Author's note: Apologizes for the delay! I've been rather busy with homework and fighting other plot bunnies (why can't I seem to just focus on one story without starting the next before being finished?!), but finally, finally managed to put this chapter together.
()()()
I Am the Embers of You Fire - You Are the Breaking of My Dawn
Part 11
()()()
Mushrooms.
It's not what he's come for really – he's out picking herbs for Gaius again. Apparently the apothecary is out of stock of what the old man needs, so Merlin has no choice but to take what little free time he has after his duties for Arthur and go outside the city to find them. He finished not long ago, but right before leaving he spotted a few yellow chanterelles by the foot of an old birch, and practically dove for them. They're not that easy to find normally, and it's just the start of the season. To his delight he finds not one or two but over a dozen; perfect for a soup or something more edible than the porridge Gaius almost always serves.
As of late Gaius has been an invaluable support, ever since finding out about his secret – second secret, and hopefully his last. The man has helped him to regain his balance, and now knowing that the physician will never tell anyone and always be there for him, Merlin manages to focus more on his destiny – namely, Arthur, and keeping said Prince out of trouble. All since the goblet incidents his senses have been on high alert.
Still Arthur has made no sign of knowing about his magic. (Merlin hasn't really asked. It's not like he can walk up to him and say, "By the way, did you see anything suspicious in that cave like blue lights for example, that could be connected to me doing magic? Because that had nothing to do with me ...")
If only he didn't need to hide anything … if only he didn't have anything to hide. But that's just wistful thinking. Of course he needs to hide them, magic and his body. Even if it hurts having to lie. It doesn't matter that it hurts if he wants to live. He simply cannot tell, at least, not yet: perhaps one day the world would be ready to hear (he'd scream it over the mountains if he could: I'm magic, I'm a warlock).
Suddenly there's a noise behind him, startling him out his thoughts, and Merlin twist around to stare across the clearing.
A rustle of leaves … maybe it's just the wind. But there's just something that feels off. Slowly he stands, looking around.
"Hello, is anyone there?" he calls out. No one answers.
The bushes part abruptly as a beast leaps through them. It's as large as a horse if not bigger, with eagle wings and gray fur-feathers and it's screeching at him, opening its beak. Obviously it's also magic.
… Not good, not good!
Merlin drops the basket and summons his magic, speaking the first spell that comes to mind – pushing it outward, hands raised – and for a moment, as the magic hits its chest, the creature halts, wincing at the onslaught of raw force.
Then it raises its head and shrieks again, a terrible high shrill sound, and lunges for him, talons bared.
Definitely not good!
"Run!"
Where's that voice come from?
Merlin whips his head around, shocked to see a stranger jumping out seemingly from nowhere – dressed like a peasant, with a satchel over his shoulder, but armed with a sword.
The dark-haired man holds his ground and swings the weapon at the creature, stalling it momentarily. "Run!" he repeats and thrusts upward, toward the beast's neck.
The metal cracks and breaks with a sharp ear-splitting noise and the man nearly falls backwards, shocked, clenching the useless hilt.
But the beast seems unaffected, there's no injury in its flesh; it's only more angered, lashing out with a growl. Red stains the man's shirt. Merlin cries out on instinct and once again pushes with his magic at the creature like a spear, wordlessly, making it pause again even if the magic doesn't seem to harm it.
The stranger, dropping the broken sword, reaches out to grab Merlin's arm and the warlock can't protest at being manhandled. Herbs completely abandoned, the pair leaps to the left and the short moment the creature is confused as of where its pray has gone, they run around it and away, deeper into the forest where the trees stand thicker.
The beast is on their heels, thundering through the undergrowth and Merlin can feel the wing-beat brush against his back. Together they dive behind a thick fallen tree, taking cover. Then, at losing sight of them, the creature turns suddenly and takes flight. Within second it's disappeared over the treetops.
"It's gone," Merlin gasps. What the hell was that thing?!
The stranger beside him is breathing heavily. Merlin sends him a worried look, eyes widening in alarm when seeing the blood. The man's eyes flicker.
"We need to get you to Gaius, he's a physician. He can help. What's your name?"
"Lancelot." He sounds weak and breathless.
"I'm Merlin."
The man is already losing consciousness and probably cannot hear.
()()()
Upon seeing the servant nearing the gate supporting a barely conscious stranger on his shoulder, one of the guards by the gate stops to question him – it's only to be expected. They wonder if there's a threat out there or if a village has been attacked and the stranger is a refugee, or anything else important to Camelot; it's their duty.
"What's this? Has there been an attack?" the armoured man demands, spear at the ready.
"There was some winged beast in the forest," Merlin explains. "Lancelot drove it off but he's injured; I need to get him to Gaius."
"Of course," the guard says, "you may pass."
But the guard offers no help to carry the wounded man despite the fact he could probably do it without blinking, whereas Merlin isn't that strong – physically, at least – and struggles underneath the burden. Merlin rolls his eyes and subtly pushes with his magic to make Lancelot feel slightly lighter, as if he was a child. Suddenly it's a lot easier to support him, even if it still takes a while to get into the castle and to Gaius' chambers.
The old man is mixing some potions when they enter the room. "Merlin, did you find any of the – what on earth happened?"
Gaius quickly comes over and helps him ease the man onto the bed.
"There was a winged beast … I think it's magical," Merlin explains hurriedly. "I tried fighting it with magic but nothing happened, it barely made the creature pause ... Then Lancelot – that's his name – appeared and fought it with a sword, but that seemed to have no effect. The sword broke when it touched the creature! Then it injured him with its talons. We had to run for it."
"Talons? What kind of creature was it? And you were unable to harm it with magic? Describe it to me," the physician demands as he gathers some towels and opens Lancelot's shirt, starting to clean the wound, putting aside the man's satchel which obviously must be his pack for whatever journey he's made here. It's surprisingly light. The only thing of value the man had brought had been the sword. Maybe, Merlin thinks, he could go back and search for the broken weapon in the forest later: Tom, Gwen's father, would surely be able to repair it, and Merlin wouldn't hesitate to set aside this month's pay for it. It's the least he can do – the man saved his life.
Rapidly, Merlin gives the best physical description he can of the beast. He's never seen anything like it before, but at least Gaius gets the general idea and probably can figure out what exactly it is through one of his books.
He pulls up a pallet to sit beside the bed, watching on concernedly as Lancelot is examined and the wound bandaged. Sweat has broken out on the man's brow. "How is he?"
"The wound itself is superficial and the fever will pass. By the morning, he'll be fine."
Merlin exhales in relief.
"You should tell Arthur of the creature, Merlin," his mentor advises. "It sounds similar to the beast that has been terrorizing the northern villages the last few days – the King just received word of it, a group of refugees arrived while you were gone," he explains at the warlock's surprised stare. "I'm sure Arthur and his knights could use guidance on its location. This must be the closest it's ever been to Camelot."
"I will," he promises, but his stomach growls for attention and he remembers, not without dismay, the mushrooms that he'd been forced to leave behind. "But I'd really like to have something to eat."
()()()
Lancelot wakes up near midnight. His fever has, as Gaius predicted, reduced rapidly even if it lingers around the edges. Merlin is startled out of his vigil and leaps to the bedside, grinning at the man who sits up and looks around confused.
"You're awake! How are you feeling?"
"A bit sore, I must admit," the man says, absently touching his chest where the wound is, wrapped in bandage. He looks around. "Merlin. That's your name, right?" The warlock nods, glad he's remembered. "Where am I?"
"In Gaius' chambers; he's the court physician here in Camelot."
The man's eyes lit up as if filled with new energy and the wound is forgotten as if it's stopped bothering him. "Camelot? It's amazing to finally be here! I've always, ever since I've been a child, dreamed of coming here. Thank you for bringing me."
"It's the least I could do; you saved my life. You can stay for the next few days while you recover. You've always wanted to come here?" the warlock inquires curiously while presenting the man some of the leftovers from dinner, bread and sour cheese and thin watery stew. The man accepts the offering eagerly, obviously very hungry.
"It's my life ambition to be a knight. Oh, I know what you're thinking." Lancelot looks away like he's embarrassed. "That I expect too much. After all, who am I? The King has his pick of the best in the land and I am no one."
"Lancelot, I've seen you fight. You're more than just average! And I'm sure Arthur would agree with me."
"Arthur – as in the Prince?" The man stares at him in astonishment and disbelief and the warlock can't fault him. Looks can be deceiving, and Merlin is to the eye just an average commoner. "You know Prince Arthur?"
Merlin smirks. "Oh yes."
That moment Gaius looks up from the worktable and he must have been deeply mesmerized by his work, for he looks surprised that the sky is dark outside. "You two need to sleep," he says firmly and stands. "You have work tomorrow, boy, and you mustn't be late again," the old man reminds Merlin, ignoring the protests of: "I'm not always late!"
"And you, sir, need to rest until your fever has passed. It's been arranged for you to sleep up there." He gestures at the door leading to Merlin's room.
With the help of a servant, as Merlin was away during the day working for Arthur, he's already arranged a mattress on the floor; it will do as for accommodations for now. The man is not so ill that he needs bed in the main room; Gaius would like to have it for he is old and his back aches. When he explains this, Lancelot nods in understanding and assures him the arrangements are more than fine, and thanks them – again – for taking him in.
The physician doesn't completely miss the panicked look flashing over Merlin's face, but it passes quickly and now is not the moment to ask.
"Right, so you'll have to share with me," the warlock murmurs and stands quickly, brushing his hands against his thighs. The tone of voice is one Gaius' recalls having heard just briefly before: it's not one of just nervousness, but of almost-distress and he hopes to have a word with his ward shortly, fearing that something might be wrong.
Lancelot swings his feet over the edge of the bed and stands. He has no trouble walking on his own now. "Thank you for letting me stay."
"Well, we couldn't just leave you there in the woods, could we?" Gaius says and makes a shooing motion with his hand. "Now, go and rest." He returns to finish the ancient text he was reading before, and Merlin leads Lancelot up to the room.
"That mattress there," he says and points. Then, he worries his bottom lip. The man does still have a fever, after all. "You could take the bed if you'd like, instead. You're injured …"
"No, no," Lancelot says and before any protests can leave Merlin's mouth, he settles on the thin straw mattress and pulls off his boots. "I don't want to make any trouble. After sleeping on a forest floor, this will be more than satisfactory."
"Uh, all right then. Do want to borrow some nightclothes? I have a spare shirt, somewhere …" Merlin begins shuffling through his spare clothes. Eventually he finds a rather large, white one at the bottom that probably fits the man's broad shoulders and another for himself.
The man glances down at the worn, blood-soiled garment he's currently wearing. "I'd be grateful."
As the man begins to change, clearly not finding his presence disturbing as he does so; his chest and arms are defined by muscle that years of training has given him, and tinted with dark hairs down over the bellybutton that continues down under the lining of his trousers. Merlin averts his eyes and glances at the door.
Should he go out there and change? Gaius is there, but he knows his secret … he doesn't want Lancelot to know. (How would the man react if he found out?) Maybe he shouldn't change but just sleep dressed like this, even if it'll be uncomfortable when he wakes up by the morrow …
"I, uh, have to talk with Gaius for a moment," he says awkwardly, fists tightening on the shirt. "I'll be right back."
()()()
The old man doesn't look that surprised to see him, the door closing behind the warlock. Gaius is blowing out the candles and putting back a few books in their shelves.
"Sorry, I just need to–" Merlin waves his hand in an open gesture and shows him the white garment with the other, trying to get him understand what he's saying without actually speaking the words aloud, in case Lancelot might hear.
"I understand, Merlin. I know the situation might not be ideal," Gaius says and lowers his voice so that they can't be overheard. "But I doubt Lancelot would find the rest he needs while I bustle and work early in the morning."
He nods his head. "Um, it's just that, I've never actually shared a room before, apart with my mother, so I never had to worry about … hiding … Especially right now."
Comprehension dawns in Gaius' eyes. "Are you still having the bleeding?" he asks, lowering his voice.
Merlin blushes. "Yeah. I think it'll stop tomorrow, or the day after that, but still. I can't, you know, when he's there …"
"Oh, I'm sorry Merlin, this is terribly inconvenient. You could sleep down here if you'd prefer."
"No, no, I don't want Lancelot to get suspicious or anything … It'll be fine, if I just, if I'll change down here for time being and take care of, you know, while he's not here, then it'll be fine." The words are rapid, and he's close to prattling again and has to bite his lip to calm down.
If Lancelot got better soon and is planning on staying, which Merlin has a feeling he is, the man must find a job or at least some other place to live. Gaius isn't that fond of freeloaders showing up unexpectedly on his doorstep. And having to share a room too long, easily robbing Merlin of the little privacy he has, will be … complicated. His mentor understands this as well.
"All right then," Gaius says with a nod. "It'll do for now. But if there's anything troubling you, you know you can tell me, Merlin - please don't hesitate."
()()()
It's difficult to sleep, for he's constantly aware of the man lying no more than five feet away, and it doesn't help curling up on his side trying to make an invisible wall between them. Sometimes he hears the sound of shifting and the rustle of clothes or a sigh, and it seemingly takes forever before the man's breathing settles into soft snores. It takes a lot of self-control not to look over his shoulder.
Still, Merlin's body remains tense even if his eyes drop heavily as the hours trickles by. He simply can't keep them open any more.
When morning finally comes, he feels doesn't feel rested at all. It's Gaius that wakes him, shortly after dawn even though he knows Merlin hates early mornings and the Prince won't be awake for another hour.
Lancelot is still asleep.
"I thought you wanted some privacy before you went to see to your duties," Gaius mutters. "There's some breakfast on the table."
"Thank you," Merlin whispers back, glancing at the sleeping man. He'd really, really like to close his eyes for just five more minutes … But. Duties. And Arthur's always so annoyingly grouchy when he's not woken in time for training and then he'll just be more of a dollophead than usual the rest of the day.
"Do you want to take a bath before you go?"
"No, it's fine," Merlin says quietly as he gathers his clothes and steps down into the main room, though it'd be nice to scrub off yesterday's sweat given he hadn't bather last night. "Then I'd just fall asleep and Arthur would yell at me and call me a cabbage for being late again."
()()()
While he's helping the Prince into his armour two hours later, Merlin casually mentions his encounter with the beast in the forest and Lancelot's appearance the day before.
Well, perhaps not that casually, because the Prince pauses in mid-movement as he's adjusting his cape, to stare at him in disbelief. When Merlin remains serious and still at the inquiring gaze, his expression changes to one of wonder mixed with anger.
"You went to the forest all by yourself, completely unarmed, even though there's a beast on the loose?"
He sounds more upset than Merlin had expected.
"I didn't actually know about the beast at the time," the warlock points out in his defense. "And I go to the forest all the time! I could've defended myself; I'm not entirely useless you know."
Arthur glares at him clearly showing that he does not agree with that statement, at all. "You are an idiot, Merlin. Truly. If the beast hadn't left, what would you have done?"
"Well, it did leave. And Lancelot was there, and he was armed. He fought the beast." He can't exactly say that he'd used his magic and surely could've come up with an emergency spell if the man never had appeared with his courage and sword.
"He fought it? Who is he exactly?"
Naturally the Prince is curious; a simple peasant would have no reason to wield a sword! Most peasants would never even afford to own one, let alone have the knowledge to wield it.
"I … I don't really know, really. I didn't ask." The conversation last night had been cut short and the man hadn't told him anything more before going to sleep. Maybe he wasn't a commoner at all … But Merlin doesn't know.
"Find out," Arthur orders and furrows his brows thoughtfully. "If he's really fought the beast I'd like meeting him. We could use another swordsman against it. And if he's a nobleman – which, personally, I highly doubt – he might even be interested in trying out as a knight. In fact, why don't you see to that he's present to watch during the tryouts today."
Merlin bobs his head up and down as he nods eagerly. Lancelot will be overjoyed to hear this! "Yes, sire, right away."
()()()
Returning to the physician's chambers as Arthur's ordered, the finds Lancelot is up and about. The fever's gone now and he's stretching his muscles while having a quiet conversation with Gaius, staying out of the way of the old man's work. It's clear that he's restless, even if the man is very polite and stays indoors as he's told.
"Well, I spoke with the Prince …" He pauses, feigning disappointment.
"No." Lancelot's shoulders slump.
Merlin can't hold it anymore, breaking into a wide grin. "He said he wants to meet you! In fact he wants you to come and watch the knighting tryouts right now."
"What? Yes!" Lancelot is so sincere and, while seeming a rather silent and personal man, he lays an arm around Merlin's shoulders and squeezes lightly, a half-embrace, in excitement. "Oh, I cannot thank you enough, Merlin."
Merlin grins like a fool, heat spreading over his cheeks and up to his ears. "It was nothing, really. Only. One thing. You wouldn't happen to be a nobleman, would you?"
The man begins to laugh as if the very idea was preposterous. "Me, a nobleman? No, no."
"Oh," Merlin bites his lip. Of course, Lancelot sees and the joyous expression turns into a frown.
"What's wrong?"
"Only noblemen can become knights. It is the First Code of Camelot," intones Gaius from the workbench, where he's sat silent reading a book until now, studying the conversation out of the corner of his eye. "It's also the most important rule regarding knighthood, at least in the eyes of the King."
"That's completely unfair!" Merlin exclaims furiously. "Being a nobleman doesn't have anything with being a good fighter or good knight! Why'd they even come up with it?"
Gaius' explanation is collected and calm. "When Uther created the knights he needed men he could trust, which were the nobles who'd sword him allegiance. Thus only they and sons of these noblemen could seek and pursue knighthood in Camelot. It is what ties the knights together – it is a law that has never been broken." He turns to Lancelot regretfully. "I am truly sorry, Lancelot, but you will not be accepted unless you have noble blood in your veins."
Silence hang heavy and thick over the room. Eventually, Merlin moves, as does Lancelot, inching toward the door.
"I suppose I should go back to Arthur, he's at the training fields now," the warlock says with a sigh, disheartened. He'd had this tiny, tiny spark of hope that Lancelot would actually have some noble blood in his veins, despite the low odds. To his surprise, instead of announcing he's to pack or leave, Lancelot raises a hand to stop him.
"Wait, I'll come with you. I am here after all, and even if I may not become a knight, I at least would like the chance of seeing the Prince himself in action. Just let me put on my boots."
()()()
There's intent in Arthur's stride as he nears the newest knight-to-be, a rather young red-haired man. His voice is powerful and arrogant as always. Merlin stands back in the sidelines ready with towels and filled water-flasks, and Lancelot is standing next to him eyes fixed on the Prince, awe-struck almost.
"Right, you jumped up dung beetle, this is it. The final test. Pass this and you're a knight of Camelot. Fail … and you're no one. You shall face the most feared of all foes, the ultimate killing machine. You shall face me."
Rolling his eyes, Merlin lowers his voice so the man standing next to him can hear; "Not at all bigheaded, is he?"
Lancelot's smile at the joke is tense, almost like he's the one to face the Prince in the arena.
"Grummond, second son of lord Wessex. Are you ready to face your challenge?"
"I am, sire," the redhead replies with conviction and both men draws their swords.
"Your time starts now."
An elderly servant turns the hourglass resting on a table near one of the tents set up by the edge of the field; the two men start circling each other. It doesn't take long for one of them to pounce. The redhead doesn't hesitate, and nearly lands a blow on Arthur's leg.
But the Prince is swift and with only two quick blows he has the other man on the ground; Merlin winces in sympathy for Grummond. He knows they're fighting with real and not dulled swords now, unlike at training, and he's pretty sure that Arthur managed to pierce the chainmail, even if the wound isn't anywhere deadly.
The weapon flies out of the redhead's hand and Arthur stand over him, laying the tip of his sword against the man's neck. "Do you give up?"
"I give up, sire," the man wheezes out.
The whole thing is over in less than thirty seconds. The on-lookers applauds for their Prince, but Merlin sees how tense Arthur is, the disappointment marring his face – he's just lost another candidate, another could've-been-knight of Camelot. Another opportunity missed.
"Take him away," the Prince orders before backing away and letting two guards escort the disappointed man off the field. He gestures at his servant to come over. "Merlin, water."
"I'll wait here," Lancelot says, busy looking around inspecting the field and especially the table where some weaponry and armour has been laid out. Two knights - of which one Merlin recognizes as sir Leon - are conversing sitting in the grass next to it; obviously they've come to observe the tryout. Lancelot looks like he's itching with want to go up the table and pick up a sword.
And he also looks so disappointed,even if he's trying to hide it. For he's knowing that he won't be able to be a knight, not ever; that all of his dreaming and training has been for nothing. All because of his blood, a thing he has no control of. Now, there's no choice for him but to walk away.
No, Merlin tells himself firmly, I can change that. I can make his dream come true.
()()()
The Prince is running a hand through his hair in frustration and accepts the water flask without thanks, taking a deep sip and ignoring Merlin's mutters of him being a prat.
"Another one. Another! I can't believe how useless they're being. They claim to have trained well and hard, and yet, when they show up they're utterly incompetent with a sword, and the lance and the mace and everything they should be good at," he rages. "How am I supposed to protect this kingdom with men like that? They know nothing of being a knight: they have neither the skill nor the courage, the fortitude, the discipline …"
"I'm sure there are loads of good fighters out there ready to become knights," the warlock says. "In fact, I know one's here right now."
Arthur sends him an odd look, flitting briefly across his face. "So, you have spoken with him - Lancelot?"
"Yes," Merlin responds. This is his chance, and he leaps at it: "He's come to Camelot to be a knight, that's why he's here."
"And he's a noble?" The tone is decidedly skeptical.
"Yeah, he's the son of a lord in, in Northumbria," the warlock improvises, keeping his fingers crossed as he awaits Arthur's reaction.
He hopes there are lords there. In Northumbria. And that no one will think it odd that one of said lord's sons suddenly has arrived at Camelot without warning. Surely there must be lords there? Oh god, Merlin really hopes he's not jumped too far ahead and ruined everything!
The Prince's eyebrows climb up his forehead. "Truly?" He studies the man standing across the field: he has a steady posture, even if his clothes are worn and looks like a peasant's. If he truly is a noble, then there's a chance to gain another knight: a possibility Arthur would never pass up. Merlin knows this for sure, which is why the boy would tell him about this.
"Well. I shall have a word with him. Not now," he adds when seeing the expression on Merlin's face: it reminds him of an overly excited puppy. It truly is not well suited on the Prince's Manservant, not at least when it concerns some man he's met just a day ago. "I have a meeting with father and the council. Bring him tomorrow, at training, and don't forget his seal of nobility."
()()()
The next time he meets Lancelot, it is lunchtime and Merlin has a short break to eat and catch his breath before he must return to Arthur. There's a messy chamber to clean. The Prince himself is busy; there's another meeting with the King and the rest of council, probably about the beast and how to get rid of it, but since he's just a servant Merlin doesn't know the all the details. His only clue is that Gaius is researching on it now to be able to give good advice, for he's the most knowledgeable on these kinds of things among the men in the King's circle.
Lancelot is standing looking over the city through an open window as Merlin takes seat by the table, grabbing some bread and cheese.
"Why do you want to be a knight so much?" he asks curiously.
The man turns away from the magnificent view to face him.
"When I was young," Lancelot begins, "my village was attacked by raiders. It was …" A shadow falls over the man's face; he looks away, eyes clouded by the memory and he exhales heavily. "Men, women, children, they were killed where they stood. My mother, my father … It was by chance that I survived, along with a few others of the children: we fled into the forest, and wandered until we came upon another village that kind enough to take us in. That was the moment I decided I wanted to learn how to fight. Never again would I stand hopeless in the face of evil. I would protect those who could not defend themselves. So I picked up the art of sword-fighting; I taught myself and travelled around the land in search for guidance. When I was ready, I headed for Camelot."
He sighs. "Now it seems my journey has come to an end. For nothing."
"No," Merlin says firmly. "No, I'll make this right. You deserve a chance to be a knight, Lancelot. Whatever is in my power, I'll do it to make sure you're given that chance."
()()()
It was during his first week at Camelot that he found the royal library, but not until now has he had any need, or chance, to go there: whenever Gaius needs to know something he usually can find it in his own rather large collection.
Finding the library was a pleasant surprise. The librarian, on the other hand, was not. The old man is grumpier than Gaius, and absolutely does not want some peasant boy touching any of his precious books.
So here he is now, at midnight when he's supposed to sleep, sneaking into the dusty room – he can smell parchment and candle-wax and ink. It's completely dark. Geoffrey of Monmouth must be asleep in the chamber across the hall. Even if he could use his magic to get inside, he knows no spell to make it guide him to the right book. But there has to be something useful here, he's certain of it. Geoffrey is the Court Genealogist after all.
If catching him Gaius would most certainly have his head. Using some magic he'd snuck out of his room and past the sleeping physician, but he needs to return just as quietly, before Gaius goes to wake him. If he finds his ward's bed empty there'll be uproar for sure.
With steady eyes he starts scanning the shelves. Thankfully, they're more sorted than at Gaius' chambers. Still there are so many shelf-covered walls and as he reaches the end of one, he finds to his dismay that there's another wall, and another around the corner. There must be thousands of books and scrolls in total. There's no way he could go through them all before morning.
Well. There's no choice but to get started.
Minutes trickles into hours. It's steadily nearing morning when he finds it: Annals of the Kings and Lords of Northumbria. Perfect!
Pulling it down and opening it reveals, by the end, loads and loads of family trees, reaching from far, far back in time all up until recently. Merlin settles by the desk, leaving the book open at the page and pulling out the piece of parchment he's borrowed from Gaius – the old man had given him a warning look along with it, probably suspecting something was up, not believing Merlin's white lie about having to use it for his writing lessons with the Prince.
But this is something he simply has to do. And he is being very careful, as he's promised his guardian more times than he cares to remember – no one will suspect a thing.
"Ic us bisen hræd tán hwanon."
The parchment glows.
()()()
Merlin returns to his room while rubbing at his eyes tiredly. Another sleepless night to be followed by another day of work, work, work ... Ugh. Arthur'll probably be unbearably prattish again and if he demands to spar Merlin won't last for more than five seconds, he knows (unless he uses a tiny bit of magic).
Placing the fake seal under the mattress, he peels off his boots and his jacket – he'd changed into a nightshirt earlier this evening, to not arouse Gaius' suspicion – and snuggles into bed with a yawn. He might not sleep for long, but it'll be worth it.
()()()
Despite knowing Arthur won't be pleased with him for being late, Merlin waits patiently until Gaius leaves the room as he needs to run an errand. As soon as the door closes behind the old man's back the warlock pulls out what he's kept hidden under his jacket.
"What's that?" Lancelot asks.
Merlin unrolls the parchment with a grin, revealing bold letters and colourful images painted across it: a family coat of arms. "This is your seal of nobility."
"I…I don't understand."
"Ladies and gentlemen, I give you Lancelot, fifth son of Lord Eldred of Northumbria."
Utterly silent, Lancelot stares.
"Don't worry, I've done some research. Apparently he's not connected with Camelot for years, has loads of daughters beside his sons so no one will raise an eyebrow at another child appearing, and none of his sons serve as knights here. So there you go. A perfect cover."
The man abruptly holds up his hands in objection. "No. No, I can't. I am no nobleman, especially not a son of Lord Eldred!"
Shoulders slumping, the warlock rolls up the parchment again. "Oh right. So you don't want to be a knight then. I suppose I should get rid of this …" He stalks toward the fire burning in the small hearth across the room, which is used for cooking, but the man's desperate voice stops him.
"Of course I want to be a knight!" Lancelot exclaims heatedly. "But the rules-"
Merlin wants to scream and struggles to keep his voice in check, but it's just frustrating: all of these restrictions and impossibilities stacking up in front of him and in front of Lancelot who doesn't deserve having to walk away, not now. Not now when he's so close to his dream. "Damn the rules! The rules are wrong. You're a strong skilled fighter, you have fought so hard to get here – you deserve this, Lancelot."
"But it's a lie. It's against everything the knights stand for."
"You have as much right to be a knight as any man. I know it."
"This is breaking the law, Merlin …"
"We're not breaking them; we're just bending them a little," Merlin corrects him, stubbornly. "You'll get your foot over the threshold, but after that you'll be judged on your merit alone and I am certain you will succeed, because you earned it, noble or not. I can't change any laws, but you can start changing the way things are done here – if you let me help you."
"This is a dangerous game to play."
The servant's eyes widen. Lancelot worried, not just about himself; he's worried about him getting caught up in this as well and them both landing in a disaster. The concern is somewhat warming, but now it's beside the point. He can't exactly tell him he's magic and used that magic to produce this fake seal, and that it cannot possibly be traced back to him - and that in the worst case he can use his magic in self-defense. He can't tell Lancelot any of this to sooth him.
"I've got this covered. Listen to me, all you got to do is give Arthur this and wave around your sword a bit or whatever else knights do." Even if usually tightly laced-up Lancelot rolls his eyes at that and Merlin quirks a smile as the mood shifts a little, the atmosphere lightening somewhat. "He'll see you're worthy, and no one will care once you're knighted."
"I don't want anyone to get into trouble for my sake, Merlin."
"I won't get into trouble. Come on, we've got to fix you some clothes and armour, and a sword. I have a friend who can help with that."
()()()
They've agreed to tell a story, to keep up the pretense (albeit it takes some convincing to get Lancelot to concur): Lancelot is a travelling nobleman whose weapons and armour were lost in the fight against the winged beast. It explains not only his simple way of dress but also why he so acutely needs new ones, and currently is standing in Guinevere's modest home, with the maidservant taking his measurements. Merlin is helping out by taking notes – he doesn't like standing around being useless.
"This is very kind of you …"
"Gwen," she fills in while wrapping the measuring tape neatly around the man's waist. "It's short for Guinevere."
"Ah. Then, thank you, Guinevere."
"Oh don't thank me, thank Merlin!" she says with a smile. "Merlin would do anything for anyone, wouldn't you Merlin? I mean – not anything. Obviously I don't think that. Uhm. Could you raise your arms, please? Thank you." The words are rushed and Merlin hides a smile behind his palm. "Sorry. I think it's great that Merlin has got you this chance. We need men like you."
"You do?"
"Well, not me personally," she hurries to say, "but you know … Camelot. Camelot needs knights. Not just Prince Arthur and his kind, but ordinary people like Merlin and I."
"Well, I'm not a knight yet, my Lady."
"But you are a nobleman - and I am not a lady, please, sir. Just Gwen."
Lancelot looks slightly embarrassed. "Sorry, my –"
"All right, we're done," Gwen hurriedly cuts him off and from this angle Merlin glimpses her cheeks burning underneath the warm tan of her skin. "I should have these ready shortly, and I shall see to that you are given a sword and chainmail. It was nice meeting you, Lancelot."
She offers her hand to shake, but Lancelot takes it and kisses the knuckles bowing his head as if to a royal lady, and Merlin watches the scene in bemusement, but also with the tinges of an unwelcome feeling that taste foul and bitter in his mouth, and he pushes it quickly away.
It's none of their faults. It's just, seeing the two – freely, albeit awkwardly and carefully, speaking in such a manner with each other and sharing such looks and touches, sparks a deep longing at the bottom of Merlin's stomach and he can't seem to will it away.
When they leave, the feeling still churns in his belly and he can't find a natural way to start conversation. It's Lancelot who finally breaks the silence as they cross the courtyard.
"She seems lovely – Guinevere."
"Oh, she is," Merlin says and smiles slightly, though he struggles to keep the tone light, feeling ashamed about the bitterness lingering in his chest. "She's wonderful, and the best seamstress in Camelot I guarantee."
"Are you two … involved?" The man sends him a meaningful glance, and the warlock's eyes widen.
"What? Oh – oh, no!" Merlin shakes his head. "No, we're just friends, very good friends. Nothing like that, no."
She wouldn't want me anyway, even if I felt something for her, he thinks quietly, glancing at Lancelot through his lashes. The man appears to be in thought. There's just something about him and Gwen, almost like they'd been meant to meet - that bitterness still churning in his stomach making his thoughts dark, Merlin shakes his head. It doesn't matter.
"Let's head back to Gaius' and have something to eat."
()()()
True to her word, Gwen convinces her father to give Lancelot one of the swords and chainmail he has in store; as is natural to him, being so noble, the man refuses to have it freely and insists on paying with the few coins he has. Gwen only put up a small fight about that. Even if she's so endlessly kind, she and her father needs to eat, and a servant's income isn't much to live by. That's one of the reasons why Merlin is so glad he's living with Gaius; if he'd have to actually pay for housing and food all by himself, his meager payment wouldn't go a very long way.
The following day, the woman arrives at Gaius' rooms, arms full: there's a long tunic and simple cape, the mail and the sword. Along with a pair of old vambraces (they're Arthur's old ones that haven't been used for years so surely no one will miss them), and a simple, unmarked shield that Merlin's snuck down and borrowed from the armoury. Lancelot's outfit is complete. When wearing it, he stands tall and proud and his steps are certain as he nears the training grounds. He holds the seal in a white-knuckled grip.
"Well, you certainly look the part," Merlin greets smiling at him. He waves at him to come over. Like yesterday he's standing waiting for Arthur's orders, armed with towels and water and other things that the Prince or the knights might want once training is over.
"I don't feel it," Lancelot says.
A few minutes later the session is over: the men stops fighting imaginary foes and disperse across the field. Merlin nudges Lancelot's arm, pointing at where the Prince is standing by the sword rack, placing down his weapon. "Here's your chance. Go for it."
Merlin keeps his fingers crossed as the man walks over to the Prince. He's not close enough to hear the conversation passing, but Arthur takes a look at the seal, saying something at which Lancelot bows his head.
Then, abruptly, the Prince has smacked the man across the chest and Lancelot's lying on the grass; Arthur looks smug, and there are some amused chuckles from nearby knights who are watching. Merlin hurries up to them. What was that?he wonders, a bit angry and annoyed with the Prince. He's stillsucha prat! … Oh no – maybe he saw the seal was fake, and doesn't accept Lancelot, or –
As he reaches them though, he hears Arthur say, "Sluggish reaction. In a battle field you'd be dead by now. Come back when you're ready."
Lancelot stands, hand resting on the hilt of his sword and he bows to the Prince. His bearings truly are like those of a nobleman. "I am ready now, sire."
Arthur raises his eyebrow in a princely manner. "Are you? Very well. You may begin by cleaning out the stables."
The dark-haired man bows his neck again. "Sire."
The Prince, seeing his manservant nearby, gestures him to come over. Merlin approaches slightly warily. Is Arthur going to lecture him about something or give him some extremely tedious chore?
"Merlin, take Lancelot to the Chief of Staff and have him explain his new duties."
"Right, I'll do that. Anything else?"
Arthur gives him a pointed look and Merlin rolls his eyes, sighing.
"Anything else, sire?"
"That's marginally better. Yes, go and sweep my chambers, and prepare me a bath when training's done."
Then the Prince takes his leave cloak whipping behind him in a royal manner, to continue with training, and the squires and knights scattered about the field jump to their feet, suddenly fully alert. Meanwhile, Merlin takes Lancelot aside, guiding him from the field, noticing the man's glances over his shoulder.
"… I've told you; he is a giant prat," Merlin mutters and Lancelot quirks a smile, weakly. "You did great though! He's accepted you!"
"Does all of his knights clean out the stables?" the man retorts rhetorically.
"Not really," the warlocks admits. "Though I've seen him give such orders to some newcomers before. He's just testing you. To see how you follow orders and stuff. Most of his men have served him for years, it's taken them a while to become knights – you know, he really wants you to become one, and fast, that's why he's putting you on trial like this. You're the only around who has fought the winged beast and he wants, no, needs a good swordsman like you on his side to defend Camelot from it."
Lancelot's posture is a little less tense after the compliment. "Right then, I suppose I'd better change out of the chainmail before going to the talk with the Chief of Staff."
()()()
"I'm sorry about Lancelot. I see you were upset."
Merlin looks up as his mentor enters the room, carrying his old medicine bag, having just returned from a visit to Sir Pellinore who needs treatment for an old battle wound. He feigns a casual shrug. He's sure that Gaius would be upset to find out the truth and, while holding him in the dark forever certainly won't be possible if Lancelot is knighted, Merlin just don't want anything to ruin Lancelot's chances now.
"Oh, but you know – that's life. You win some, you lose some."
"You're taking it very well, I have to say," the physician remarks, taking seat by the desk and starting to sort bottles at once. "Very maturely."
"Thank you, Gaius."
That moment the door opens swiftly, creaking on its hinges, and a man completely covered in dirt smelling like horse manure stumbles over the threshold, momentarily leaning against the door frame for support.
"How'd it go?" Merlin asks cheerfully.
"Ugh," is the only thing the man manages to say, staring blearily. He looks completely exhausted. Not entirely steady on his feet, he stumbles into the antechamber. Merlin looks after him with pity, and figures he'd fetch a bath for him; Lancelot probably had no idea how hard work it could be to work at Camelot's castle prior his arrival.
Gaius gives Merlin a look and he winces slightly. "He found work at the stables," the warlock explains vaguely.
"Ah, I see." His mentor's brows furrow in a dark frown, the gaze so sharp and dangerous there's no point in even trying to lie. "And the truth before I lose my temper?"
The servant awkwardly shifts on his feet. "He's, er, trying out for the knights."
"Merlin!" Gaius berates angrily. "The first Code of Camelot has never been broken for any man. What have you done?"
"All right, I bent the rules a little. But the rules are wrong and unfair!"
"You bent the rules? Using magic, I presume?
"It was nothing, honestly, more of a trick than actual-"
Before he can finish the sentence, Gaius has furiously cut across, voice low: "You magic is not a toy, Merlin! It's not for you to use or abuse as you see fit!"
"I know, I know," the warlock sighs, shoulders slumping.
Gaius' voice softens slightly. "Then why'd you do it?"
"I owe Lancelot my life, and I'm paying for that debt the only way I can, by giving him the opportunity he deserves. If you want to punish me for it, go ahead."
For once Gaius remains silent, but Merlin feels little relief that he's let it slip. Lancelot's not knighted yet.
()()()
The council chambers are cold and quiet and every man's eyes are fixed upon the prince who alongside two of his eldest knights gives their report. The King looks grim, a shadow over his face.
"There's been another attack. The beast was sighted heading for Willowdale."
"Greensdale, then Willowdale … The creature is heading south, toward the mouth of the valley," Uther states darkly. "We must not let it come any nearer to Camelot."
Arthur bows his head. "I shall prepare my knights right away, sire. Have faith, father, we shall be ready."
()()()
The early morning sun glares down at the courtyard and the armoured men, all wearing long blood-red capes. Merlin pauses as he's washing the windows in Arthur's chambers to observe them. Arthur walks up to stand before them and they bow as one; the Prince is regal and tall and sounds calm, collected. From this distance Merlin can't make out his face. He knows the Prince is anything but calm, though.
The winged beast has tormented another two villages near the city and there's no telling how many casualties there'd be, were it to enter the city. The safety of the city and the kingdom is one of Arthur's main duties; of course he's upset. Naturally he'd ignored all of Merlin's attempts to soothe him and instead piled a heap of chores on him and told him to stop bothering. After all, he's just a servant - what could a servant know about defending a kingdom from magical beasts?
Arthur's voice carries strongly between the stone walls and Merlin opens the window a bit more, leaning out to hear more clearly. "The beast is heading for Camelot. It's fast and agile, but big enough to hit and hit hard. Starting today your training routines will concentrate on an attack strategy. We don't have much time. Dismissed."
The knights bow again and start filing out. The courtyard is relatively empty, there are just a handful of guards and servants about, but a figure clad in a pristinely white shirt catches his eye. Lancelot. The man walks up to the Prince, remaining half a step behind him as is only proper and bow his head. They begin talking but now in normal tones, not like when Arthur was giving orders, and the sound won't carry up all the way to the second-story window.
If only he could somehow hear them ... surely there must be a spell for that? Merlin's eyes narrow in concentration, window scrubbing entirely forgotten. He's not read about any hearing-enhancing spell in his magic book yet, so he decides to improvise.
"Níed hléodor mec," he mumbles, staring at the two men, channeling his magic in their direction. At first nothing seems to happen. But then, sounds starts rushing at him; the faint wind whines loudly and the footsteps on the stone below echoes like a drum.
It takes a moment for him to focus.
"…ything I can do, Sire?" Lancelot is saying, standing with his back to the window. The words are slightly jarred at the edges. "I am aware that in the event of battle, only a knight may serve."
"That's correct, Lancelot," answers Arthur. "And you are not yet a knight. Which is why I'm bringing your test forward. You'll face me this afternoon."
Merlin can't hide his gleeful smile. Yes!
()()()
He manages to convince Gwen to come with him and watch – not that much convincing is needed once he mentions it is Lancelot's tryout. The two servants stand in the sidelines among many others who have gathered to watch, both knights and peasants. Everyone wants to see the Prince fight, and they are curious at this newcomer, especially since rumour has it he has already fought the winged beast.
"Here we are: your final challenge. Succeed and you join the elite. Fail and your journey will each its end. To determine it, you are to face the most dangerous of foes in single combat," Arthur's voice booms with authority; Merlin barely hides it as he rolls his eyes. The man sounds just as arrogant as usual. Gwen notices the reaction and glares at her friend like quietly saying 'He's the Prince, of course he's the most dangerous of foes!' and Merlin tried to imitate a kicked puppy with little success.
"Lancelot, fifth son of Lord Eldred of Northumbria - your time starts now."
The hourglass is turned, and the two men take up battle positions. It's Lancelot who initiates, stepping forth and swinging toward Arthur's chest; the Prince sidesteps smoothly, and meets the blow with his own sword. The clang of metal against metal echoes across the training field.
Ten seconds into the fight, Arthur almost lands a blow on the other man's head. By his side Merlin hears Gwen draw a sharp breath and then her hands fly up and buries in his jacket, knuckles whitening.
He flinches back in instinct, and then, there's a small flare of panic building in his belly as the woman's side presses against his. Gwen – well, no one to be honest – rarely comes this physically close to him and he's always been rather glad, since it's easier to hide his secrets then. What if she notices-?
But then she blushes and releases him. "Oh, sorry," Gwen gasps. A frown of worry remains on her brow.
"Don't worry," Merlin assures her quietly, understanding her concerns. "Lancelot's a great fighter; he can do this."
Forty seconds in, Arthur manages to land not a blow with his sword but his fist, straight on Lancelot's jaw. Many onlookers wince in sympathy as the dark-haired man stumbles back, dazed, his helmed askew. He lands on the grass heavily.
Smug and cold, the Prince sheathes his sword, staring down at the man for a moment and shaking his head.
"What a shame," Arthur says and turns away. Merlin narrows his eyes in suspicion. Why's the Prince turning his back? Isn't that a stupid thing to do, even if your enemy is on the ground? Lancelot still has his sword clenched in his hand, and now Arthur's back is all open and vulnerable for an attack …
Then suddenly comprehension dawns on the warlock. Arthur might have expressed doubts about believing in Lancelot's bloodline, but still given him a chance, and now, now he doesn't want the man to miss it. It's the only explanation, because the flaw in the Prince's guard is so large is simply must be deliberate.
The servant glances at the sandglass: it's nearly there, nearly one minute now – just a few seconds left…
Lancelot jerks into action, and in one smooth movement, sword tightly gripped, he's knocked Arthur off his feet. Breath is knocked out of the Prince's lungs, and he lies there looking winded and surprised. The loud thud as Arthur lands makes Merlin bite his lower lip without thinking – that looked like quite a harsh fall. Swiftly Lancelot moves to stand above him pointing the tip of the weapon against the metal plate on the Prince's chest.
"Do you submit, sire? Do you submit?"
The guards standing by the side of the field leap forward, distressed for the Prince's safety. Merlin has never before seen any knight (or knight-to-be) knock Arthur down like that before, except sir Leon, and the man has been at court for years and is well trusted: no guards have ever intervened in a duel between them before. This is new. The warlock worriedly inches forward – what if Lancelot's arrested for this? What if Arthur won't knight him after all?
The armoured men wrench Lancelot off Arthur, who gets up with a stormy look on his face. Next to him Merlin feels Gwen tense up anxiously. The Prince puts his sword to Lancelot's chest, the tip grazing the blue tunic and chainmail beneath.
"On your knees!"
()()()
Author's note: The spell marked * is in Old English loosely meaning "force/bring sounds [to] me". I'm a complete amateur at Old English and do not claim it to be correct.