Author's note: Hello there! I'm back with another fic, a three-shot this time. Beware of Matchmaking!Aithusa, Knowing-but-not-telling!Gwaine, oblivious!Arthur (and I almost added Merlin's wetness there but, uhm, err. I've been too much on tumblr evidently) Leaning on crack!fic-ishness. Anyway. Will have a magic reveal but this is not angst. Why Gwaine, you may ask? Well, he's awesome. All of the knights are, but Gwaine's just - awesome.

Summary: Apparently the whole of Camelot ships them. But, then again, who is really surprised? MERTHUR. (And silliness.)

Spoilers: AU of 4x04, but spoilers of the whole season 1-4 I guess. I've changed stuff a bit (or a lot) to my own liking. Thus, Arthur isn't hating magic; Arthur/Gwen never really was (I'm a Gwen/Lancelot shipper anyway) and there will of course be Merthur. Therefore slash.

Note: Revised in 2012-07-16 for some grammatical errors. If you find any more please tell me so I can correct them! Still not beta-read by a 2nd party though. Anyone interested?

Please enjoy!

()()()

Part I:
Gwaine Sees It

It all starts with the egg.

It's but a mention, a short whisper, but suddenly, the whole of Camelot is on edge and awaiting their new young King's decision. Will he even make one regarding the egg? Will he attempt to find it or ignore its existence? Have it destroyed?

Gwaine is not a stupid man. Thus, he knows to back off when Arthur and his manservant have one of their arguments – or lovers' tiff which Gwaine usually calls them but he's glared down violently then. (If glares could leave bruises, the knight would by now be little more than a black and blue pulp).

Arthur has been quite sensitive all since his father's demise, but still, he's not shown the same kind of hatred towards magic as his father. No desire to behead at first sight. This, Gwaine takes as a good sign. A very good sign. Having grown up mostly travelling from town to town, often without plans of what to do or why, he's seen a lot of things – including magic. Both the good and the bad sort. He's not so naïve to think it's just a weapon only used for evil. He's stumbled upon half-decent sorcerers aiding farmers to get better crops and helping the ill and fragile after harsh winters.

If Arthur decides to follow his father's footsteps, continue with the ban of magic, the strain on this land will remain.

If he decides to act against the ban, lift it and welcome magic into Camelot, the city would prosper and be a haven for many. Gwaine knows his opinion isn't taken that seriously (yet) – he's not been that long in Camelot, and most people thinks he's a crazy drunkard. (Which he resents).

It comes down to this one thing: if Arthur decides to destroy the Dragon egg, Camelot is all done for regarding magic. Gwaine isn't sure he wants this. He's met people oppressed and frightened by Uther's rule, scarred by the Purge, hated for what they are. He's not sure he wants to live in a city where it's choked completely (plus he has a few suspicions about Merlin and his 'luck' and he loves the lad dearly; if it's proved Merlin has magic, what would Arthur do to him …?)

But, it starts with the egg. Arthur is even more on edge after finding out about it through Gaius, who in turn has heard rumours from people from afar, and figured out a lot himself. The young King is uncertain of what to do, what to say. Merlin, ever-loyal, is there with him, standing on his side, a mostly invisible support.

Most knights tend to forget servants and commoners, but not Arthur's knights, not the Knights of the Round Table. They are a tightly knotted group, brought to Camelot as if by fate, tied together by their wills, their loyalty to Camelot and each other and their fighting prowess. They may be knights, but there are also commoners, ordinary (and extraordinary) peasants among them: they stand with a foot in each world.

So Gwaine notices these little details about Merlin that others don't. Like how tense his back goes at the mention of magic, as if by fear or surprise; like the fire in his eyes as he speaks of Arthur, defending the man or insulting him or somewhere in-between; how easily without care he'd throw himself in the path of a spear to ensure his friends' and especially Arthur's safety. It's all about Arthur, always Arthur, forever Arthur – Maybe, Gwaine muses, it's destiny. The thought is both far-fetched and ridiculous and a dangerous hit close to home all at once.

Thus, it doesn't come as a surprise to Gwaine when the young King and the servant begins to argue – another thing unheard of between other masters and servants – and it's not a small short argument either, but a long and complicated story. During this time, the city is almost boiling with tension: the pair refuse to look at each other or talk civilized; the King pouts a lot while Merlin have several sessions with either one of the knights, his mentor or Gwen where he hugs himself, calls Arthur a prat/dollophead/clotpole (or some other variation thereof) and receives lots of comforting hugs and maybe sheds an angry tear.

It takes exactly three days and eight hours (the knight mentally keeps count) for them to solve their fallout. All because of the mention of an egg.

"So, I've decided-" Arthur announces while gathering by the Round Table when the hearth is burning low and the candles have sunk and melted. Everyone are waiting on the edge of apprehension, leaning forward in their seats.

"You mean, we've decided," Merlin interjects from his right.

"Right, fine. We –" (Insert a sharp look at manservant here. Gwaine hides a smug smile. Oh yes, the King is a prat and oblivious as always.) "- have decided to find the dragon egg and protect it." Astonished silence meets his words: they all hold their breaths nervously. Did they hear that right? "It's the start of something new … a new time, of harmony and peace and that will require our harmony with magic as well."

"Sire," Leon asks hesitantly, "you mean to lift the ban on magic?"

A strangely tender expression fleets over the King's face, his eyes turned to the servant: it's almost as if he's not aware of it himself. "It'd be rushed to do it now at once, but it is my intention, yes."

Gwaine does not miss the joy mixed with relief and, for some reason, fear crossing Merlin's face, making him look like a hare caught in the headlights just for the split of a second. The knight wonders when they're going to find out exactly what their friend is hiding.

()()()

They travel for five days, across plains and through forests, past a little village full of fawning people and a meadow blossoming with flowers (Gwaine picked one and placed it behind Merlin's ear. Arthur was not amused.) and through a waterfall (Though it was cold Gwaine couldn't help flicking his hair, he felt quite sexy but the grumpy King ruined the mood). Finally, they had to overcome a number of traps which all (for some miraculous reason) malfunctioned and never managed to skewer them.

It must've been a stroke of good luck, albeit Merlin looks a little winded after the ordeal so Arthur makes sure to keep him close. He doesn't want the idiot fainting on them or something.

"Ooh," Gwaine says as they find it sitting on a pedestal. "It's very … egg-y."

It's kind of obvious – he can't believe he's travelled so much and missed a giant black tower in the middle of nowhere! (Maybe because it's magic, or maybe because there's no tavern nearby. Both reasons are logical.)

"Yes, and you have an astonishing sense of humour," Elyan says with a roll of eyes.

"Whatever," Arthur says tiredly, glaring at them both. The rest of the knights are staring at the egg in admiration. "Merlin, take care of that thing." He points at the egg, which Merlin carefully wraps in a piece of cloth and holds in his arms like it's made of glass: it's kind of bizarre to look at, Gwaine thinks, since the egg is a lot bigger than a hen's. Merlin's expression is that of a proud mother. (But that doesn't surprise anyone.) "Even if you're an idiot," the King adds, "the egg is in more capable hands with you than anyone else."

Merlin turns to Arthur with wide eyes and a jaw dropped in feigned astonishment: "Was that a compliment?"

"You must've had something stuck in those ridiculous ears of yours that made you hear wrong." With a grunt, the King exits the large hall, not noticing (or pretending not to) the knights' snickers. And if he glances back and lets his eyes linger on his manservant, who's grinning like a loon, well; it's convenience.

()()()

Like a bolt of lightning from a clear blue sky, it hatches. The shell cracks and a tiny white head emerge, followed by a soft-scaled body, a pair of small folded wings and a tail.

Merlin holds out a hand carefully and the baby dragon moves closer, nibbling at his fingers curiously and allows the servant to gently pet him. It leans into the touch and, deciding it's safe and it likes it, the dragon crawls up in Merlin's lap, purring like a cat.

"It's beautiful," Percival breathes in awe.

Arthur doesn't hold the same opinion. "Ew, clean it off! It's covered with goo."

The dragon sticks out its tongue in the King's direction and Merlin chuckles, washing it off with a cloth. "Is Arthur a meanie?" he asks, ignoring Arthur's eyebrows climbing upwards at the use of the I'm-talking-to-a-cute-baby-voice. "Don't worry. He does like you, secretly, he just doesn't know how to say it, and you'll like him too in time. It just takes a while to warm up on him when he's a bigheaded prat-"

"Hey!"

The dragon nods at the servant like understanding what he's saying, thought that's ridiculous.

"Can I hold it?" Gwaine asks eagerly. That'd be awesome and surely something to tell his mates down at the pub.

"No!"

Everyone swirls to look at Arthur. Who quickly defends himself: "I mean. Ask Merlin for permission. Like I care." He turns his head away slightly to avoid meeting curious gazes.

Merlin looks like a worried mother, holding the dragon close to his chest and glancing between it and the knight hesitantly. "I don't know …" he murmurs. "What if, if you drop him or something?"

"I'll be super careful," Gwaine assures him. "I promise."

"… Fine," the servant says, giving in and gently moves the baby dragon over into the knight's arms. The dragonling isn't distressed or anything Merlin is afraid it'll be: no, it's calm and playfully pats Gwaine's beard with a white paw.

"Look! He's got claws."

"It's male?" Arthur asks dumbly.

"Yes. Could I name him too?"

This time both Merlin and Arthur protests. Arthur because he's the King and doesn't want knights to name what's his (even if it's technically not his and he's not claiming it out loud: everyone just knows anyway). Merlin because he's the last Dragonlord (but doesn't claim that out loud either) and it's thanks to him the baby dragon hatched in the first place.

Gwaine gives in, and the right to name the white creature is (automatically) given to Merlin, who grins as if Yuletide has come early. "I'll call him Aithusa!"

"What the heck does that even mean?" Arthur asks incredulous. "Remind me to never let you name anything again."

After getting passed between the knights in turn for introductions – Arthur stubbornly refusing to hold it, stomping a foot in the ground – the baby dragon is placed in Merlin's arms by Percival, and even if it seemed happy with the knights, it immediately starts purring pleasedly, burying its face in the crook of the servant's arm. Merlin looks equally content, stroking the dragonling's back.

When Percival ruffles the manservant's hair and calls the pair cute, Arthur mutters something about firewood and stalks off into the woods.

Nobody is surprised. Leon suggests to Merlin he better hurry and explain to Arthur that no motive was behind Percival's touch, but the lad just looks confused: Gwaine feels a little sorry for hm.

()()()

Somewhere along the line, Merlin lets it slip that he can talk to dragons.

It's a complete accident. Honestly. He'd not meant to out himself. The words just fall over his tongue as naturally as ever: the men freeze up (Percival dropping his bowl of stew) and looks at him with wide eyes, like he's grown a second head.

Merlin cocks his head. "What?"

He'd just asked Aithusa if he'd like some more meat!

Out loud. In Dragon Tongue.

Oh drat.

This, of course, leads to raised eyebrows and demands a show that he really talks the language of dragons and, when Merlin sighs and turns to Aithusa talking gibberish in a low voice, Arthur shifts uncomfortably. When did he find Merlin's voice so … attractive? The dragonling kind of smiles at him and responds with a chirrup, turning and bringing back a nearby stick. A game of fetch ensues.

Gwaine's curiousity is sparked (again). "Could you teach me?" he asks eagerly.

Arthur silences him with a glare. "No. He's not going to teach you. If Merlin's going to teach anyone to talk with dragons it's his King, period."

"You mean his prat," Leon says cheerfully and, used such treatment, does not cower under the King's sharp gaze.

Albeit impressed by this unexpected ability, questions follow thereafter: "Where did you learn doing that?" and "Why?" among others and Merlin's walls break down around him and he launches into a story about Dragonlords and fathers and Arthur doesn't know if he should be amused or horrified or cry at the pain, the misery his friend has been through in silence: he's shocked at how strong his manservant has been all this time, hiding in the dark ...

In the end though, after a heated discussion, the knights and King swear to aid Merlin and keep this a secret. Their secret.

Gwaine could swear he's never seen such happiness or relief on Merlin's face before, which is saying something; Merlin is usually like an open book.

()()()

"Is there any particular reason," asks Gwaine casually, three weeks after Aithusa's arrival at Camelot, "that that thing keeps following you around?" He eyes the dragonling whose tail has wrapped around the warlock's leg protectively.

"Aithusa is not a 'thing'," Merlin says, sounding upset.

"Why is he following you around and baring his teeth whenever anyone who isn't Arthur steps too close?"

"He thinks I'm his … parent or something, since I've cared for him all this time and am a Dragonlord and all. Isn't that right, Aithusa sweetie?" Merlin squats down and pets the dragonling's head, and the white creature makes a pleased noise, leaning into the touch. "You're like me 'cause I'm special."

"Or because you're not a prat unlike some people," Gwaine adds gleefully, taking a bite off one of his apples. It's a green one: a favorite.

"Hey! I take offence to that," a voice echoes down the hallway, and warlock and knights looks up to see an approaching King, his red long cloak billowing behind him. "Merlin! I've been looking for you and, aren't I happy to see you don't seem to have anything to do." An unimpressed glance is sent at Gwaine, who returns it with a completely innocent look.

"Well, actually –" Merlin begins to say, because truly Gaius has asked (or demanded more like) him to run an errand down in the lower town, gather some herbs and then he's got to muck out the stables, and in an hour Aithusa will need to get fed again.

"So you might as well use your time and clean my room, scrub the floors and clean the windows and sort my wardrobe and, while you're at it, go to the tailor's and order me a new jacket, a red one. With studs. I can't seem to find my old one. Go on, tend to your duties."

And with that Arthur sweeps away, all glamour and handsomeness and completely ignoring Merlin's gnashing teeth (and hiding a smile at this), off to some important meeting or another. Gwaine grins smugly when Aithusa glares after the King heatedly, like the baby dragon knew what the King was saying or at least that the words implied lots of unwanted work for the Dragonlord. Despite it, Aithusa doesn't move to pounce on the man (unlike two days ago, during that incident with a visiting dignitary who'd gotten a bit too close to Merlin. The man will likely have lasting scars for the rest of his life. Gwaine actually feels a bit sorry for the guy).

"See, what'd I tell you," the knight says, aiming an apple core at the King's back.

"And that includes you, sir Gwaine!" Arthur shouts over his shoulder.

"Oh darn."

He absolutely loathes extra guard duty. It's not even by the gates, where he can watch the pretty ladies, but up in a deserted tower somewhere nobody passes except one or two old weird councilors pacing back and forth, ranting about taxes and ringing little bells; it's kind of creepy. Hopefully though Merlin will drop by with a sandwich for lunch and Aithusa for company. Gwaine is really starting to like the little fellow and is certain that if they were able to communicate, they'd have a lot in common. If only Aithusa would stop baring his teeth and snarl at him (and everyone that isn't Arthur).

()()()