Fic: Merlin: And None Above All The Others

[gmtaslash]

Title: And None Above All The Others
Author: gmtaslash, principally Trojie.
Fandom: BBC Merlin - Merlin/Arthur/Gwen/Morgana
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: We feel it's worth pointing out that if we owned the BBC's Merlin then we probably wouldn't be posting stories about it for everyone to see - we'd be writing NEEDS MOAR GAY on the front page of every copy of the script that the writers left lying around.
Summary: 12262 words, of which we swear we only intended to write 2000 or so ... in which Arthur is the Prince of Self-Restraint, Merlin is outed as the staringest starer in Camelot, Morgana uses reverse psychology and Gwen is totally the Jeeves to everyone else's Wooster.
Notes: ineptshieldmaid introduced Trojie to Merlin fandom some time ago by showering her with fic links and going 'OMG YOU MUST READ THIS'. Then she succumbed to Trojie's desperate-fangirl pleading and mailed her Merlin DVDs so that she could actually WATCH the series she'd become obsessed with (big thanks also to spacegirlnz for MP4s for the iPod :D), in return for which she asked for OT4 fic. Trojie originally intended to write short smutty porn. Then she intended to write something short and silly. Those of you who've read the Narnia fic will by now be shaking your heads at her innocence, for it's been demonstrated many times that Trojie is incapable of writing something short. However, you'll also be pleasantly surprised to note that this took only a couple of months, rather than the six-plus months that fic USUALLY takes to churn out. SO! This fic, both silly and smutty but not short, is a present/payment for ineptshieldmaid for introducing Trojie to this lovely, adorable, cracky tart of a fandom. And also for supplying the title of this fic.

Beta-read by Bridget despite her not knowing the canon, because she is a saint. Hopefully, though, Trojie will be able to remedy her not having seen Merlin soon. Mwahahaha.

This is set during some undefined time-period after 'The Moment of Truth'.

It occurs to Trojie that if left to herself she writes the most incredibly, stupidly long headers for fics and that possibly she should try and curb my explanatory enthusiasm in the future ...



***

Things don't always go exactly how Arthur plans. It should not be so bloody difficult for a prince to talk to a maid, for heaven's sake.

But Morgana's swept Guinevere away every single time Arthur's attempted to corner the girl alone. For heaven's sake, all he wants to do is enquire about getting a sword made by her father; the royal armourer's work is good, of course, but Arthur's seen a few of Tom's blades and with tournaments coming up he'd like to try one - they look well-balanced and dependable. And he wants to be discreet about it, because the royal armourer is a touchy bastard and isn't fond of competition.

So of course he can't just march down to the town and bang on Tom's forge door - either the real purpose of the visit would be gossiped around town until it reached the ears of the touchy bastard in question, or other reasons the prince could be visiting the blacksmith could be gossiped about - these days the only reason Arthur ever has reason to wander around Camelot's town is if he's sniffing around for enchantresses and the like - and that would hardly be to the benefit of Tom or his daughter. And Morgana has bleated on so cursed much about how discreet and wonderful her maidservant is, mostly when Arthur's been expressing honest doubts about the efficiency, sanity and general hygiene of the idiot his father has lumbered him with.

Is it any wonder Arthur came to the conclusion that getting Gwen to have a word with her old dad would be the best solution all round?

But no. Lady High-And-Mighty has apparently come to the conclusion that Arthur has some unsavoury interest in Gwen, and is now contriving at all costs to keep them apart. It is most frustrating, especially given he doesn't have the interests she's accusing him of.

Honestly, does he look like the kind of prince who'd despoil his foster-sister's unwilling maidservant?

Willing maidservant would be an entirely different matter, of course; she's a pretty thing. But then again, tumbling servants leads to Problems of the sort his father told him about when he was thirteen, to their mutually ear-burning embarrassment. He tends to get out most of his frustrations of that kind on the training-grounds, and if he takes it out on his knights, well, they eventually thank him for it when they're miraculously not eaten by the ravening Rabbit of Caerbannog or whatever particular horror takes it into its head to attack the kingdom this week.

Some of them attempt to get him to work out his frustrations on them in a rather more personal and presumably less bruising and muscle-straining way, or at least a way that involves less chainmail, but that kind of arrangement has its downsides as well, albeit downsides that don't actually result in illegitimate offspring. Suffice to say Arthur has gently, firmly or on occasion violently rebuffed all of these advances.

Long story short, Arthur's liasons are remarkable in only one particular, which is that they're all entirely imaginary. He occasionally wishes that there was someone of a mildly attractive nature, willing, and somehow neither likely to attempt to bend his ear on political or military matters nor to conceive and then deliver sundry unfortunate offspring upon the world, that he could persuade to share his admittedly extremely large bed, but clearly such a person does not actually exist.

A knock on the door brings Arthur back to the present. Merlin slips into the room.

'While I'm pleased to see that you've mastered knocking,' Arthur says, rolling his eyes mainly because he enjoys the exasperated look that crosses Merlin's face when he does, 'it is incumbent upon me to point out that there is in fact a second step to the whole thing, which is to wait until you're asked to enter. Otherwise the whole point of the exercise is lost.'

'Sorry, sorry,' Merlin says, ducking his head in order to hide the frustrated expression that Arthur knows is there. Merlin goes to stoke the fire, and Arthur straightens his nightshirt and waits expectantly to be dressed for the day.

It is during the normally quite awkward moment where Merlin essentially has his arms around Arthur, trying and failing to be brisk and, e.g. not accidentally grope Arthur as he gets the belt on, when Arthur suddenly has an idea.

'Morgana's maid,' he says thoughtfully, and then 'Oh, for Heaven's sake, Merlin, how do you even manage to dress yourself? Look, just ... there, yes, thank you, I can probably take it from here. Anyway. Morgana's maid.'

'Gwen?'

'Yes, Gwen. Guinevere. You and she are friends, aren't you?'

'Yes?'

'Well, either you are or you aren't, Merlin.'

'Yes, then. Why, Ar- sire?'

'I need a word with her, and I'm having trouble talking Morgana around. I don't suppose you could, I don't know, ask her to visit you in your room, after her duties one evening? And I could just ... pop round?'

Merlin's expression is one of utter disbelief. 'You want me to ask a girl to my room. After work.'

'What's the matter?' Arthur asks longsufferingly. 'You should be well past the age of thinking girls have some kind of contagious disease, you know.'

'What's the matter? She'll think I mean things by it! Gaius will think I mean things by it! Morgana will think I mean things by it!' Merlin is clearly terrified of the prospect of Morgana's righteous anger. Come to think of it, Arthur isn't surprised. But that's not the point here.

'I'll deal with Morgana,' he says loftily. 'And you can just explain to Gaius and Gwen that it's nothing like that, surely? Please, Merlin?' Arthur looks at him through lowered eyelashes, a lopsided, pleading smile on his face. He knows this expression works, he's used it often. Arthur is very good at getting what he wants.

And Merlin, it seems, is the complete pushover Arthur knew he would be, and says yes.

***

'Morgana, I can explain,' is the first thing Arthur says when Morgana storms into Merlin's tiny room and sees Merlin, Gwen and Arthur sitting on or around the tiny bed. He then kicks himself, mentally, for saying something that sounds so guilty. 'I mean, how dare you break into my manservant's private quarters?' Indignation on the part of someone he spends so much time lambasting does not come entirely naturally to Arthur. Merlin shoots him a look that says honestly, you prat. Arthur resolves to make all of his boots extra muddy and to really make a serious effort to dent his pauldrons at some point in the next week, just to punish him.

'My lady, I'm sorry, I didn't realise you needed-'

'I hardly think this is your fault, Gwen. Or yours, Merlin,' Morgana adds, as the aforementioned scarecrow scrambles to his feet. She narrows her eyes at Arthur. 'Why exactly are you closeting yourself with servants at ungodly hours?'

'I-'

'Because I take the solicitation of my maid extremely poorly,' she says. As if he doesn't know that. And, hang on, solicitation?

'It's not like-'

'And getting your own manservant involved is not only perverted, it's perverse. If you're interested in him I'm sure no-one will mind. To be completely honest I think Uther will rejoice, he's been muttering about your lack of 'normal desires' for quite some time, and as long as you're not producing bastard sons I don't think he cares one whit what you do with whom. But if you are interested in him, then for God's sake stop torturing the poor boy with your chainmail all the time. And don't think you're getting my maid involved!'

Morgana's eyes sweep the minute chamber, and Arthur's follow. He realises with an internal wince that it's been quite warm in here with three of them on a hot summer night with the door shut (because there's no reason to deprive Gaius of his sleep, although apparently Morgana thought nothing of that, and the physician is standing at the threshold blinking owlishly at them all in the candlelight), and there are a number of items of outer clothing on the floor - his coat and Merlin's kerchief, for a start, and Gwen's cloak (they'd caught her just as she was about to head home) - and that there's half a flagon of wine on the pillow that he'd brought to try and ease the situation, because Gwen still hasn't been entirely easy with him after the whole 'witchcraft' accusation thing and he'd just wanted to ask her a favour, no harm in being nice, now, is there?

And maybe the room does smell a bit of wine, and maybe they have all had a bit to drink. And he and Merlin are a little rumpled after he'd taken a mocking swing at the idiot over some joke and the idiot in question had flung himself backwards, clipping the stool Gwen was sitting in and tipping the laughing girl onto the dusty floor ... In short, they all look thoroughly dishevelled. But it's all completely innocent! his brain shouts desperately at him.

'All right,' he says weakly, after Morgana meets his eyes with a 'well, I'm still waiting for this explanation' look on her face. 'Well, firstly, I'm despoiling neither my servant nor yours, so you can get that idea out of your head right away.' The disbelieving expression she levels at him is a spur. He reacts with 'Look, Morgana, you can't just go stomping around the castle demanding entrance to people's rooms. Look at poor Gaius over there!'

Gaius raises an eyebrow wearily. Arthur remembers that eyebrow from his childhood. It is a force to be reckoned with. The eyebrow heralds lack of sympathy for embellished tummyaches and a certain amount of being forced to tell the truth for your own good. In this case it is followed with a 'Poor Gaius over here would like very much to get back to his bed. Perhaps this conversation could be continued later, sire? Morgana?'

Merlin is gathering up Arthur's discarded coat, having put his kerchief back on and handed Gwen her cloak. Gwen darts an apologetic, slightly hopeless look back at Arthur as she is shepherded from the room by Morgana in full skirt-sweeping mode. Arthur's exit is slightly less grandiose, preceded as he is by someone who manages to trip over a bucket on his way out.

'Try to miss that on your way back in,' says Gaius as he closes the door behind them. From the look on his face, he doesn't hold out great hopes for this.

'Morgana!' Arthur calls, striding forward and catching up with her. She manages to sweep her skirt in front of Gwen, shielding her from Arthur. This is getting out of hand, honestly. 'Let the poor girl go home, for heaven's sake.'

'I could say the same for you. Keeping her up at all hours.'

'My lady, I -'

'It's alright, Gwen, you don't have to defend him.'

Arthur has to resist the urge to slap his forehead at the sheer amount of stupidity and confusion that one simple, should-have-been-easily-granted desire to have a bloody sword is causing. And he didn't even get to ask her about it, he remembers, exasperated. No matter. Deal with the issue at hand. He is about to explain in calm, measured tones when Merlin beats him to it.

'We were just talking,' he says defensively. This is the wrong tone to take. Arthur can see it is the wrong tone by the way Morgana's eyes widen, and he grabs Merlin around the shoulders and steers him away before she can erupt. He'll explain it to her later. Tomorrow, rather than in the middle of the night. He hears a miffed exhalation of breath and the swish of fabric that tells him she's walked away as he herds Merlin down the corridor.

'You have no sense of self-preservation,' Arthur says as he closes the door behind them and takes his coat away from Merlin, who is fumbling with it in an irritating manner. 'It's just as well for you that I'm always here to save you.'

Merlin snorts. It is the kind of snort that denotes deeply held feeling, rather than a throw-away snort of the sort you'd give after hearing, for example, a mildly dirty joke. It is a snort that says 'Oh, you are so wrong.' He's picking up items of day-to-day debris, putting things away mildly haphazardly, with Arthur's discarded shirt from this morning's practice draped over his shoulder, no doubt to be washed tomorrow, and his head is down and his face is turned away, but Merlin definitely snorted at the suggestion that Arthur has to save him.

The room smells of lavender and day-old sweat and just a hint of the wine that must have come in with them.

'Do you disagree?' Arthur says archly, edging closer to Merlin and eyeing the rumpled edge of his tunic and the sliver of pale skin revealed there. He considers dumping Merlin on his arse, shirtless, as punishment for being flippant about his master, but then again, as they discovered in Merlin's room with Gwen, saucer-eyed and sobbing with giggles, Merlin is extraordinarily ticklish.

'Well, of-' Merlin begins, and Arthur pounces.

There is undignified squeaking. Arthur begins to wonder exactly how cheap a drunk his manservant is. But it doesn't matter, because Arthur's had enough wine for this to be fun, and so they roll across the floor, Arthur mercilessly tickling Merlin and laughing uproariously at the noises he makes. They halt when they hit the edge of Arthur's bed with a thump. Merlin has somehow ended up on top, but he is breathless with giggling and trying to fight off the infinitely superior-at-combat Arthur, and so he has collapsed bonelessly over Arthur's chest, beating weakly at his ribs and gasping 'Let me go, you great and terrible prat, let me go,'

Arthur smiles, lips against Merlin's hair. Merlin looks up at him, ridiculously close, eyes a brilliant blue, lashes longer than Morgana's, and ... then suddenly Merlin is scrambling off and away.

'I've, um, bed, got to, bed. Laundry, shirt, very important, got to get that, uh, bye!'

And before Arthur can even sit up and blink, Merlin is gone. And it is only then that Arthur notices the state of the contents of his trousers. Which Merlin may just possibly have cottoned on to.

'Oh, bollocks.'

And now Arthur is going to have to deal with a ridiculously embarrassed servant for days. This has happened before - Elaine, the chambermaid who'd looked after his room before Merlin came along, had once had the misfortune of walking in on Arthur letting off steam, as it were, and he'd been unable to get her to meet his eyes for weeks afterwards. In the end he'd managed to arrange to be out of the room every time he knew she was going to come by to deal with his linen - at least that way he knew it would actually get done and that she wouldn't faint with embarrassment at his presence.

And it's going to be worse now - after all, Merlin must have felt the bloody thing. Rolled onto it, in point of fact, and - this train of thought is not helping matters go away, Arthur realises. Sighing, he gets himself undressed and into a nightshirt - yet another thing that's going to get horribly embarrassing for a while until Merlin works out that sometimes people's bodies just do these things - and climbs into bed, where, what with one thing and another, it is easier to just take himself in hand rather than attempt to sleep and ignore the now rather pressing issue.

Whether it's the wine or the lateness of the hour, Arthur doesn't know, but the usual faceless, nameless participants he envisions at these times have somehow morphed into Merlin, Morgana and Gwen. Oh, for the love of - Arthur lets himself go, folds his arms resolutely. He is absolutely not doing this. And his mind and body had best get used to it.

***

'Oh God, oh God, oh God-' Merlin doesn't even realise he's vocalising until he runs into Gwen in the corridor. Literally. And then he's helping her pick up the pile of laundry (mostly Morgana's lacy underthings, oh God, Merlin, pull yourself together) and doesn't realise he's still muttering under his breath.

'What's the matter?' she asks, cocking her head to one side like a, a goldfinch, or something, sort of adorable and worryingly intelligent, and Merlin ends up spilling the whole tale, because he is a loose-tongued fool, really, and she laughs. 'Merlin,' she begins, and then stops. A few sort of wordlike sounds come out, and she seems to be trying to find the right way to say something. Eventually she settles for, 'I wouldn't worry about it. I'm sure it was just, you know, one of those ... reaction things.'

Merlin hasn't even noticed he's still holding some sort of frippery until Gwen snags it from his fingers with a smile. 'I'll just be taking these back to Lady Morgana,' she says, and swans off into the torch-lit corridor.

It is only then that he realises she's not wearing her cloak anymore, and what, doesn't she go home anymore? It's the middle of the night and she's just ... collecting her mistress's underwear and delivering it? Merlin knows Morgana changes clothes more times a day than the entirety of Ealdor ever did in a week, but really, does she need changes of unmentionables in the middle of the night? And supervised by Gwen? What could she be doing that ...

Merlin is resolutely Not Thinking About This. Or about Arthur and ten minutes ago and the conjunction of breeches. Portions of his anatomy disagree. He overrules them.

Gaius's knowing look from his bed as Merlin does what he is not calling the Walk of Shame (because nothing happened) back to his room is just the dousing of metaphorical cold water he needed, though. Thank heavens, some things don't change.

***

By the next evening, Arthur has decided that the only logical thing to do is to go to Morgana and explain, properly, that everything is completely innocent, because quite a large number of people apparently heard the argument in the corridor last night and some quite creative rumours are circulating about Arthur and his excitingly Continental attitude to the number of servants in his bed, and he's been accosted by two stableboys, his father's secretary's clerk and no fewer than six maids of varying job descriptions, all volunteering obliquely to audition for a spot between the sheets. Arthur, who has never taken a single servant to his bed and does not intend to start doing so now, is rather taken aback by this, and particularly by the sixth maid, whose tactic was quite direct. He will never be able to look at a fruit bowl again.

Arthur would never run away from one of his own servants, so what he actually does is effect a strategic withdrawal, and regroups outside Morgana's chambers. He knocks.

'Come in,' calls Morgana. He enters her rooms to find her behind a screen. All he can see is the back of her head, but she turns, and her hair has tumbled down around her shoulders, which are bare, and abruptly he about-faces, because this isn't decent.

'What is it, Arthur?' she asks, and he can hear the smirk in her voice.

'I just thought I ought to inform you that, despite what you think, I'm not actually interested in despoiling your maidservant.'

'My, how formal. And how do I know you're telling the truth?'

'Because I ... what?'

'You could be lying,' she points out in a sweet voice. Then, 'Aah, mmm, that's better. Getting out of these corsets is always the best bit -'

Arthur whirls around unintentionally. 'What?'

'I was speaking to Gwen,' Morgana says. She is smirking. A dark hand waves from behind the screen - Arthur can just about make out the top of Gwen's head. Clearing his throat, he makes himself turn around again. 'Some of us actually do require help to get in and out of our clothing, rather than just making others do it for shamefully selfish reasons,' Morgana continues.

'What are you talking about?'

'I'm merely remarking that I don't quite see the need to have someone help me into my breeches every morning. Poor Merlin. It must be so hard ...'

Arthur is not thinking about Merlin, breeches, and things being hard when he knows that Gwen is closeted with a semi-nude Morgana, behind a screen.

'I swear, as prince of Camelot and on my honour as a knight, that I'm not interested in ravishing your maidservant.'

'Who?' Morgana's voice is wicked. 'She has a name, you know.'

'Oh, for the love of - Guinevere! I am not attempting to seduce Guinevere!' With that he stomps out of the room, pretending he can't hear the giggling.

But it doesn't matter, because Arthur has been trained to keep himself under control since birth, mostly so that he could kill things without getting killed himself, admittedly, but there are other applications for iron self-control.

Iron self-control goes out the window a little bit when he gets to his chambers and finds Merlin on the floor staring at a very half-hearted fire. The way the manservant looks up at him, a little bit startled and innocent, strikes a warm little feeling in Arthur's belly. He wants to clap Merlin on the shoulder and have a manly chuckle about yesterday's nonsense, but he suspect that this will not actually help, mostly because it would involve touching, and that would probably be quite distracting. Merlin scrambles to his feet. Arthur is resolutely not noticing the way his manservant's Adam's apple bobs as he tries to work out what to say.

'I was, um-'

Arthur takes refuge, as he so often does when startled, in lordly bearing and a supercilious attitude, something he learnt in equal parts from Uther on his good days and Gaius on his grumpy ones, and says, 'Normally, Merlin, if you want to get a fire going, you'd use the poker.'

'Yes, yes, of course, Arthur, sire, um -'

Merlin is eyeing Arthur as if he's a bear. Or a pot of honey. Perhaps a bear with a pot of honey. Feeling uncomfortable with all the uncomfortableness, Arthur goes to straighten his collar.

Suddenly the fire roars up behind them. Must have been some damp wood or something that's just dried out enough to catch. Hmm. Merlin's eyes are glowing oddly in the firelight. If pushed, not that he's ever actually paid attention, but if pushed, Arthur would have hazarded a guess that his manservant's eyes are blue. Just for a moment there, though, they looked golden. And Merlin's mouth is hanging open in a way that has always made Arthur want to forcibly shut it, but ... usually not in the manner he's now contemplating.

Iron self-control. Right.

'I think I'll retire early tonight,' Arthur says, without further ado. 'You're dismissed.'

'Don't you want me to get you ready for bed?' Clearly, Merlin isn't as embarrassed by last night's accident as Arthur had thought he might be. Well, this is an unlooked-for boon. But still, Arthur really doesn't need to be undressed by anyone but himself in his current state. Merlin might get ideas that last night was something other than completely accidental, which it certainly isn't, because accidents do happen, really, and surely Merlin knows about reactions to stimuli and things that happen when you're mildly sloshed and not thinking and someone rolls on portions of your anatomy ... ahem.

'No, I think I can just about manage to get myself into my nightshirt without supervision, thank you Merlin.'

'But-'

'Thank you, Merlin,' says Arthur again pointedly.

When Merlin turns to leave, Arthur finds himself watching the way his manservant's absurdly bony shoulders catch under his absurdly thin shirt. And then he remembers Morgana's shoulders, bare, with her curls falling down around them, and the top of Gwen's head as she helped Morgana with whatever mysterious things girls do when they're getting undressed ... and, oh, for Heaven's sake.

Arthur glares down at his trousers.

Absurd. All of this. Absolutely absurd.

***

Merlin gets up the next morning feeling decidedly unrefreshed by the rather torrid sleep he's managed to snatch. Yesterday, he'd thought to pretend he didn't remember and hopefully somehow that would make things be normal again.

But Arthur'd avoided him all day, and according to Elspeth in the kitchens avoided everyone else as well: apparently Mary had tried to enquire as to what fruit he'd prefer with his supper - they had some melons imported from Italy - and he'd all but leapt out of a window rather than answer her.

And Morgana kept going out of her way to brush against Merlin when they passed in corridors, which they had done quite a lot more often yesterday than they had for months. And whenever Morgana wasn't around, Gwen was. Smiling at him in mysterious and oddly suggestive ways. It was clearly a conspiracy between them to make him feel as uncomfortable as possible, probably because of his part in the whole 'get Gwen alone so Arthur can ask her some unspecified question' plot that kept Gwen from her essential if mysterious duties with Morgana's underthings.

He feels it was a little unfair of Gwen to get involved as well; after all, she could have said no when he asked her if she was free after work. But anyway, for whatever reason, basically the only two people in the castle he can actually talk to except Gaius had suddenly gone extremely strange, and Merlin wanted quite badly to get away from them and get his head straight, because really it's quite hard to think in a constant atmosphere of sideways glances and perfume.

In the end he'd gone to Arthur's rooms and tidied and mended everything he possibly could, just to keep out of everyone's way, because Arthur, mercifully, had gone out training with the knights and neither Morgana nor Gwen was likely to just turn up at Arthur's rooms needlessly, despite apparently stalking Merlin through the corridors.

Eventually it had become colder and the sun had started going down so he lit the fire, thinking that he'd get out before Arthur came back, but the wood wouldn't catch the ordinary way, and despite the fact that he'd promised Gaius he wouldn't, well, how much could this one tiny spell hurt?

Of course, Merlin was halfway into the first syllable when Arthur decided to walk through the door, looking disturbingly delicious for someone so sweaty. Merlin immediately had to clamp a very tight lid on his magic, although surely he couldn't be held responsible for the flare it gave when Arthur adjusted his collar in a manner Merlin was trying very hard not to think about. At least the fire burnt properly after that.

Trying hard to be normal, he had asked in an nonchalant tone if Arthur required any help. Getting ready for bed. Oh God. It was a relief when Arthur, probably having noticed the ridiculous awkwardness, sent him away.

All of this combined had the effect of making Merlin sleep restlessly, with very energetic dreams, for the second night in a row.

'Merlin,' says Gaius, jerking him out of his glum reminiscences.

'Yes?' he asks, slumping at the table and eyeing the porridge suspiciously. 'If this is about Lady Margaret's posset, I swear, I meant to take it to her, but Arthur and Gwen-'

'It's not about the posset,' says Gaius, 'I took that to her myself.'

Merlin winces. Lady Margaret has a disturbing fondness for Gaius which makes the physician uncomfortable. Hence the nightly posset being Merlin's job. 'Sorry,' he says. 'What is it about, then?'

'The other night,' Gaius begins. 'Did Prince Arthur ... did he ask you to ...'

Oh. Gaius wants to know why he had visitors so late.

'Arthur asked me to ask Gwen back to my room. He had a question to ask her, or something,' says Merlin, shrugging. It suddenly occurs to him that Arthur never actually asked her a question, beyond 'how are you?' and saying her name in the curiously triumphant dirty way he always does, which Merlin isn't even sure he knows he's doing ...

'Ah.' Gaius now sounds even less pleased. 'After you left, did Prince Arthur and Guinevere -'

'We went back to his rooms, and he and Morgana had a screaming row, and she took Gwen away, and then Arthur and I -' Merlin blushes, although he fights hard to try and stop it happening. 'And then I came back here,' he amends.

Gaius is raising his eyebrow. This is a sure sign that something Merlin doesn't like is about to happen. The physician takes a deep breath, and says, 'Merlin, if Prince Arthur, or anyone else, orders you, or Gwen, to do ... things of a personal nature ... If he asks you for favours you would rather not give, you are not obliged to ... go through with them.'

Merlin suddenly realises what Gaius is actually talking about (well, thank heavens, because actually that was quite literal and Merlin likes to think he's not that dense), and feels heat rise inexorably to his face.

'No, no, it's nothing like that,' he says hurriedly, hoping to head Gaius off at the pass, as it were, but the old man is nothing if not determined, especially in matters of pursuing hard truths and passing on vital information.

'And Gwen? Arthur didn't make any untoward advances to her?'

'Not that I saw,' says Merlin uncomfortably. 'Gaius, he wouldn't do something like that.'

'No, of course not,' says Gaius equally uncomfortably. 'I just wanted to be sure that you know that if anyone asks, or orders, you to-'

'Then I'll knee them somewhere painful and leg it, Gaius, I promise,' says Merlin hurriedly. 'Good porridge today, mm, yummy,' he adds, hurriedly shovelling the stuff down in an attempt to be out of the room as soon as possible.

'And if you get yourself into a situation where you want to do those kinds of things, it is my duty to provide you with a preparation that will ... ensure safety-'

'Lots of chores to do! Bye!' Merlin skitters out of the room so fast that he almost collides with the opposite wall of the corridor when the leather soles of his boots fail to grip the stone floor.

He works very hard that day, even scrubbing Arthur's floor, in the hope that manual labour will distract him from the knowledge that he wants to do all kinds of things.

Naturally, because the world is developing stunning timing where Merlin is concerned, Arthur chooses a moment when Merlin has his arse in the air to walk through the door.

'There you are,' says Arthur, for all the world as if it is completely normal to address comments to Merlin's arse. 'You weren't at training today. Don't you normally come and watch?'

'Normally, but I had more interesting diversions today, like the dirty floor in here,' says Merlin, getting off his knees and going to poke at the fire, which is going better this evening than it had last night, but you can never trust these things. It also has the advantage of meaning he's not looking directly at Arthur and so Arthur cannot see the stupid expressions he knows are flitting across his face, and the heat from the fire means that if Merlin's new-found propensity to blush hotly suddenly flares up, he can attribute it to the fire and thus escape further embarrassment.

'No doubt the knights will pine,' says Arthur offhandedly, sitting down. 'Are you going to serve me supper or is this some kind of barbarian help-yourself affair?'

'Coming, coming,' says Merlin, grabbing the pot of soup from the sideboard and going to present it to Arthur as quickly as possible, preferably without making eye contact, because he doesn't think he can actually look Arthur in the face without babbling terrible things like 'Gaius thinks we should practice safe sex,' and 'Last night I had a dream that involved you quite heavily and contained absolutely no clothing whatsoever.'

Arthur catches his wrist. 'Merlin,' he says quietly. 'About the other night.'

'Don't worry, I barely remember it, drank far too much, no head for wine, everyone says so,' Merlin says hurriedly. 'Do try the stew,' he adds, ladling soup onto Arthur's plate.

'I would if you were serving it to me,' says Arthur with a snort. His grip tightens on Merlin. 'Don't be an idiot, Merlin, you weren't that drunk.'

'Yes, well,' begins Merlin, not very coherently. He blushes - his circulatory system is not being cooperative. In more ways than one, he realises. Blast Arthur and his bad timing. He would get tactile and then decide to remind Merlin of the events of the other night. 'Would you rather I did remember, sire, and got all strange about it?'

'You're already strange, I hardly see that it makes that much difference.'

'Arthur,' says Merlin pleadingly, 'What do you want me to say?'

'I want you to be normal again. Well. As normal as you can be. And to stop skulking in my rooms doing esoteric things with the fireplace.'

Merlin blanches guiltily at the use of the word 'esoteric', and then does a double-take. 'Wait, what? It's you that's being strange! Mary in the kitchens said you nearly fell out the window when she tried to ask you about what you wanted with your lunch.'

'Is that the girl who tried to ask my opinion of, and I quote, her 'melons'? I didn't fall out of the window, I merely left the room with alacrity.'

'Not her melons, you prat, she wanted to know if you wanted melon with your lunch - they've got some in the kitchens. God, you have the filthiest mind.'

'No, you know who has the filthiest mind?' asks Arthur suddenly. 'Morgana. She practically stripped in front of me!'

'What?' Merlin knew Morgana was capable of being extremely forward, but that's not just forward, it's ... well, it's quite far forward, even if the stories the servants tell about the nobles and Beltane are true.

'Oh, well, she was behind her screen, but I could definitely see her shoulders. And Gwen was there with her ...'

'Arthur?' ventures Merlin tentatively, because well, yes, the image is appealing, and it seems to be affecting Arthur's ability to finish sentences, but really. 'Gwen's her maid. She's supposed to help her do ... clothing things. Like I help you. Hah, imagine, if anyone were stupid enough to suggest that things were going on just because I help you on with your bree-'

'Shut up, Merlin,' says Arthur very quietly. He is now actually holding Merlin's hand, and he looks up at Merlin with an extremely intense expression on his face. 'This,' he says, apropos of nothing, 'is a very bad idea.'

'What is, Arthur? I mean, sire.'

'You only call me sire when you're worried,' points out Arthur.

'Well, you've never held my hand before,' says Merlin shakily. 'Last time you actually laid a finger on me, I nearly got run through by bandits shortly afterwards. And the time before that I think I was poisoned, and before that you were beating me with a mace and chain. Sorry for being, y'know, mildly apprehensive.'

'Oh, ye of little faith,' says Arthur. He stands up, still holding onto Merlin.

'You haven't touched your soup,' says Merlin in a high voice.

'Merlin,' says Arthur. 'You need a new pair of trousers.'

'What?'

'This pair,' says Arthur, 'shows everyone what you're thinking.'

In the moment that Merlin looks down and sees that, yes, the pressing erection he's had since Arthur took him by the wrist is entirely visible to anyone looking, and realises that in the chair, Arthur is roughly at Merlin's-groin-height, Arthur presses close and kisses him, once. Exploratory, peremptory. It takes less than a breath, a gentle press of tongue to Merlin's bottom lip, and Merlin gasps involuntarily and lets Arthur in briefly, before the prince pulls back and looks away.

'What-'

'A very bad idea,' whispers Arthur, and he will not meet Merlin's eyes properly. 'I can attend to myself from here, Merlin, you should go and get some sleep.'

As if Merlin will be able to sleep now.

It is still not the Walk of Shame, no matter what knowing looks Gaius levels at him.

***

Part Two

Comments

[hsavinien.livejournal.com]

"sort of adorable and worringly intelligent" --> 'worryingly'

"saying her voice in the curiously triumphant dirty way he always does" -- Saying her voice?

Off to read part two. *snerk* Poor Merlin...

[agenttrojie.livejournal.com]

Argh, I am incompetent.

*goes to fix*

[ineptshieldmaid.livejournal.com]

and saying her voice in the curiously triumphant dirty way he always does, which Merlin isn't even sure he knows he's doing ...

I think you mean saying her name.

Also, spastic? Out of keeping with the vocabulary of a BBC show AND of the pseudo-medieval period.

[tea-fiend.livejournal.com]

Don't blame me on the spastic. After I commented on a couple of anachronisms and was told it's just stock Auntie Beeb, I stopped commenting.

The voice is all my fault though. I do apologise.

[ineptshieldmaid.livejournal.com]

It's not really the anachronism that bothers me- it's that the use of 'spastic' is NOT stock Auntie Beeb, because the Beeb know better than to use 'spastic' as a commonplace insult.

[agenttrojie.livejournal.com]

I think Merlin would say 'spastic'. But I take your point and will change it to the ever-popular and canonically accurate 'prat'.

[lassiterfics.livejournal.com]

This is ABSOLUTELY DELIGHFTUL. It's funny and sweet, and you've got some awesome turns of phrase. My favorites:
- Gaius's eyebrows being a force to be reckoned with
- Arthur's excitingly Continental attitude towards the number of servants in his bed XD
- Gwen's essential if mysterious duties with Morgana's underthings.
- Gaius being nothing if not determined, especially in matters of pursuing hard truths and passing on vital information.
- "stop skulking in my rooms doing esoteric things with the fireplace"

Great, great stuff.

[agenttrojie.livejournal.com]

Thank you :D

I attribute my turns of phrase to, in equal parts, an obsession with Terry Pratchett novels and the improving influence of my wonderful posse of beta-readers :D