way sober.
Around him, servants bustled, removing the entree to make way for the first course that was carried in and laid down in such a fluid manner it resembled an intricate dance. He was half aware of the dish being placed before him - the hearty aroma of venison served with a red wine and wild mushroom sauce. It was one of his favourite dishes and the alluring smells managed to pique his appetite. The blood curdling scream trampled it.
Every head turned to the woman who had screamed, one hand to her face, the other pointing towards the middle of the hall, finger wavering in fright. All eyes turned and gasps and screams resounded around the room. Arthur felt his heart still in his chest a as a visage he'd never thought to see again appeared, flickered then reappeared further back, then jumped forward sometimes visible, sometimes not but the haunting song that had once put the entire court to sleep wove its way around the room, ineffective but still hauntingly familiar. The woman's form flickered between the beautiful Lady Helen to the old crone that had attempted to take his life. She stood before him, arm drawn back, dagger in her fist before she disappeared entirely. Arthur flinched as the ghostly imprint of the dagger for a moment flickered towards him before all sense of strangeness died away, leaving the court shaken and silent. Chests panted for breath and sobs of fear were muffled by handkerchief's held delicately to mouths. A hush of chatter slowly spread through the room, building to an excited din. Arthur chanced a glance at his father's face. It was as stony and unreadable as normal, but his eyes were wide and almost wild.
Among the whispers and conversation the word 'witchcraft' crept like a demon, weaving its way through the court and god forbid it reach his father. Arthur's shoulders stiffened in apprehension. A great roar interrupted his thoughts and his eyes darted back to the centre of the room and they widened as he recognised his own back. The flickering self-image was holding a flaming torch in one hand and his sword in the other. As the phantom-Arthur lurched forward with his sword the flame revealed the Afanc, something that had haunted his dreams for a week after the incident. Like before, the ghostly images flickered before the court, stuttered and sped through like an image from an intangible dream or a vivid nightmare.
Those few that weren't either frozen in terror or fascination were fleeing, pushing passed one another to get through the doors, tripping and trampling others in their haste to escape. Many still remained, transfixed; his father, for one, Arthur himself, Gaius, his mouth hanging slack and eyes disbelieving. Morgana was frozen to here chair, eyes wide and frantic, her expression of pure panic and confusion. Arthur could feel his entire body shaking and was in a way glad that everyone's attention was on the cavalcade of nightmare beasts and evil sorcerer's paraded in front of them all. His hand sat restlessly on the pommel of his sword, though here was no enemy that he could discern, only ones long defeated and only half remembered.
It seemed monster after monster, trial after trial was being re-inacted for the whole court to see; A knight and his mount ran the length of the hall, his lance glowing with blue flames to pierce the breast of the Griffin - something Arthur had not been conscious to witness in the first place. Sometimes he appeared in the misty scenes before them, sometimes not. Then the questing beast appeared, prowling the great halls, hissing and weaving its head in warning before it lurched forward and took down the phantom-Arthur, leaving him cold and lifeless on the floor.
Then even that faded and the hall rang with silence; stony cold, relieved and anxious silence. The sound of people shuffling, regaining seats permeated the room. The lack of illumination was in its own way more terrifying with the promise of new evils. Drinks were brought to lips in shaky hands and the soft disbelieving murmurs of the court filtered through the heavy layer of shock.
A loud clattering had Arthur turning to his father so fast the muscle tore in his neck and he winced, a hand coming up to rub at it. His father had stood, upending his goblet and he glared out fiercely at the court. His knights stepped forward at the ready. In an ominous deep tone he ordered them soundly. "Find me the perpetrator of this act. NOW!"
His voice roared and echoed throughout the hall. And the roar kept building to a crescendo, warping and then flames appeared, heading towards the royal family in a steady stream. Arthur leapt from his chair, bringing his hands up to shield his face, Morgana shrieked and Uther reared back, arm ready to block the fierce torrent of flames.
No heat, no boiling death came for them, only light, searing their eyes, turning their vision white but not before they all caught sight of the Great Dragon in its vindictive fury, belching flames like nothing Arthur had ever seen before. The flames didn't fall short, but they hit a solid, though invisible barrier and only the knowledge that the dragon was still underground kept the illusion from being mistaken as real.
As their vision began to clear, the candles in the room began to light. The electric and heady pressure in the room dissipated like a storm that had spent itself and everyone slowly climbed to their feet. Some to flee, some to regain their seats. Uther raised himself to his full height, his face as stern as usual and wordlessly left the hall. Arthur could only guess that it was to go see the dragon as it could have only been the great beast that was capable of doing such a thing.
Doubt niggled at his mind, though. Most of the scenes that had coalesced before them had contained or had happened around or to him and some of the things he'd not even been conscious to witness the outcome. Even now it was hard to piece together all the things that he'd just watched. Like any nightmare it's memory was fading, even if the initial terror persisted. Arthur drew a long, calming breath before silently turning and leaving. He was the last one out, the others having left while Arthur had been trying to identify the feeling clawing up his spine.
The doors were drawn behind him by the guards that stood in the hall. His footsteps faded off into the distance and despite their duty, the guards abandoned their post for the guard house the moment he'd left the hall. Not even the threat of the stocks was enough to keep them guarding the accursed great hall.
So really, it was a shame that nothing had further delayed Arthur but in the same breath was fortuitous because, sitting near the fireplace with a line of boots beside him was a flickering incandescent shade, one boot clasped in his hand, a scrubbing brush in the other. the figure looked at the trail of boots a moment, his hand stilling at his task, before he returned to it with more vigour.
Something made him look up, though, look to the left and another figure appeared, flickered and moved, was now sitting beside him. They were talking, sometimes they smiled, sometimes they looked like they were about to laugh, then the one was then gripping the other around the neck and harshly running his knuckles through the hair of the other boy, his mouth moving silently as the other struggled against his grip, his lips moving soundlessly in protest. The blond released the brunette and settled in beside him a moment. Then he was leaving and the boy with the boot was sitting alone, though a smile lingered on his lips. And then he was gone.
Elsewhere in the town, the same brown-haired boy rolled on to his side, the small frown that creased his brow slowly easing. His hands uncurled from their white-knuckled grip on his sheets and his breathing slowed. The air outside was calm, the entire town muted. People walked softly, carefully, quietly; soft smiles and light hearts carrying them to their homes. It should have been eerie, it should have been strange however, for that moment it seemed the world itself had pressed a finger to its lips and even the bell-ringers remained silent that night.
Despite the chaos of the day...the night...was peaceful.
"...Merlin...What...? W-what are you- what in heaven's name... MERLIN!"
"eugh...Yes, what?"
"What are you doing here!"
"...I would have thought that was obvious," Merlin replied, voice thick with sleep before snuggling back into his soft pillow. Funny, since his was little more than a small lumpy sack, lined with bundles of rag-end fabric. Not to mention feeling so atypically warm, the blankets luxurious against his skin. Every part of him was warm, not a toe nor ear feeling the affects of the approaching season and he felt so blessedly rested and calm that he could hardly bring himself to pay that other voice any heed.
"Merlin..." That bloody prince. Couldn't he even have one moment to himself?
"Merlin, if you don't wake up this second I'm fetching the guards and having you thrown in the stocks." The stocks. Merlin had nightmares about being put there. Dreams of mouldy cabbage and frost hardened potatoes and those rotten, fetid tomatoes. With a weary groan Merlin pulled himself up, the heel of his hind rubbing at sleep-encrusted eyes. Slowly he opened them, blinking away the fuzziness. His room was dark, which was weird. Even though his window was only small it always captured the full morning sun, disturbing his sleep on those precious few days he was allowed to sleep in past dawn. His gaze fell to his hand which was lying limp against the sheets. The royal burgundy, velvet and silk lined sheets.
These are not my sheets.
"So...care to explain?" The cold sense of dread that had been building in Merlin's gut was like a solid, sinking weight. Merlin flinched at Arthur's voice and turned to look at him cautiously.
He was in his night shirt, hair mussed and sticking out in odd directions, strongly reminding Merlin of a sleep-addled toddler. The thing was, he was lying next to Merlin, propped up by his left arm, the right draped regally over his hip, his eyebrow raised in silent question as a grin tugged at the corner of his mouth. Oh, bollocks.
At least he looked amused. Of course, having been his manservant for over a year now Merlin had learnt to be just as wary of his smile as he was of his scowl. Merlin could feel his mouth gaping, like a fish gasping for air, his eyes wide with a mixture of surprise and dread.
"Um...I...I..."
"Really, Merlin, I didn't know you felt that way about me," Arthur sneered, though he couldn't hide the incredulity in his gaze. Merlin yelped and tumbled out of the bed, landing in a heap on the floor in his haste. He regained his footing immediately, shooting up like a spring and continued to stare openly at Arthur's bemused expression. "I know, I know I'm hard to resist but you'll just have to try, Merlin."
"Oh don't flatter yourself!" Merlin snapped back. "I must have been...sleepwalking or something..." The excuse sounded weak even to him, but there couldn't be any other explanation.
Arthur snorted indelicately before sliding from his bed, pushing aside the curtains before stretching his back muscles out, arms raised towards the ceiling. He groaned in appreciation as his spine clicked several times then rolled his neck and shoulders. Merlin watched him for a moment before automatically straightening the bed sheets beside him.
"What do you think you're doing?" Arthur asked tersely.
"Er...making the bed?"
"I gave you strict instructions, Merlin. Three days rest, not one or two." Merlin's hands stilled at Arthur's words and he straightened, turning to the Prince guardedly.
"Yes, I know, I- wait, what...does that mean I've been asleep an entire day?" Merlin asked, dumbstruck.
"I'm guessing so, I didn't see you at all yesterday, thank God," Arthur replied absently as he moved to his wardrobe and began eyeing off what clothes to wear. No wonder Merlin was feeling so well rested. Though normally if he slept more than eight hours he'd become groggy and overtired...he must have really needed that sleep.
Well, orders were orders. Merlin abandoned the sheets and sat at the end of the bed, choosing instead to watch his master perform tasks that he normally relegated to him. It both equally offended and amused him that Arthur was clearly capable of finding his own clothes and dressing himself, even if he still couldn't manage to put the dirty clothes he discarded into the hamper provided. It made him wonder what other useless tasks he had Merlin perform, just because he could.
Merlin was almost positive that he wasn't needed to muck out stables or walk his dogs. There was a whole fleet of ostlers, grooms, stable- and kennel hands, not to mention dedicated servants attached to the armory who would probably do a much better job of maintaining his armor and weapons. Besides, that's what a squire was for. Merlin had no inclination to becoming a warrior and he certainly wasn't in training to be a knight. He was a manservant, something that Arthur took great pleasure in reminding him on a daily, sometimes hourly basis.
He couldn't have had it any other way. Being his manservant and doing all those chores (that he needn't really be doing) kept him close to Arthur; made him a useful asset for the Prince to have. If Arthur were to take on a squire, Merlin could imagine that their relationship would only suffer for it, since he'd end up taking the squire hunting, with him on his jaunts or serving his wine at banquets and Lord knows that Arthur was a magnet for trouble. It was essential for Merlin to stay where he was; Arthur would be dead ten times over without him. He shook his head wryly at the thought. It was silly, really. Arthur had been looking after himself a long time before Merlin showed up. He couldn't imagine how the Prince would have escaped any magical attacks prior to his arrival but it had to be so...unless...
"So...anything interesting happen while I was asleep?" Merlin enquired, settling a curious smile on his face. Arthur looked up from where he was lacing his boots and shrugged.
"Nothing much. Though my father did join in for the hunt yesterday."
"Really? That's a bit out of character, isn't it?"
"Hmph. You haven't had a chance to speak with Lord Vortigern or his daughter, I take it."
"Ah. No, not Vortigern but his daughter is completely obnoxious."
"That's putting it mildly. You didn't have to sit with her at dinner for four nights running, now did you?"
"Not my fault I'm just a mere servant," Merlin replied with a grin and a shrug. Sometimes he was glad of his status, if it meant only having to deal with one noble full-time and not having to pander up to the lot of them, then that was fine with him. Usually the nobility ignored his presence unless he had a wine pitcher in his hand; frankly it was amazing how much the servants were privy to. It seemed that they were so below the attentions of their masters' that many secrets were told within their hearing distance. If Merlin ever planned to infiltrate a castle as a spy, all he'd need was a subservient attitude and something to carry and he'd probably be able to make it past most security. After all, the stupidity of the ruling class could not possibly be isolated to Camelot alone. Merlin chewed at his lip worriedly. "So...nothing out of the ordinary happen?"
"Well, there was this thing that happened in the Great Hall last night. It was chilling..." Arthur's voice petered off and his eyes grew distant. "It was strange, like watching someone's memory come to life. Memories or illusions...Do you remember that witch that stole Lady Helen's face? And the questing beast, the griffin...It was like I was seeing my own memories but from different eyes."
Merlin's heart stilled in his chest. He hadn't been expecting to hear anything like that at all and it sounded suspiciously like a nightmare that he'd been having last night.
"Father seems to think that it was the Dragon that was responsible. He's posted more guards at the entrance but I don't honestly know why he bothers; no one in their right mind would go down there, unless they want to get burnt to a cinder."
"Oh, so that's it? Hasn't it been a bit...quiet of late?"
"Merlin what's with all the questions?" Merlin shrugged wordlessly, absently fiddling at a tear in the knee of his trousers. Arthur stared at him for a moment, waiting for a better response then sighed. He threw himself back into his chair and folded his arms comfortably over his stomach, legs stretched out in front of him. "It's not been quiet, we've had 80 noble families come to Camelot for the winter this last week alone, not to mention the farmers and serfs bringing in grain and produce for the storehouses and hunts every other day to fill the cold-room. Every one of those 80 families with daughters have been clamouring about their virtues and shuttling them in front of me at every turn and the Lords' sons are bickering and challenging one another to duels and continue to disrupt the knights' training by attempting to kill each other on our practice grounds. Nothing much has changed in that one day while you were sleeping, you lucky sod."
"Well...I meant, lately, in the last week or so...nothing...strange...or magical has happened, has it?"
"I...well, no, now that you mention it. Not really. Perhaps even sorcerers need to prepare for winter and have better things to do with their time..."
Merlin stopped listening at that point. What if...the reason that sorcerers and magical beasts seemed to find Arthur with such ease was because of him? What if he was the one drawing in all these beings of the old religion, as if his magic was triggering some sort of...innate reaction...it was unlikely but it wasn't impossible. Normally they couldn't go a week without some kind of incident. It wasn't always Sorcerers or dangerous beasts. There had been that occasion with the water nymphs and wood sprites. Not to mention the run-in they'd had with a red-cap that had taken to haunting an abandoned, crumbling guard tower that stood on the outskirts of one of the outlying villages. Even the brownies, boggarts, water horses, imps and fairies had been quite absent since Merlin had stopped using his magic.
"...lin...Merlin!" Startled from his daze Merlin looked up to find the prince looming over him, his brow creased in most likely irritation. "Don't you have something better to do? Like maybe take a bath?" Arthur's nose wrinkled in mock-disgust. Merlin looked down at himself and lifted his shirt, sniffing at his skin. He rolled his eyes. He didn't smell that bad. So maybe he hadn't changed his clothes in two days, at least he'd been clean when he'd gone to bed initially.
"Fine, since it offends you so much. Is there anything I can do before I go?"
"Ye- ah, no. Remember, you're on break and I needn't remind you of the penalty if I find out you're still doing chores."
"But I'm really alright now. I'm fine!"
"I'll be the judge of that. Now go, before I change my mind. There are always stables to muck out and floors to wash."
With that threat, Merlin dashed from the room, feeling uncommonly cheerful. He headed back to his and Gaius' chambers at a run, managing somehow to avoid any collisions or uneven paving stones as he ran.
Merlin pushed open the door, entered Gaius' workroom and stopped. It wasn't really that noticeable, but having lived there for so long and knowing the strict placement that Gaius kept his tools in, it was instantly obvious that things weren't as they should be. Several jars that had contained herbs were missing from their space on the shelves and the glass tubes, beakers and bottles...were...well, twisted, deformed. In the corner by the fireplace a bucket full of broken crockery sat, looking forlorn. Though the floor did appear to be cleaner than normal and the sheafs of paper that always seemed to end up strewn about the table were in neat stacks, weighed down by books and polished stones.
He heard the stumbling footsteps well before he saw Gaius appear from his room, his face marred with worry. As he caught sight of Merlin, the old man stopped, took a deep steadying breath and held a hand to his chest.
"Oh mercy be! Merlin, where have you been!" Gaius snapped, his relief quickly turning to frustration.
"Er...well, you're not going to believe this. I woke up this morning in Arthur's room."
"Ah..."
"In his bed."
"What?!"
"I know! I was startled badly by that myself."
"Merlin...How?"
"I don't know! I was asleep! I don't remember moving at all!" Merlin ran a hand through his hair. He hadn't really let himself consider the hows or whys of what happened. He'd firmly tried to forget that it had even occurred at all but now all his doubts and fears and embarrassment resurfaced and he could feel himself go red all the way to the tips of his ears. "The worst part was having Arthur be so nonchalant about it. He can be such a prat sometimes. I'm never going to live this down."
"...Arthur was there?" Gaius murmured weakly. He moved over to the table and collapsed onto the seat with a weary groan. "Merlin...you are going to be the death me."
Merlin said nothing and stood for a long drawn out moment with his eyes downcast, waiting for the lecture. None was forthcoming. He chanced a look at his mentor; Gaius had his elbow propped against the table, his chin resting against the heel of his palm. He looked tired, wrung-out and Merlin was at a loss to explain it. He hadn't looked that poorly the night before last. The silence stretched out and Merlin eventually left for his room, his mood taking a sudden downturn.
He gathered his clothes into a pile, including a rag to dry off on as well as a small bar of soap then turned back the way he'd come, striding through the workshop at an even pace.
"Merlin, where are you going?" Gaius asked as Merlin strode across the room. He was still sitting slumped by his workbench, but his expression was affectionate, if tired. Merlin paused with his hand on the door knob, ready to respond.
"The bathhouse," he replied. Gaius shook his head in exasperation and waved him on. After a parting grin Merlin continued on his way, his thoughts occupied by that morning's events. He was so distracted that he almost walked past the bathhouse in a daze. Merlin back-tracked to the door and took a surreptitious glance down the empty hall. Strictly speaking, he wasn't necessarily allowed to use the bathing facilities, since it was meant for the visiting guests, knights, as well as the Lords and Ladies that called Camelot their home. Servants didn't have their own bathing house and few had access to their own bathtub, often sharing the same wooden tub with up to ten different people. Mostly, the serving class made do with a small basin in their room and a wash cloth. But nothing could really take the place of a good, hot soak. It was common knowledge among the household that at this time of day it was rare to see another soul in the bathhouse, especially this close to Winter, which the servants occasionally took advantage of.
Merlin pushed through the door and headed to the men's room. He peered around the corner to make certain there was no one currently inside and slipped in, exhaling loudly. He hadn't even realised that he'd been holding his breath till that moment. Merlin took a moment to look about; benches ran the length of the room and towards the rear was a large, deep pool for communal bathing. It could have easily fit over twenty people comfortably and more if you didn't mind the intimacy. Torches were lit around the perimeter of the room, lending a dim wavering light to the air, illuminating the marble- and stone-work, gilding the wooden benches like gold and catching in the steam that permeated the room. Closer to the door there were separate baths, currently dry and empty of water.
The Bathhouse was a relatively recent addition to the castle, modeled after the roman bathhouses that had become fashionable all over Europe though had been designed with the English weather in mind. It wasn't open-air or particularly well-lit and was hidden within the confines of the castle, kept away from drafty airways. The baths were heated by boilers that were kept lit throughout the day, maintained by convicts working off their sentences one floor below. It was all tiled in white ceramic and the openness of the room was somewhat daunting for someone like Merlin who, though he'd shared washing water with others before, had never been exposed to the idea of so many men bathing together at once for pleasure and not out of necessity. This was also the first time Merlin had ever ventured inside the bathhouse. Arthur preferred to wash in his room; Merlin had a sneaking suspicion that it was because Arthur took pleasure in making Merlin go to the great effort of carting the buckets of water up the countless flights of stairs to his room and somehow manage the impossible task of keeping the water hot. Merlin didn't care what people said, or that he was a Prince, he could still be a sadistic prat when he wanted - a fact that he reminded Arthur of whenever he could.
Merlin quickly slipped out of his clothes and made his way over to a set of stools in the corner where people were intended to soap up and wash off first. He hastily slathered soap over his body, scrubbing almost furiously, then used a bucket that he filled with water to pour over his head and wash off the soapy residue. He didn't linger too long over the task, just long enough to make sure the majority of the soap had been washed off and even in the hot air he was shivering. Feeling somewhat self-conscious in his naked state, Merlin picked up his drying cloth and headed towards the pool. Dropping his towel a few feet from the edge, he quickly moved down the steps, almost slipping in his haste till he was waist-deep in water. Merlin couldn't fathom the amount of effort it must have taken to keep the entire pool at nearing painfully warm levels throughout the day. It had something to do with heating the pipes that brought the water in. The mechanics of it were a mystery to him, especially since he could as easily have just willed the water hot with his magic, though he'd never tried doing it on such a large body of water before.
Merlin sank down till he was chin deep, perched on a wide ledge that ran the diameter of the pool except for where the stairs led in and couldn't suppress the groan that escaped his lips. It felt sinfully good being submerged in the water; like he was being embraced by a welcoming water-god or sprite. He could have remained there for hours if the underlying anxiety of being somewhere he knew he shouldn't hadn't begun to pray on his nerves. Reluctantly he climbed out, quickly ran his drying cloth over his body and clumsily drew on his clothing, enjoying the sensation of clean clothes brushing against his skin. His hair was still damp and curling around his neck as he exited the building, feeling laconic and content.
"Merlin?" Merlin's heart jumped into his throat and he turned in dread to find Morgana and Gwen, who by the looks of it, had come from their own bath. In a panic, Merlin threw the bundle of clothes and the damp cloth behind a nearby statue and smiled nervously at the pair.
"Good morning, Lady Morgana, Gwen."
They each shared an amused look that promised trouble to Merlin, he felt.
"Good morning, Merlin...enjoy your bath?" Morgana asked, her voice lilting and dangerous. He knew he'd been caught out. He'd expected that he would, but he'd hoped that he was just being cynical. Inwardly he was cursing his own stupidity as his mind frantically tried to come up with an excuse, some sort of believable lie that would miraculously get him out of trouble. His brain was like cotton wool, thick and uncooperative.
"You're not going to tell anyone are you?" Merlin asked sheepishly, his brow creased with worry. Morgana and Gwen shared another conspiratorial look then regarded Merlin carefully. He clasped his hands together in front of him in silent plea and made his eyes round - a look that he used on his mother to great effect whenever he had been in trouble.
"It depends," Morgana said, slowly. "What do you have on today, Merlin?"
"Nothing. Arthur's given me a few days off," Merlin responded. The girls both looked shocked at his announcement, though Morgana's expression swiftly drew into what could only be described as an evil glint. Merlin felt the bottom drop out of his stomach. The look reminded him wholly of Arthur and he didn't trust that look one iota.
"Then if you don't want us to tell anyone, you have to spend the day with us!" Morgana said with a smirk. Merlin was surprised. He rather enjoyed spending time with Gwen and Morgana, since they weren't interested in killing for sport or trouncing things (quite often Merlin) with a big heavy sword. Though he still couldn't find it in himself to trust the King's ward when she wore that expression, he nodded dumbly in acquiescence and followed after them as Morgana quickly turned and headed back through the maze-like hallways to her bed-chambers. Merlin stepped in with hesitation. Honestly, he didn't usually consider the impropriety of being in a woman's chambers; had even on occasion been alone with both Morgana and/or Gwen at some stage and for extended periods of time and he'd never thought how it must have seemed to outsiders. He was wondering about it now as he stood just inside the doorway and Morgana went immediately to her screen as Gwen bustled around, pulling out a new dress for her to wear.
"We're going down to the market for some fabric among other things," Gwen informed Merlin as she passed him.
"Oh?" Merlin replied uncertainly, the sense of dread building like a heavy weight in his gut.
"Yes," Morgana affirmed as she stepped from behind the screen, adjusting the sleeve on a forest green, velvet dress with a mint green under-layer of knotted silk. She took her place at the dressing table and Gwen was there, gently tugging a brush through her ebony locks as Morgana pored through a jewelry box, slipping trinkets and baubles onto her fingers, wrists and ears. She was certainly more adorned than normal and even Gwen was wearing her best - a soft lilac dress with an embroidered bodice that clung to her figure nicely, but didn't detract from her appearance of sweet modesty.
Merlin looked down at himself; he was wearing his favourite blue shirt, his tan pants and his only pair of boots that were so worn and scuffed it was hard to tell what the original colour had been. He was almost certain that they had been an earthy dark brown. It was difficult to make out beneath all the stains and mud splatters. Self consciously he fiddled with the point of his red neckerchief and tried not to feel like the pauper that he looked. It was a wonder that he hadn't been lectured over his appearance more often. The rest of the servants in the household were usually much more finely dressed than he, unless they worked in the armory, boilers, laundry or outside in the kennels, stables, falconry and garden. Though even those servants had a set of sunday best. Merlin didn't even have the luxury of a nice set of clothing. He had always just been grateful to have any sort of clothing on his back, so long as it kept out the chill.
But now, standing in the chambers of a refined lady and her equally beautiful maid, Merlin could feel the gap in class more acutely than ever. Even Gwen, who held a similar position, seemed well above him. He ran a regretful hand down his front and felt his lip tremble slightly. "Are you sure you want to drag me along?" He asked, his voice low and uneven.
Morgana glanced at him through the mirror, Gwen turned slightly to regard him, her eyes scanning him inquisitively. "Merlin, you don't have to come if you're that opposed to it. We're not trying to force you to come along if you've something that you'd rather be doing," Morgana said, lifting her chin defensively.
"No! No, it's not that...but...won't I disgrace you?" His voice had lowered to almost a whisper and he was fidgeting, now with the hem of his sleeves, curling them into his palm in a nervous gesture.
"...Are you feeling alright, Merlin?" Gwen asked suddenly, abandoning her mistress to approach him. Merlin avoided her eyes and nodded mutely. But he wasn't alright. Something was wrong. His mood hadn't soured, he wasn't angry or upset he was just...he felt like he did as a child when his mother had first introduced him to some of the neighbour's children and he'd been in a panic over whether they'd like him or hate him, if they'd call him a freak or pick on him. It was that same nervous anxiety that had him curling in on himself.
He was startled as he felt Gwen's small hand grasp his arm comfortingly and felt the childish fear lose its choking hold; he smiled gratefully at her and she returned it warmly.
"Morgana?" She asked simply. It was fascinating how the two women seemed to communicate so much with so few words. Morgana was nodding her understanding and stood.
"Of course, go," Morgana turned to Merlin. Gwen gave him a parting wave and raced out the door. "Don't worry, Merlin, by the time we're done, no one will think anything of you being with us. " Then she smiled and Merlin stopped breathing for a moment, could only nod dumbly. Morgana had the most startling smile; it turned what was a strong, almost severe face into something ethereal and beautiful. He always seemed to forget how handsome Morgana was; there hadn't been much cause for her to smile of late and a part of Merlin could sense her pulling away from normal castle life.
It was heartening to see her taking some enjoyment back and better yet that she appeared well-rested for the first time in too long. Morgana returned to the dresser and picked up the brush herself, running it through the lengths of her hair. The light from the window glinted off a silver arm band that encircled her wrist and for a moment Merlin was blinded by it; overwhelmed by the sense of magic emanating from it.
It was harmless magic, he could tell; malign spells tended to leave a sour tang in his mouth. This enchantment was more like a summer breeze, laden with the smell of cut grass and honeysuckle. It wasn't a tangible thing, though, it was ineffable, a sensation, an impression but it was the only way he could define it. He'd always experienced the sense of individual spells in different ways. Sometimes it was pressure on his eardrums, a taste, a feeling, shivers running up and down his spine or a cold wind blown through his chest.
Gwen's return was swift and her cheeks were high with colour, her liquid brown eyes alight with success. "We're in luck. Sir Lamorak brought a mound of clothes to the laundry when he arrived yesterday and they've just finished drying. He won't miss a few items in that massive pile. He's very close to your size, too Merlin, so they should sit well on you."
"If he finds out about this-" Merlin started warningly.
"I'll tell him we did it for a jest," Morgana cut in. "He might have issue with servants stealing, but it's another thing entirely if I am responsible."
Hesitantly he drew the pile of clothes from Gwen's arms and excused himself as he went behind the screen to trade his own, threadbare coverings for the knight's much sturdier - and softer clothing. The fit wasn't perfect. In fact, it seemed that Sir Lamorak didn't have much of an arse, the way his pants clung to Merlin's buttocks. they were the right length, though; a warm, honey brown leather that was so supple it felt like cloth. Next he donned the shirt. It was wider in the shoulders, though long enough that it covered him to mid-thigh, something he was distinctly grateful for. The shirt itself was a plain, egg-shell white linen, with laces at the neck and intricate embroidered celtic knots in greens, browns and reds at the hemline on the sleeves, collar and shirt tail. Because of the extra room in the shoulders, the shirt-sleeves were a little long on Merlin; he could easily hide his slender fingers within the fabric if he didn't mind the risk of wrinkling the shirt. Over that he wore a suede , fur-lined jerkin that came to his waist, and was fastened with brass buttons. It was sleeveless, in a green so dark it almost appeared black except when caught in a certain light. It nicely complimented the colour of Morgana's dress and as he moved from behind the screen he received pleasantly surprised approvals from the two women. He caught his own reflection in the mirror and had to admit that the clothes, though ill-fitting in minor ways actually looked quite good on him. The colours brought out the creaminess of his skin and the pants made him look taller, with their narrow fit.
"I still feel like a right pillock."
Morgana laughed and Merlin blushed furiously. He hadn't meant to say that out loud.
"You look dashing!" Gwen assured him. "Not that you don't look dashing all the time! Well, when Arthur's not had you scrubbing floors or out hunting and covered in mud and twigs. Not that I actually look at you in that way! I mean, what I mean is that it's a nice change...And compared to how you normally dress- um...You look lovely." Merlin shook his head in amusement and Gwen pursed her lips against more words.
Morgana looked over him appraisingly, smirking at the same old scruffy boots that they hadn't thought to replace. "You'll do. Come on, I want to get going before all the best is already taken." Morgana stalked from the room, Gwen following and Merlin bringing up the rear, shutting the door on his way out. He felt nervous, worried that he'd turn a corner and run into Sir Lamorak, who'd have to recognise such a distinctive outfit, or even worse - Arthur. He could just imagine the humiliation and taunts he'd have to suffer through. Not to mention punishment for "working". Though he wasn't sure if being blackmailed was considered work.
He needn't have wound himself up so much. They met nary a soul as they left the castle; perhaps many were still abed nursing hangovers from the feast last night. The only others out were the guard and many were being held up by castle walls, their helmets pulled down as far as they would go. They all let out a relieved sigh when they reached the courtyard and they all walked, side-by-side through the courtyard and down the streets to the market square. Merlin could imagine the picture that they made; two tall slender figures framing the shorter, more delicate figure of Gwen, like leaves supporting a dainty flower. If Gwen heard his musings, though, she'd probably pound him into the ground without a second thought.
Outside the sky was a clear, endless azure with the occasional fluffy cloud scurrying overhead. The hot, bright sun took the edge off an otherwise chilly day and the general pleasantness of the weather was infectious, smiles were brighter, good humour was abound and Merlin was feeling elated, a spring in each step. He spent their walk regaling them with anecdotes about Arthur - things that he didn't like others knowing and he rabbited on about Ealdor, which would be quiet and cold right now, though the nights would be filled with ale and roughhousing. When farmers had little but alcohol to amuse them, things got a little wild, though it kept them from freezing to death during the long, cruel winter.
Merlin was glad in a way that he'd been caught outside the baths by these two; he would have been at a loss for what to do otherwise and it was a pleasant change to spend time with the fairer sex. He certainly didn't miss mucking out the stables, hunting or cleaning leech tanks. It had been such a long time since he'd had no obligation, and he intended to enjoy it.