Title: The Bustling City
Series: Days of Legend
Act: 2
Pairings: Gwen/Arthur, Merlin/Arthur pre-slash, more to follow in later chapters
Rating: PG (later chapters: blood, gore)
Summary: After the escape of the witch, Gloria, Arthur must find a way to make Camelot appear strong again.
Spoilers: Season 3
Notes: This is part of a very, very long series that I'm working on. I have the plotlines (small and big) completely worked out, if not yet completely written.



Chapter 5

Gwaine likes living in Camelot. The people here take every excuse to throw a party. They had a party to welcome Lady Elena to court, they had a party to celebrate the opening of the tournament, they celebrated the first day of the tournament being over and now they were celebrating the end of the second day, as a tribute to the victors of the jousting round. Gwaine can appreciate people knowing how to throw a party.

He dances with the Lady Elena twice, under the watchful eye of her entourage, their hands brush together and she looks far too amused for a maiden whose toes will be trod on by many a knight this evening.

“Do you enjoy dancing, Sir Gwaine?”

“Only when I have to, my lady.”

She laughs and he’s allowed to leave the dance floor. He sits down at the table with Merlin and Elyan while Elena accepts the invitation of a dance by one of the knights of Carleon, the one who defeated the knight of Ban. Gwaine doesn’t know his name. He grins at Elyan. “I thought you’d be off to the tavern by now, since Elsa is serving tonight and all.” He wiggles his eyebrows.

Elyan grins. “True, but the ale’s free here, isn’t it?”

Gwaine grins back and raises his own tankard in salute. “To free ale!”

“To free ale!” Elyan echoes and empties his drink while Lancelot follows close one table over and eventually the whole hall is shouting “to free ale!”

Merlin doesn’t say anything, but his playful spirit wins out over his disapproval, and he gives Gwaine the look that says ‘I know what you’re doing.’ Gwaine simply shrugs and quietly sips his drink. One of the servant girls quietly drops another load of tankards on their table and Elyan takes the opportunity to give another toast.

“To you, Sir Gwaine,” Elyan says. “Congratulations on your victory!” The young knight raises his tankard and downs the ale in one fell swoop.

Gwaine raises his own full tankard and when Elyan leaves to speak to Sir Lamorak, discreetly exchanges it for an empty one. He’s pacing himself for the battle tomorrow, like he’s seen Leon do, but hiding it from the crowd so his opponent will underestimate him in the morning. Although his opponent becomes too busy drowning his sorrows in ale when he sees Arthur and Gwen dancing together.

“He’s really not coping very well, is he?” Gwaine asks Merlin, because Lancelot’s feelings for Arthur’s girl are all too obvious, no matter how well he tries to hide it. It’s because Lancelot’s one of those men who is unfailingly honest and painfully sincere in everything they do so the lies and the silences are painted on his face. Lancelot pining away for the woman who might one day be his queen is a secret openly known to the knights of Camelot, but carefully hidden from their prince.

Merlin shakes his head and takes a deep drink of his own ale, clearly uncomfortable with the topic. Gwaine wraps his arm around Merlin’s skinny shoulders and drops his head one of them. He knows well enough what he’s like when drunk and he hides his grin in Merlin’s shoulder. He can feel Merlin tilt sideways until his head is resting on Gwaine’s.

Merlin hums softly and says, “It must be hard for him, to see someone he loves dancing with someone else.”

Gwaine looks up briefly and casts his eyes over the crowd. “Maybe.” He looks back to Merlin whose face looks slightly glum.

Merlin shrugs. “Dancing’s important though, for courting. It’s tricky courting a girl.” He tries to bury his face in the tankard.

Gwaine snorts. “It’s tricky courting a noble woman when everyone thinks you’re a peasant.”

Merlin’s head resurfaces with a dark red circle around his chin and mouth and he’s not as drunk as Gwaine thought he was because his eyes are clear and suspicious. “What?”

Gwaine shrugs and shakes his head. “Nothing.” He’s tempted to lay his head on the table, but thinks that might be overdoing it. He’s just about to subtly put his empty tankard on the far side of the table - so he can switch a full one for it later and pretend he’s been drinking - when Arthur sits down heavily across from him and Merlin. His cheeks are flushed and there’s a wide grin on his face. He’s obviously on the happy side of tipsy.

“Gwaine, well done. It’s not every day a Knight of Carleon is unhorsed after a single blow.”

He looks sincerely pleased and Gwaine isn’t used to fighting with someone who takes pride in Gwaine’s accomplishments as well as his own.

“Well, it’s not every day a knight of Carleon has to go up against me.”

Arthur laughs, a bit too loud and it’s only then that Gwaine notices there are stress lines around his eyes. Gwaine can tell the exact moment that Merlin notices too because that skinny body goes completely tense.

Gwaine clears his throat. “You sure you should be drinking that?” He motions to the tankard in Arthur’s hand. “You’re going up against Percival in a lance fight tomorrow. One misstep and he’ll flatten you.”

Arthur looks over to where Percival is having a quiet, fierce and entirely too serious drinking game with the knight errant he defeated in the joust. Arthur’s clearly calculating his own height and bulk versus that of Percival and eventually puts the tankard down. Merlin giggles, but it sounds a bit odd and Gwaine wonders how many people in this room are actually drunk and how many are just carried away by ambiance and the need to pretend everything is fine in the kingdom.

He casts his eyes over the room again and decides it’s time to take a stroll among the castle gardens. He clears his throat. “I’ll leave you two lovebirds to it.”

He doesn’t notice Arthur’s smile slowly dimming, as if his muscles are tired with keeping up the charade and he doesn’t see Merlin moving from his seat to sit next to Arthur. He’s already out the door by then, into the night sky and the lush, green gardens for his own rendezvous.

“Everything alright?” Merlin asks softly.

Arthur shrugs and then takes another deep swallow from his tankard. “I spoke to Lord Godwyn today, after the final bout of jousts.”

Something uncomfortable is crawling around in Merlin’s belly now, because he has a feeling he knows what’s coming. “And?”

Arthur puts the tankard down, but doesn’t answer and Merlin can see the tell muscles in his jaw where he’s grinding his teeth together. He doesn’t know what to do or say. He looks out over the floor and sees Gwen dancing with Leon, who is towering over her and seems a bit uncomfortable about the height difference. He takes note of several knights still out on the floor. Lancelot is nowhere to be seen even if he was a table over just a little while ago. Sir Cai and Sir Lamorak are talking animatedly with Elyan and two knights of Carleon. Lord Godwyn left the feast right after the meal while Elena stayed for a few dances but seems to have left the celebrations as well. He looks back at Arthur.

“What did he say?” Merlin asks.

“He’s been having either lunch or supper every day with my father since he’s arrived, but .... There’s been absolutely no change in his condition,” Arthur says and his voice is rough enough to make Merlin want to reach out and curl himself around those broad shoulders. He doesn’t though, because it’s not what they do. “Gaius joined them sometimes, but he didn’t notice any relevant changes.” Arthur took a deep breath. “Gaius says that he might never recover.”

It’s odd how the celebrations go on around them at the announcement. The minstrels are still playing, people are still dancing, laughing, eating and drinking. It doesn’t change anything but Merlin feels like the room should have gone deathly silent at the announcement. Arthur doesn’t look up from the table. He doesn’t even move and for the first time, Merlin is at a complete loss of what to say to him.

“Never?” he asks eventually.

Arthur shrugs. “Gaius says that he isn’t sure, that he can’t be sure either way.” He stops and takes another drink. “But all evidence seems to suggest that he will never recover.”

Merlin has never wanted to hug Arthur more than he has at this moment. He remembers losing his own father, choking on his screams and tears and wishing someone would hold him. Arthur isn’t crying, but his eyes and cheeks are red. Anyone else would just assume he’d drunk too much. He shifts closer and adopting the guise of drunkenness everyone is favouring tonight, he drops his head on Arthur’s shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” he offers.

Arthur shrugs, but not enough to dislodge Merlin.

“I should have known, really,” Arthur says softly. “I should have known he wouldn’t recover from this, from her.” He sniffles a little and Merlin pretends not to hear.

“Have you told anyone yet?”

Arthur shakes his head and his hair brushes past Merlin’s own. “I don’t know what to tell them. The council’s already being a giant pain. The knights will be respectfully mournful, so will the people of Camelot, while some of them will celebrate in secret and wait for his death.”

It hasn’t occurred to Merlin before that it might be difficult for Arthur to know that his father is hated, feared and loved in equal measure.

“Your father,” Merlin begins and doesn’t really know how to end. Arthur shifts slightly closer and Merlin takes a deep breath. “He was a good father?”

He’s never really known Arthur speak about his childhood, about his feelings for his father. He’s seen Arthur and Uther at odds and in agreement. He’s seen Arthur perform miraculous and neck-breaking feats in an effort to please his father. He’s seen them tense and uncomfortable around each other, but he’s also seen them playful and teasing. He doesn’t always know what to make of it.

Arthur nods. “He taught me how to hold a sword, shoot a bow, hunt and fight. He taught me everything I needed to know. It was ....” He blinks and straightens, shakes his head and Merlin moves away. Arthur scrubs a hand over his eyes and sighs. “I’ve drunk too much.”

“Do you need help getting to your room?” Merlin asks.

Arthur shakes his head. “I dismissed your services for the evening.”

Merlin shrugs. “It’s no problem.”

Arthur eyes him suspiciously, like he does every time people offer an un-asked-for kindness. He simply shakes his head and stands. “I should say goodnight to Gwen.” He stands and smiles; looking exactly like he did a few minutes ago; happy and flushed with drink. He claps Merlin on the shoulder and then walks into the crowd, carefully making his way over to Gwen. They talk briefly and when Arthur heads for the door, Merlin does too.

Arthur glares at him. “I thought I told you your services are not required.”

Merlin shrugs. “I don’t mind.”

Arthur pretends not to pout and says. “I won’t pay you for those hours.”

Merlin shrugs. “You don’t pay me enough for what I have to put with anyway.”

Arthur just scowls at him, but their shoulders bump together when they head up the stairs. They’re quiet all the way to Arthur’s room where Merlin quickly sets about lighting the candles. Arthur sort of plops down in his favourite chair and Merlin busies himself pretending to sort out the bed sheets.

“Did you ever want any siblings, Merlin?”

The question catches Merlin off guard. He’d expected silence or perhaps a quiet story of Uther and a young Arthur, but not this.

He shrugs. “Not really, my mum had trouble enough feeding me on her own and besides, I had Will. He was like a brother, you know? A really annoying, loud-mouthed, trouble-stirring brother.”

Arthur chuckles, short but from somewhere deep inside his chest. He’s quiet for a moment and then, “I wanted a brother or a sister for ages. I thought about teaching them everything my father had taught me. I’d protect them from all harm and they’d absolutely worship me.”

Merlin snorts. “That does sound like you.”

Arthur picks up a rag left on the table and half-heartedly throws it at him. “When I was about eight, I asked my father if I could have one. I didn’t quite understand that he just couldn’t give me a brother or a sister like he could give me a hound or a horse. He was ... not really angry, but very stern, as always. About three years later, Morgana became the king’s ward.”

Merlin doesn’t say anything.

“Morgana,” Arthur says, “didn’t want protecting.”

To Be Continued ... ¬