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Merthur, Merlin Fanfics <3
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2023-07-21
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...they thought they knew

Summary:

Merlin is calm, sweet, loved by everyone. He's the guy you want mediating your arguments. The most adorable human. Everyone's little brother.

So the Knights think.

...then Arthur is kidnapped.

Notes:

(See the end of the work for notes.)

Work Text:

“D’you know where Merlin is?”

Leon turned, rolling his eyes. Not again. “He’s in a meeting with Arthur and Lord Linnet. Go ask Lancelot.”

“Lancelot doesn’t have the cute factor,” Gwaine whined. “Percival can’t say no to Merlin.”

“Can you not just decide whose horse it is already?”
He couldn’t take much more of this. The horse in question was a beautiful Andalusian palomino that Arthur had received as a gift from a nobleman in Iberia, and which both Percival and Gwaine had immediately claimed. Apparently it hadn’t occurred to them that Arthur himself might want the horse, and the King hadn’t helped, waving his hand in the general direction of all the knights and saying the horse was theirs to take.

It had been three days now. Three days of constant bickering, and Leon was about to lose it. Newer knights liked to show off their status by flaunting their steeds, and Andalusian horses were a superior breed. He himself much preferred his reliable old mare, Antheia.

“Leon,” said Gwaine. “You’re the Knight Commander. Percival will do as you say. Just tell him Cymbele is my horse, and he’ll leave it alone.”

“You’ve named her already?” Leon exclaimed. He was on the verge of selling the damn horse to a Frankish trader and claiming a tragic accident.

“I’ve known Arthur longer than he has,” Gwaine replied, falling in step with Leon. “I have precedence.”

“Need I remind you that the first time you met Arthur, you quite literally got banished from Camelot?”

Gwaine shrugged, unbothered. “Bygones, bygones.”

“You know what, fine.” Leon scrunched his eyes closed, pinching the bridge of his nose. He was too old for this. “Tell Percival I gave you permission to claim the horse. Go ask Lancelot, just get this figured out. But whatever you do, don’t bother Merlin.”

—

“How about this,” Merlin said. “Percival gets the horse, and Gwaine gets first pick of the new swords when they come in next month. Does that work for everyone?”

Lancelot cleared his throat none too subtly.

“Right, yes,” the warlock continued. “And Lancelot gets both of your desserts because you annoyed him.”

Percival looked at Gwaine. Gwaine looked at Percival. Both shrugged.

“Sounds good,” Gwaine said.

“Mirena likes me more anyway,” Percival added.

“Cymbele is a much better name,” Gwaine muttered. Percival bumped him in the arm, and they left the room chatting, Percival tossing a ‘thanks, Merlin’ over his shoulder.

Lancelot smiled. Another day, another argument. Merlin sure did have skill. Yesterday he’d settled a property dispute by establishing a ratio of goats to acres of land. The day before, he’d sat down and given relationship advice to two girls who were fighting over a boy. All of it was done patiently, carefully, with wisdom beyond his years. Hell, Merlin was better at resolving disagreements than his boyfriend, the literal King, who’d been trained in diplomacy since five years old. Even those who didn’t know of Merlin’s magic, which was basically anyone besides Morgana, Gaius, Gwen, and the Knights of the Round Table, relied on his advice and clever solutions. Everyone in Camelot treated Merlin kindly, like an adored younger brother.

Upon seeing Merlin’s wise mediation, he was once again struck with pride for his warlock friend. Lancelot couldn’t be gladder to be a member of the Merlin Protection Squad, an unofficial club formed by the knights. Everyone knew about it except Merlin himself, and Lancelot had witnessed several occasions in which citizens of the lower town had, coins in hand,  come to Gwaine and offered to pay whatever entrance fee was required.

(Lancelot had then stopped Gwaine from actually taking the money and going to the tavern with it.)

The irony that was hidden within the existence of the club made Lancelot laugh silently every time someone took it easy on the warlock. He’d seen the boy knock Elyan to the ground with a mere eye-flash, then turn around and trip over thin air. Merlin could end the world if he wanted to, but currently, Lancelot doubted he could even kill a fly without immense guilt. He thanked the gods every so often for Merlin’s innocence and pacifism. He’d never even seen him raise his voice for a non-magical purpose.

Instead, Merlin occupied his days bringing flowers to the female servants (platonically, of course, there was no question that he was Arthur’s), playing with the cook’s children, and reading disguised spellbooks in the shade of the courtyard for hours and hours until Percival came and tapped him on the shoulder and reminded him to eat. The warlock had even made Igerne the laundrywoman smile, leaving Lancelot astonished that her lips could, in fact, invert their normal shape. 

Merlin seemed to enhance everyone’s happiness just by being around. The sweetest part was that he didn’t even realize, whether due to humility or sheer obliviousness.

“Glad that’s over,” Merlin said, rising from the table. “Thanks for bringing that to me. Also, you and I both know you can’t stand marchpane cake. They must have been really annoying.”

—

They hadn’t seen Arthur for a day when Merlin started to worry.

Elyan had watched as Lancelot tried to calm the warlock down, but Merlin wandered away, muttering to himself. 

It wasn’t until Arthur had been gone for a day and a half that Leon began to express concerns. This was no normal overindulgence at the tavern, and Arthur wouldn’t have left for any sort of trip without informing someone. 

Elyan worried, too. He’d come to see Arthur as a friend, as a brother-in-arms. He had traveled to many kingdoms during his adventurous younger years, and had yet to find another land where the ruler so earnestly tried to do well by his subjects. Arthur was honest, principled, and kept his promises.

The next morning, Elyan caught Merlin saddling his horse beneath a sky that had not yet seen dawn.

“Where are you going?”

“Where do you think I’m going?” Merlin snapped. “I’m finding Arthur.”

“Let me come with you,” Elyan pleaded. “You shouldn’t go alone.”

“I don’t need protecting.” The warlock didn’t make eye contact, checking in his saddlebags and tightening stirrups.

“That isn’t what I said. He’s my king as much as he is yours.”

Finally, Merlin looked at him. Elyan crossed his arms, planted his feet. Merlin wasn’t leaving this place alone, not on his watch.

(Besides, Gwen would kill him if she found out he’d let sweet little Merlin walk into a possible trap without any backup. He'd never hear the end of it, and that thought alone was scarier than whatever monster might have Arthur in its clutches.)

Someone cleared their throat from behind them. Elyan turned.

“Sure hope you weren’t thinking of leaving without us,” said Gwaine. Leon stood next to him with a crossbow propped up against his arm, and behind them was Lancelot, tucking a dagger into his boot. Percival was farthest in the rear, carrying a torch at an angle that cast the group’s shadows like giants upon the ground.

Elyan grinned. He’d suspected the others had been keeping as close an eye on Merlin as he had. “No, Gwaine, we wouldn’t dream of traveling without the added pleasure of your constant speech.”

“Good. Horses?”

Leon glanced around. “We’ll have to do it ourselves. The stable boys will scarce be waking by now. Like old times, men.”

Gwaine groaned and stalked off to help as Lancelot approached Merlin. Elyan watched as they spoke in hushed tones.

“I know you’re anxious. We all are. But it’s reckless to go alone,” Lancelot said.

“It’s safer for all of you,” Merlin responded.

“Strength comes with numbers. We will find Arthur, alright? He’s the fiercest warrior in the Five Kingdoms.”

“He never lets me forget it. The most arrogant, too. And the handsomest.” Merlin paused as if he might have offended Lancelot. “Present company excluded.”

“Yes,” said Lancelot with a mock-solemn nod. “My ego need only grow slightly larger and I shall be his perfect double.”

Hooves clipped on the cobblestones behind them, echoing against the castle walls. Elyan glanced over to see Leon holding reins out to him, and Percival offering another pair to Lancelot.

(Elyan noted that Percival was mounted on the godforsaken horse that he and Gwaine had fought over for too many days. Guess he now knew how that had turned out.)

“Everyone ready?” Leon asked. Gwaine, Merlin, and Percival nodded as Lancelot and Elyan swung up into their saddles.

“Let’s go,” Merlin declared, and they turned their horses and rode together into the sunrise.

—

“Tell me where to find the King.”

Merlin’s voice was quiet. It had none of the rough edge Percival would expect from a battle-hardened knight, but somehow seemed twice as threatening.

The enemy sorcerer merely chuckled.

“What do you plan for him?” Leon demanded, stepping in front of Merlin as if to shield him. “If you have harmed Arthur, Camelot will show you no mercy.”

“He will make a fine sacrifice to the Sidhe, and I will gain the support of their armies. I do not fear the wrath of Camelot,” replied the sorcerer in a husky voice.

Percival could almost hear Gwaine’s eye roll from behind him. He knew what his fellow knight was thinking: Another one? Every sorcerer they had met, besides Merlin and Morgana, had attempted one of three goals: sacrifice Arthur, mind-control Arthur, or kill Arthur. Sometimes two or more of those, in varying order. Evil sorcerers really had no original ideas. At this point, they should share itineraries.

Elyan hefted his sword. “Do you really think you stand a chance against five of Camelot’s finest knights?”

“Don’t forget Merlin,” Lancelot whispered.

“And the King’s manservant?” Elyan added hurriedly.

The man scoffed and tossed his head broadly. “I am Maleagant of the High Priests. I will kill you where you stand.”

“Then why drag this out?” Gwaine remarked, rolling his shoulders as if preparing to strike.
“Merely for my enjoyment. I delight in playing with my food,” the sorcerer growled, and Percival uncomfortably noted his wickedly sharp teeth.

He leveled his sword at the man. “Release our King and we’ll spare you.”

“Spare me? When you should be begging me for mercy?”

“Enough of this,” Merlin declared, and stepped around Leon. “You have 30 seconds to tell us where Arthur is or I will snap your spine and pull it out through your eye sockets.”

That was… unexpected.

“Do not deign to imagine you can best me, boy. My magic makes me stronger than your blades ever shall!” 

A ball of fire sparked to life in Merlin’s hand, casting his face in sharp relief against the shadows of the cave. “Bold of you to assume I need a blade.”

Maleagant’s haughty demeanor seemed to crack slightly. Clearly he hadn’t counted on a magic-user being among Camelot’s forces. Making a valiant attempt to save face, he said: “It’s no matter. Whatever magics you can muster will not be enough. I have been trained in the Old Religion since I was nine years old.”

His hand snapped out at Leon suddenly. “ Folge -”

Merlin swept an arm outwards and Maleagant went flying into the wall, landing with a crack.

Percival’s jaw nearly dropped. He’d had no idea Merlin was that powerful.

“I told you I’d snap your spine,” Merlin said. “I’ll do worse if you don’t tell me where to find Arthur.”

“You’ll never find your king,” Maleagant spat. “I will die for my kind. Someone else must make the sacrifice, but the Old Religion will rule this land once again.”

Merlin knelt next to him, slowly, the movement tense and threatening. “You don’t understand, do you? You fight against your own goals. Arthur will bring magic back to Camelot, and I will help him. If you are one of the many I have to get through to do it, so the Goddess wills. Tell me where he is. ”

Maleagant seemed to consider his options. He was outnumbered six to one, outclassed in magical ability, too injured to run. Merlin bent closer, boxing him in, and Percival found himself moving towards Merlin protectively.

“Forbearne! Akwele!” Maleagant hissed, lifting his hand to shove the resulting fire in Merlin’s face.

Merlin extinguished the spell with a wave of his hand. “If you want to continue this, know that I am trained in the medical arts. I know how to create compounds that won’t kill you, but will make you wish they would.”

Percival sucked in a breath. Would Merlin really resort to torture? That was for the villains of the story, not for the heroes.This encounter was blurring the lines.

Lancelot put a hand on Merlin’s shoulder. “Sunlight is running low, my friend. We must leave soon.”

Percival watched as Merlin placed his fingers under Maleagant’s chin, eyes glowing with raw power. “Tell me. This is your last chance. No more mercy.”

The man’s face sunk into resignation. There were no options but the truth. “He’s in a cave under the red-marked willow tree about a league east of here.”

Merlin stood abruptly. “Good. Let’s go.”

“What is it with evil sorcerers and caves?” Gwaine whispered, elbowing Elyan.

Elyan shrugged. “Maybe they’re quite comfortable.”

As Merlin turned to leave, Maleagant grasped his arm, whispering, “Who are you that can defeat a High Priest?”

The warlock’s words echoed off the cavern walls, soft though they were. Strange, Percival thought, that throughout this entire confrontation, Merlin had never once raised his voice. His gaze was cold as steel; twice as deadly.

“The Druids call me Emrys.”

—

 

“Stop!” Arthur chuckled.

“No,” Merlin said with a grin as he once again attempted to place the flower crown on his boyfriend’s head. Arthur batted it away half-heartedly, looking annoyed in a manner that Gwaine knew was only to hide the fact that he was head-over-heels for Merlin.

Percival walked by, wearing a flower crown of his own. Merlin had made it extra pretty for him as some sort of apology for the fact that Mirena had broken both the big man’s arm and nose with a particularly powerful buck. Percival loved her anyway.

Between Merlin and Gwen, all the knights had received flower crowns. Gwaine’s was made of cornflowers. Leon’s was buttercups; Gwaine had tried very, very hard not to laugh when he saw the stoic Knight Commander blushing with embarrassment and wearing the thing anyway. No one could say no to Merlin.

Lancelot tapped Gwaine on the shoulder.  “Think we should tell Arthur that Merlin nearly killed that guy the other day? I’d say he should know that if he’s going to keep being contrary.”

Gwaine scoffed. “Let the princess piss him off. I’d pay money- if I had any- to see Merlin knock him on his arse. Good for the ego.”

“Did you have any idea Merlin could do that?” Elyan asked, striding towards them. He didn’t bother to clarify what he was referring to; they all knew.

Gwaine supposed this was bound to happen eventually. They hadn’t discussed the occurrences yet, but that was due more to a lack of privacy than a shortage of eagerness.

“No,” Gwaine responded. “You?”

“I suspected,” said Lancelot with a shrug.

“Did you notice,” added Elyan, clearly brimming with gossip, “Arthur never asked what happened. I don’t think Merlin wants to bring it up. He likes getting exempted from training.”

“So we’re agreed?” Gwaine said. “Keep quiet, let Arthur think his boyfriend is a damsel in distress, try not to laugh at his blustering when he sees Merlin being surprisingly competent?”

Leon cleared his throat, having suddenly appeared. “Our oath prevents us from withholding information from the king. But if he does not ask…”

“We’ve corrupted Leon, finally!” Percival announced, approaching from behind. Gwaine grinned smugly, making sure Percival could see, as he’d been doing every time he saw the man for the last couple days. He rather enjoyed rubbing in the fact that he’d stolen Maleagant’s horse, which was of an even finer breed than Mirena. Percival responded very maturely by sticking out his tongue.

All five of the knights stood there in the shade, arms crossed and in full armor, simply watching the oblivious Merlin going about his chores. Gwaine suspected he wasn’t the only one who’d had a tough time reconciling their calm, quirky Camelot Merlin with the badass, no-nonsense Warrior Merlin they’d witnessed in the cave. 

Through this unspoken agreement, they let him discuss it when he chose to and on his own terms. Merlin was smart enough to know they had his back.

Because, no matter what, Merlin was Merlin. Dork, badass, servant, mage; clumsy, snarky, commanding, kind, loyal, endearing. He was ridiculously powerful, but that didn’t make him any less of an adorable squishy baby that needed protection.

He was many contradictions, and he was their family in all but blood. He was more than any label.

After all, they were all too manly to admit it, but Merlin had become their brother, whether servant or mage or warrior.

Notes:

much love to @clotpolemerthur on instagram; thanks for encouraging me to write this!

it was supposed to be a one-shot...

as always, kudos make me smile and comments make my day! what did y'all think?