Tramp Stamps
The Nones of October
Dearest Gaius,
It was wonderful to hear from you. I find your news very distracting, and I appreciate how delicately you are proceeding. I could not have trusted my scatterbrained son with a more dependable uncle.
As I sit at my table enjoying this cool morning's sunshine, I can't help but recall a similar day, and some similar news, that I received many years ago. My little Merlin had come running into my hut with Will on his heels, both boys grinning ear to ear and just about giving me a heart attack. But Merlin finally had a true friend after years of hesitation. He was so happy that I could not condemn him. More than his safety, I have always wished for his happiness.
He has not written for months, and it is unlike him. How is he Gaius, truly? Is he well?
Gwaine trotted to his bunk in the barracks with a grin so wide it was halfway to dangerous.
He had just stopped to search out a spare detail, and now he couldn't get to his travel pack fast enough. Percival was already there when he arrived, folding his red cloak. "Where have you been?"
"Library," Gwaine said with a grin, flinging open his small cabinet door. The smell of old sweat wafted out, but he ignored it to tug out his pack, untying the strings that held it together as nimbly as he was able.
"Reading again?" Percival replied with a hint of disbelief.
"Do I not seem like the studious type to you?" Gwaine scoffed, finally releasing the cover of his pack and digging his hand within. He pulled out a thin, leather-bound volume, and Percival's eyes tracked it with amusement.
"You didn't have that when we left Camelot."
"Aye," Gwaine said, "I borrowed it from Bayard's historian."
Percival chuckled. "I'm fairly certain that would more accurately be called pilfering."
"Bayard's promised to visit in the spring; I'll just slip it back to him then." Gwaine grinned and cracked it open, the papers crinkling as he passed through them quickly, looking for something in particular.
Percival leaned over and peered at the book's title, mouthing out the words. "Can I ask what's got you so interested in history?"
"I was just thinking about when we were in the Perilous Lands," Gwaine said flippantly, referring to Arthur's 'solo' quest during Uther's reign. He'd told his part of the story plenty of times by this point, with increasing amounts of exaggeration, and so Percival cut him off.
"You're finally finding some facts for one of your bar stories," he teased with a grin, "instead of actually joining me and the boys at the tavern? Does that book also mention if the moon will be blue tonight?"
"Har," Gwaine replied, nose buried between the pages, and uncharacteristically remaining seated despite the invitation to enjoy an evening off duty with a brawl or a wench. "Have you seen Merlin?"
"I invited him," Percival answered, misunderstanding why Gwaine asked. "But he says he'd tied up cleaning the stables all afternoon."
This caused Gwaine to look up. Mucking the stables was not one of Merlin's usual chores, and usually denoted a run in with trouble. "What did he do?"
"To hear Arthur tell it, apparently got away with too much luck after stripping half naked in Annis' Great Hall."
Gwaine snapped the book closed and pushed it back into his pack, and then put both away. "So I'll find him in the stables." He'd air out his traveling clothes later.
He was halfway out the door before Percival said, "Should I get you a pint?"
"Nah," Gwaine said, restlessly shifting his weight as he leaned back in, "but save me a seat."
He bound out and the smirk stole across his face again. Merlin was going to get it this time. He wouldn't be able to avoid answering this.
Gwaine swept past the training green and the cavalry's huts, heading quickly for the royal stables. He didn't hear the voices that would have warned him of a conversation, and instead jumped into the open doorway shouting, "Hallo, milord!"
Merlin jerked up so quickly that his head cracked against the wood of one of the stall doors, and Gwaine caught sight of the king behind him, now staring at Gwaine while obviously perturbed. "It's 'sire'," Arthur corrected. "Though I suppose 'milord' is still better than 'princess'."
"Oh, you wonderfully oblivious man," Gwaine said jovially, and enjoyed the slow expansion of Merlin's eyes as he realized that Gwaine knew. Gwaine smiled at his king, eager to be rid of him in order to interrogate Merlin in peace. "Gwen's looking for you."
Arthur frowned, "What for? I just saw her."
Gwaine's smile stretched wider, the full force of his charm resting its weight behind his next white lie, "She says it's important."
Arthur sighed and walked past a shirtless Merlin, whom was still rubbing at the growing lump on his skull. "If I return and find out you're both at the tavern, I'm going to wring your neck, Merlin."
Merlin made a rude gesture at the king's back, and then grew increasingly agitated as Gwaine remained silent and watchful. He tried to play dumb. "What?"
Gwaine decided to take his time with it, torture his friend a little for all the work he had to do to find out the truth. "What's a lord like you doing cleaning horse shit?"
Merlin flushed. "I'm not a lord." He pushed his pitchfork into a pile of used hay and shoveled it into a wheelbarrow he was slowly filling.
"Oh, yes you are," Gwaine said, still not rolling over despite Merlin's need to always deny him. "You controlled the wyverns at the Fisher King's castle."
Merlin tossed another bundle of hay. "How do you figure that?"
"They didn't come back when we were leaving the castle, and it wasn't just because I stabbed one. I lost sight of you plenty of times that day." Gwaine threw his hands up, getting frustrated. "Just admit it!"
"I did tell them to stop attacking—"
"Lord of the Dragons!" Gwaine interjected, shouting loudly. "Didn't trust me enough to tell me, huh?"
Merlin shushed him angrily. "Seriously?"
"Can you control all lizards or just those with dragon blood?" It came out more sarcastic than enthusiastic, and he might have apologized if Merlin hadn't scowled.
"Gwaine, be quiet."
He followed as Merlin threw his pitchfork onto the load and heaved the wheelbarrow outside. Merlin's eyes were tracking for any bystanders in the vicinity, but Gwaine waved him off. "There's no one around. But even if Arthur were still here, he wouldn't believe your dark secret is that you've been a dragonlord for years. Trust me, mate, it's the sort of thing you need to see with your own eyes."
"That doesn't mean you need to be so cavalier about it," Merlin said with gritted teeth and tipped the hay into a nearby compost pile.
"I do if it's the first proof I have that you've used that lording ability to help us," Gwaine said back with a hint of a bite. Partially he realized this had become an argument, but didn't care enough to stop it. This had been awhile coming.
"That was years ago. My loyalties could have turned by now," Merlin muttered. "So fie on your proof, if that's what you've really been looking for with all these questions."
"I'm your friend," Gwaine said angrily, "but I had to sneak around Mercia and Camelot, and I had to lie to Percival, just to find out what you should have told me weeks ago."
They had arrived at a pile of bound hay hidden from rainstorms in a small stone granary. Merlin lifted a bale and threw it into the wagon. "Just say it, Gwaine. I know you have to."
"Haven't I proven myself to you yet? I want to know why you always default to lying to me."
A shadow crossed Merlin's face. "I'm lying because you don't trust me."
The comment surprised him, and Gwaine drew his head back. Merlin—the other Merlin—focused intently on him, the powerful glint in his eye. Gwaine answered as best he could. "It's you who doesn't trust me. I already know you've proven your loyalty to Arthur more than once…."
"And yet you're afraid to ask me the most important questions," Merlin said darkly.
"Because I don't want to treat my best mate like a criminal," he snapped back.
"I am a criminal," Merlin swiftly replied.
The breeze carried the giggle of two girls, and from Gwaine's periphery he saw two handmaidens veering slightly to eye them both and whisper behind their hands. Merlin turned to the wagon and hefted it into his hands, trundling it back for the stables.
"If you don't ask," Merlin said, once he'd reached the safety of the structure, "then I can never answer. You'll never know if you can trust me, and I'll never know if you ever could."
Merlin glanced at him once before beginning to shovel hay back into the stalls. Gwaine leaned back onto one of the walls and studied his friend with a stormy expression. Merlin was right, in a way. He was being a tad fatalistic, but he had hit on the truth. Things had been awkward between them, and his thoughts on Merlin had been suspicious ones, and that would not stop until they both put all their cards on the table.
"Let's get this out of the way then," Gwaine said, when Merlin next returned to the wheelbarrow. "As a knight of this kingdom, I'm asking you: Have you ever done something for the dragons that wasn't to Camelot's best interests?"
An unreadable expression flit across his face, but Merlin stood tall and spoke plainly. "Yes," he replied, with no explanation.
That shook Gwaine, but he continued. "Then, as your friend: If you weren't their lord, would you still consider the dragons our allies?"
Merlin sighed, and he seemed to forget the pitchfork in his hands and the smell of the horses around them. His look was far away and pained. "I don't think so."
Gwaine's heart thudded in his chest, and he could hardly swallow until Merlin continued, whispering seemingly to his own self. "But in the end, regardless of what that means for their lives or my own, I'll defend Arthur. I always have, and I always will."
I know how he can be. He puts the world on his shoulders and chooses to carry the burden of everyone's troubles alone. Be more than his guidance, Gaius, please. Let him have the support that he will never ask for.
You must tell him that I, and all of Ealdor, are doing more than well. We have surpluses that we could not have dreamed of after the doubling of our new year's hearth tax. Our purses are full, the ground is fertile, and the food is bountiful.
I can only imagine what may have caused our luck.
Merlin pushed the brush through the mane of Gwen's mare, watching the glossy hair ripple. Gwaine had stood there, mulling over all of his unbalancing truths, for a long period now. He'd had time to break apart the bale and spread the hay around the royal's stables, and now he'd taken to grooming, and offering Arthur's ever-eager stallion a lick of sugar while he waited for Gwaine to react.
His friend, or once-friend, was studying him with nearly unblinking eyes. Even though he had done nothing worth watching, he kept quiet and let Gwaine have the time he needed. It was nerve-wracking, but necessary.
"Can I ask one more thing?"
He paused with his hand halfway through the horse's mane. Gwaine was looking at him curiously, but warily. "Yeah," Merlin replied with trepidation.
Gwaine drew himself taller. "What would you have done if I had gone and turned you in?"
He went back to brushing the horse, eyes fixedly on the mare's mane and back. It was too hard to look at Gwaine. "I've had years to find an answer to that," he started. "But it all depends on how Arthur reacts."
"If I'm going to be really honest," Gwaine said, his voice thick with emotion, "I think Arthur would be furious you lied to him, and he would feel like he never knew you, and he wouldn't know what to say."
That hurt, but Gwaine's hurt was more apparent. He hoped his smile was more friendly than grimace. "Are you talking about Arthur or yourself?"
Gwaine shrugged and strode forward, crossing his arms on the stall's doors and resting his head on his forearm. "Both."
His friend was looking at him without accusation, and it brought a fresh wave of guilt. He didn't deserve this much forgiveness. "I'm sorry I kept things from you. I hate keeping these secrets from everyone."
"Then why not just tell Arthur? The longer you wait the worse it will be."
He looked away, "I can't."
It was silent for a few moments longer, and the knight seemed to realize that Merlin would not be elaborating. "So I've decided that despite everything you've said, I'm not going to tell the others. You were my first mate, and you're still the same guy that pulled me out of a tavern brawl and reminded me there were useful things I could do with my life. You're the first person I ever really trusted, and I don't regret it."
Merlin smiled softly, so relieved that he nearly fell over. "If there was anyone who was going to find out, Gwaine, I'm glad it was you."
Gwaine shuffled, and Gwen's mare nickered and nibbled at his ear. "So do we hug now or what?"
He barked out a laugh and then looked down at his own sweaty chest. "Probably not a good idea when I smell like horse dung."
"I haven't bathed in a week," Gwaine remarked with a grin, then interjected suddenly, "and that's the strangest mace scar I've ever seen."
He was pointing at the center of Merlin's chest, where a large and ragged circle stood pale over his heart, and Gwaine was referencing the mace that had struck him last year before he'd been kidnapped by Morgana. He worded his explanation carefully, but made sure to speak honestly, Gwaine deserved that now. "A sorceress threw a ball of flame at me, near when I first came to Camelot. Arthur doesn't know so—"
"I get it, assume Arthur is oblivious to everything. I've figured that by now." By this point, Gwen's horse was looking more than well-kept, and Merlin put the brush half into his pocket and leaned his shoulder against the wall. Gwaine had quirked a brow. "Tell me about the others."
Merlin frowned, but looked down at his bare chest again. He ran a hand down his arm, tracing the still-healing red welt to his cotton-wrapped finger, "Tortured by one of the Sarrum's dancers. She thought I was a spy and a liar." He hooked a thumb over his shoulder, where Gwaine must have seen a star-shaped discoloration on his lower back. "Serket sting. Morgause caught me following her, but Kilgharrah was able to save me." Merlin shrugged, "The rest," which were small nicks not unlike the myriad Gwaine himself had, "just random things over the years. I couldn't tell you."
Gwaine's face flickered with a series of questions, but he finally settled on, "How have you not told these stories at a tavern?"
A hint of a smile touched Merlin's lips. "The same way you never mentioned just quite how high-blooded you really are."
He took an unwarranted pleasure in watching Gwaine pale at his own untruths. Merlin knew Gwaine hadn't been back to Caerleon in years, and hadn't communicated with his former family for more. "How did you find out?"
"I met your sister—Ari."
"Arianne," Gwaine said, correcting him. "Our parents named her after the queen. She was one of the many babies born nine months after the wedding feast." Wistfully he added, "Ari the Airhead," then shook himself from whatever he'd been thinking. "So she's doing well?"
"She's failing miserably at being a kitchen scullion," Merlin said with amusement. "I spoke with her awhile. You're not one of her favorite people right now."
"That's no surprise," Gwaine said, but offered no explanation. Merlin supposed he deserved that.
"She took me to visit your manor. It's empty, Gwaine, except for your mother, who spends all day lying in bed."
They would never have the money to keep up that huge manor, not even with his knight's salary, and a scowl grew on Gwaine's face, belying his frustration. "Why she's refused to give that place up still makes no rational sense." He spit, "It looks like she still hasn't come to terms with her reduction in status."
Merlin sighed, being careful with the subject. He knew Gwaine was adamant about people proving themselves and not earning anything from title alone. However, he would have done anything to spend an extra day with his own father, and Gwaine had a family that could disappear at any moment. "They're your family, Gwaine. And Ari is on her own trying to keep your mother alive, and keep that place from crumbling." He thought back to Ari's anger and the mother's waiflike nonexistence. "They both still believe you're the head of that household."
Gwaine snarled. "Well, I'm not. I owe nothing to the old nobles of Caerleon, whether they're my blood or not."
After that sharpened comment, Merlin chose to let it go. He smiled in that way that turned his eyes into half-moons, and pushed past Gwaine into the main walkway of the stables. He reached an arm up and pulled his fancy blue tunic from the rafters.
It was much too clean to slip over his own stink. Here was the problem of getting a custom, well-made outfit from Annis' court seamstress: as a servant, he'd never be able to actually wear it. "I saw Gwen sending a letter to Gawant by way of a caravan. There are many traveling merchants in Camelot currently, reaping what this year has sown."
Gwaine rolled his eyes. "I see what you're doing, mate, and it's not going to work." Disgruntled, he continued, "I'm not writing her. I'm going to go to the tavern, and I'm having a pint with Percival."
"No invitation for me?" Merlin said cheekily.
Gwaine looked surprised to see such a friendly comment leave his mouth, and the knight noticeably brightened. He grinned widely. "Not until you put some clothes on. I'd like the barwench to pay attention to me."
Merlin chuckled. "You're right that my stench would be too distracting. I'd probably turn everyone's stomachs."
Gwaine snorted and sarcastically quipped, "Yeah, and those handmaidens took the long way to town just to enjoy the weather."
Merlin made it back to Gaius' chambers and heaved a long sigh, smiling despite the ache in his muscles. Gwaine hadn't rejected him, and even though the knight didn't yet know even a fraction of the truth, he'd find a way to tell him. If Gwaine could forgive him his years of secrets, and accept that he had done much more than befriend some dragons, surely they could find some common ground on his magic.
With a yank of a golden thread he pulled an empty basin towards him, and brimstréam was enough to fill it with a stream of cold water. He tossed his barely worn tunic onto the table and dunked a washcloth into the barrel's depths.
As he scrubbed at his skin, his eyes caught his ruined tunic laying over the open windowsill. He had tried to scrub out the stains of soup with a wirebrush, but they were too inset. He was lucky to have received a replacement from Annis' seamstress.
He smirked to himself, Arthur's expression when he'd returned to the guest chambers that evening had been worth mucking the stables.
But on the subject of new clothes, he was going to need a new alter-ego, and a new outfit to go along with it. While Dragoon as Emrys could technically search out the Leshy and Morgana, it probably wouldn't turn out so well for the forest clearing. One angry forbærne and he'd have a problem on his hands.
Thinking, he ducked his head into the basin and tried to scrub some of the grime from his hair. He sat up with a gasp a minute later with water running down his face, and a piece of hay stuck to his cheek. He must have had it sticking out of his hair this entire time—great.
Maybe he should approach her as a priestess of the old religion, or a sorceress at least. Glamouring as female hasn't worked out so great the first time, but perhaps this time he would be luckier. Though, he wasn't eager to be an attractive female again. Just imagine the horror that would ensue if Gwaine saw him.
So an old woman then. He'd need a gown. Maybe he could alter one of Gaius' robes? That would be a lot of work, and he had never claimed to be much of a seamster.
But then again, there was always magic.
He glanced towards the door and, when he heard no one approaching, shut and barred it with a flicker of gold. Then, while remaining seated, he yanked the loose floorboard aside and floated his spell book until it hovered before his eyes.
He ducked the washcloth back into the water and smiled. This might actually be a little fun.
I know what the other villagers have surmised.
They think Morgause lay a curse when Cenred lost the war, and they believe we have at long last escaped from under its web.
In that respect, Gaius, things are not well. Whenever travelers pass through this small farming village, they bring sour rumors that the troubles of Essetir began with Morgause, and will end when magic is completely pushed from these borders. When our lord comes to inspect our lands, he's quick to remind us why he was forced to increase our taxes.
We were not once a hateful people, but now many friends laugh at the news that the king of Camelot has opened his borders to the Druids. I have heard some say that the loss of the Druids from our nearby forests and the proliferation of our fields only validates what poison they truly were.
Tell your king to be wary, Gaius. There are many who would enjoy to see him proved wrong.
A fist collided with the thin wood of Hunith's door and she looked up, startled.
"Open up!" A deep voice called. "King's orders!"
Hunith gulped, and tucked the letter into her bodice with quick movements. The still-wet ink smudged, and she rubbed the black stains from her fingers on her coarse apron. "Coming, milord."
She opened the door and two large brutes in the burnt orange cloaks of King Lot bent their thick necks and skimmed her face with boredom. The shorter one held out a metal box that clinked with coin. The other had his hand on his sword, ready for some smart comment to give him something to do.
"Extra ha'penny this harvest," he said, shaking the box.
"What for?" She asked proudly, and tilted back as he leaned half through the door, encroaching on her space.
"King's orders," the large one repeated.
"Now, now," the smaller one said. "This matron isn't a threat. She's only asked a question. In fact, I'm sure she'll be happy to spare more than a halfpenny when she hears the news."
The larger one moved away and Hunith gripped the doorframe, careful not to move too abruptly, lest her hidden letter crinkle. The smaller one's lips stretched wide in what she belatedly realized was supposed to be a smile.
"Swords are expensive," he said with a growing, sickening pleasure, "and, rumor has it, Lot has finally decided to do something about the infestation."
Footnotes:
(1) Merlin made a deal with the Leshy - a companion in return for a year of the best growing season Ealdor has ever had (P1: Lucky Charms). Gives him Morgana as a companion (P1: Centuries). Hunith doesn't know the specifics, but surely suspects Merlin had a hand in their good growing season. The other villagers of course wouldn't know what caused it.
(2) Lord Urien is the lord of Ealdor. Meet him in P1 Lucky Charms and P1 Itsy Bitsy Spiders.
(3) Lot is the king of Essetir. In canon, he was only mentioned as a man who put his enemy's heads on spikes.
(4) Merlin mentions being tortured by the Sarrum's dancer (P1 Two Can Keep A Secret).
(5) Gwaine mentions the Perilous Lands, the quest which sent them there had Gwaine and Merlin fighting off some wyverns while finding Arthur in the Fisher King's castle. Merlin slipped away to order the wyverns away.
(6) Again, just in case, King Bayard is the king of Mercia.
Author's Note:
Had a blast finally getting my version of a scarfic in. Initially I wanted Arthur and Merlin to have the discussion, but then I realized that Arthur probably has already seen the scars. Why wouldn't he have? Merlin must have bent down at least once over the years, and Arthur could have seen the serket scar. And, if he did ask about it, Merlin could explain it away easily. 'Farming accident while I was a child' or 'Kicked by a horse' or really anything that Arthur couldn't readily dispute, unless serket stings are extremely unique. So, Gwaine got to have the discussion instead, and I enjoyed it greatly.
Gwaine's feelings on his family interest me greatly. Love his quip 'Ari the Airhead'. I didn't think of it, Gwaine did. Let's see if or how he deals with his family going forward.
Also, of course, very happy to have Gwaine and Merlin on steadier ground, it's only going to get better I think...
Finally, thank you all for the reviews! I got my 200th review on Year for Secrets this week, and, man, was that a great feeling. PMs inbound for all of you, and a wink for SpangleyPony who mentioned last chapter that Ari should have noticed Merlin's serket sting scar. You read my mind! Jewels, didn't talk to you much this week, but shirtless Merlin is certainly a direct result of the Living and the Dead (please no spoilers anyone, I'm only on episode 2!), and Linorien, you made me feel great about this chapter; you are a fantastic beta!
Next Time: Hell Hath Plenty of Fury.