#merlin ff

Finally content that he had done all he could, Merlin approached panic mode. He left Lancelot and Elayn with the girl (Percival had left to refill the waterskins and Gwaine had had a ghostly look in his eyes since the discovery and so was left alone) and began pacing.

“We need to get back to Gaius. I can’t look after her on my own.”

“I’m no physician but she doesn’t seem fit to ride, not yet.” His King replied, doing his best to assure him.

“But what if I’ve missed something? I hardly noticed she had been—she had poisoned herself, that was all Lancelot’s doing!”.

“Consider yourself lucky that there are so many of us to help you then.”

“But—”

“You have been training with Gaius for almost a half-decade now, I trust your skills totally. It’s okay Merlin, she will be okay no matter what happens.” Arthur carelessly tacked on the last part, hoping Merlin wouldn’t notice how dark it sounded. He had seen a few of his knights return from their first battle and end up in a similar state and knew too well that most were content with dying if no one could do anything to save them.

“Now, how about you get your mind off this and make us some dinner, eh?”

Merlin rolled his eyes, nudging past. As much as he refused to admit it, he was glad Arthur had given him a distraction, even if it were preparing a stew that he wouldn’t be allowed to eat until everyone else had been served first.

--

As night fell and the fire grew smaller, Gwaine’s mind ran a thousand leagues a minute. It had been years since he had last thought of what that girl had done – around the time he had met Merlin, actually – and yet, after seeing her in that state for only a few seconds, it was all he could think about. All he could see as he closed his eyes. He longed to help her as he needed help all those years ago, but he couldn’t move, couldn’t talk (the others had made comments about how marvellous that was and he wonders, if only for a moment, if they would say the same had they known what was going on in his head.) He could barely breath, only able to let out fast, short breaths. He felt helpless.

As a Knight of the Round Table, Sir Gwaine did not like feeling ‘helpless’. He was strongly opposed to it, in fact.

It was only after Arthur awoke to take next watch that his brain began to slow (or had it sped up so fast that it felt like it had stopped?) and he began to feel tired. After some prompting by Princess, he lay on his roll mat and let sleep take over.

--

As the morning fog lifted, Merlin checked over his work once again. He removed her bandages, careful not to let it pull on her skin, and cleaned the last of the blood off. He envied Gaius’ ability to treat a patient without being upset for them – working with tears in his eyes was making the task far more difficult than it should have.

After wrapping her up once again, he declared them free to take her back to Camelot. He state hadn’t worsened overnight which was reassuring, but she hadn’t much improved either, so he thought it best for his mentor to give her a look over too. He had only dealt with poisoning a few times (and at least one of those times he had been the one poisoned) and so was not as confident in his abilities as his friends seemed to be. It was nice that they had faith in him, but he worried it was misplaced this time.

With Percy’s help, they manoeuvred the girl onto Lancelot’s horse. He had volunteered to take her so Merlin could attend to Arthur, who Lancelot had noticed was missing the young man. He had watched their relationship grow for a few years now and, despite not knowing really knowing what was going on between them, he was glad his friend had someone to be with.

Upon Arthurs command, the troop began moving. Gwaine rode at the back and Arthur and Merlin took the lead. Percival and Elyan rode next to each other, leaving Lancelot to his thoughts of the girl leaning against his chest. She was a young woman really, looking to have maybe 23 summers, but she looked so youthful that he couldn’t be sure. Her hair was braided with red fabric woven in and a few strands framed her face. She had striking black eyebrows and he was curious of her eye colour. He hoped that she would open her eyes again – the idea of someone so young trying to take their own life left him feeling cold.

He, like the rest of them, he was sure, had occasionally thought of doing as she had. Maybe not thoughts they would take forward, but ideations none the less. They had seen such horrible things throughout their travels, things that kept them up at night, things that made them want to stop thinking forever. It often led to a week at The Rising Sun, but sometimes that didn’t work.

He shivered, trying to banish those thoughts.

A part of him wondered what led her to sitting at the bottom of that tree. What could drive a young woman to consume Wolfsbane and mark her skin in such a way. He had noticed scars on her arms as Merlin wrapped her: either she had been in many, many fights before, or she had done something like this before. He wasn’t sure which option was worse.

--

Elyan and Percival were concerned. They tended to worry most days, caught up in making sure everyone was okay, but this hunting trip had not been a normal one. It had begun as usual: Merlin sneezing, coughing and stumbling each time anyone went to take a shot at some poor animal, and Arthur having a go at him for it (though everyone knew he wasn’t really angry), and then, after Gwaine finally got a lucky hit on a doe, Merlin found the woman. The light mood soured immediately, doe left on the muddy floor. Everyone went into Knight-Mode, as Elyan liked to think of it. Knight-Mode was when all casual personality faded, and they became formal protectors. Swords were usually drawn but there was no need this time – the woman didn’t look like she would be going for her blade anytime soon. Regardless, Percival kept the blade in his possession just in case.

And now, as they rode slowly towards Camelot, the pair were worrying about the silence. They loved Gwaine – he was great, really – but he had amassed a reputation of not shutting the hell up, particularly on long rides. And yet now, on a trip that would likely take two days, he was silent. Now that he thinks about it, Elyan doesn’t recall Gwaine saying more than a sentence since they had stumbled upon the woman.

On the one hand, it was refreshing being able to listen to the birds and the creek of the trees. On the other, it concerned him. Percival wasn’t much better, turning his head back every few feet to see if there was any change on Gwaine’s blank face. It looked like a part of him was missing, the light behind his eyes seemed to have disappeared. Hopefully, Percival thought briefly, he would be back to his usual blabbering self once they had returned home. Maybe some mead would do the trick. Although he would never say it aloud, the gentle giant quite enjoyed his small friends’ stories. He found they made long trips feel a lot shorter – especially when they were returning from a grave event such as this one.

“Do you have a drink we could give him?” Percival whispered to Elyan, hoping to at least cheer Gwaine up a little before they got back.

“I have water, but I fear that won’t suffice.”

“No, something much stronger seems needed. You don’t know what’s wrong, do you?

The smaller man shook his head, looking grim. The subject of their concern didn’t seem to notice their concerned glances despite their distinct lack of subtlety.

No closer to finding a solution, the pair looked ahead, and continued riding.

--

Arthur had been riding horses since he was 3. He was good at it, great, even, but right now, all he could think about was how much his arse hurt. Turning to his left, he could tell Merlin was on the same train of thought (about his own arse, Arthur doubted his friend thought about his Kings arse unless it was about the trousers that they agreed never to talk about again). After mulling it over for longer than was needed, he raised his hand to warn the others they would be resting for a while. He knew there was a good stream nearby and intended to lead them there first.

‘Intended’ because, before he could lean his horse towards where he was reasonably sure the stream was, Lancelot called out for Merlin. It seemed their guest was waking up.

Merlin quickly hopped off his saddle, barely keeping his legs from buckling after being sat still for so long, and made his way to Lancelot and Percival, the latter of which had also dismounted. They carefully lifted the girl from Lancelot’s horse and sat her against a tree (It looked far too much like the way they found her for Arthurs liking).

Merlin took a waterskin from the nearest horse and gently poured some down her throat. This clearly woke her up more as she began coughing and spluttering, pushing Merlin’s hand away in the process. When her wheezing calmed down, she looked around in surprise.

“Wh—” another scratchy cough, “Where am I? My throat, it’s burn—” more painful coughs. Arthur almost looked away, somehow feeling guilty that she was in such pain.

“You are on your way to Camelot. My name is Merlin, I’m the Royal Physicians apprentice. This,” he gestures to Arthur who decides he should look more Kingly and not cower and the pained sounds she is making “is King Arthur Pendragon and the others are Knights of the Round Table.”

“Oh.”

Merlin rummages in his bag, pulling the phial of honey out again. He pours a little onto a wooden spoon he had in his coat pocket, and hands it to the girl. How Merlin remembers where he keeps all these small objects is beyond Arthur, but he is glad he does.

“Here, drink this. It should soothe your throat a little. It’s just honey but it will do until we get back to Camelot.”

She eyes it, sceptical, but drinks it regardless.

“I am sorry for the burning. I had to make you, you know, get rid of the wolfsbane you ingested.” She grimaced at the thought.

Arthur waited for a short while until he was certain Merlin was done tending to their guest. “There is a stream around the corner. We should stop there to have lunch before we set off again. I am sure we would all appreciate the chance to stretch our legs.”

The knights all grunt in response before they set off again. Merlin and the girl walk side by side – the girl leaning on him a little – while Lancelot takes the reins of Merlin’s horse along with his own. It doesn’t take them long to reach the stream Arthur had mentioned and the relief that they could stop properly was evident on everyone’s faces. Except Gwaine, he hardly seemed to register they have even moved. Arthur furrowed his brows at this but choose to ignore it for now.

The knights sat on a large log, Merlin and Arthur sitting opposite them, as they ate the bread and salted meat that the manservant retrieved upon reaching the stream. The girl sat beside Lancelot looking dazed. The kind knight offers her small smiles and sips of water occasionally but it doesn’t make much difference.

“I’m going to get more water.” Declared Gwaine, picking up his full waterskin, which looks like it hasn’t been touched since yesterday. He left with a nod to his King, not giving anyone time to object. Merlin shot his back a concerned look but stayed, his patient having his focus. No one else made a move to leave, too into eating or watching the girl as she nibbles on her bread and sips of Lancelot’s drink.

--

Gwaine was not a crier. He was not going to cry. He was a Knight of the Round Table, protector to the King of Camelot and, if Merlin’s drunk ramblings had any truth to them, protector to the Once and Future King of the united Albion, whatever that meant.

And yet, as he stumbled to away from the camp, aware that no one was coming after him, he felt a lump in his throat that he couldn’t shove down. He finally didn’t feel numb, but he wasn’t sure this was better. Thinking of how his friends would react to him coming back with red eyes didn’t help the situation, instead making his eyes glossy. He sighed a long sigh, and heavily slid down an oak tree, hugging his arms against his chest and leaning his head on his knees.

A part of his wanted to pull his sleeves back and trace the white stripes that lines his arms. Another part wanted to make them red again. But a more rational part (likely influenced by Merlin, curse that beautiful boy) made sure he kept them where they were, wrapped around his torso. He could feel where each line lay, his mind playing tricks on him as he pictured his little blade drawing against his skin.

Sometimes, often, Gwaine hated his brain. It wasn’t a very nice to him. Though, he thought, he wasn’t very nice to his body so maybe this was fair.

He took a sip of his water, making a face as he regretted not bringing the skin of mead that he had thought about before they set off a few dawns ago. Mead would be very nice right now.

Pouring some water on his hands and splashing his face with it, he stood up, shook his head as if to dislodge the thoughts, and made his way back to the temporary camp. A few paces from his previous seat, he realised that he hadn’t actually filled his waterskin, but it was too late and so all he could do was hope no one noticed.

They had, but they didn’t comment so he considered that a win.

Arthur hopped up again as he noticed Gwaine return (he tried not to stare at the clearly-not-refilled waterskin) and gestured for everyone else to rise too. Time to set off. If they continued at the speed they were at before, they should get back before luncheon the next day and he could have a nice long bath, the girl could be treated fully, Gwaine would go to the Tavern and would return just as talkative as before (though he wouldn’t object if he talked just a little less, the King thought) and everything would be okay.

Just one more night in the woods.

-

-

-

-

I hope you liked this! I have a few chapters already written and am expecting it to be about 6 chapters long? It was meant to be a one shot but I got carried away...

If you happen to want to be on a tag list for this then comment/message me!

She went to bed early, blowing out the candles and hiding under her blanket. Dreams plagued her – she saw the faces of every woman she had slept with. They laughed at her, threw stones, dragged her to the noose. And yet, she couldn’t find it in herself to be upset by this.

She deserved it.

She woke before the sun, throat tight, heart racing, mind numb.

The kitchens were quiet that day – there were no meetings with the King scheduled and so they were just preparing the usual meals of the day. Bea made small talk with her occasionally, but Miriam noticed that the cook was be short with her. Maybe Gwen or Merlin told her what happened last night.

She kept her head down and avoided people as much as possible – clearly, she had done something wrong, and she had no desire to make matters worse by saying something to the wrong person.

That it, until the after-luncheon break rolled around.

She was exhausted, sweat pooling on her forehead and chest. Her eyes were heavy from her restless sleep and she still couldn’t piece together which part of last night had led to such animosity within the kitchens. She couldn’t help but worry Bea wouldn’t want her working there formally and so, with little care left, Miriam did something terrible.

Juliana – a twenty something laundrette that was popping in for her own lunch – approached Miriam with a quizzical expression. She recognised Miriam after Lancelot pointed her out in the courtyard a few days prior and she could tell the woman was in distress. She walked towards the woman with trepidation – not wanting to spook her in her riled-up state. She was practically an arm’s length from her before she noticed.

Juliana was beautiful, that was the first thing Miriam thought. Not like Gwen, no, but the kind of beauty that one knows they have, the kind that one uses in their favour. Her cheek bones were high and fierce, eyes passionate. Her lips were rouged and plump – they reminded Miriam of this one apprentice she had worked along side almost five years prior.

“Hello.” Even her voice was attractive: soft and melodic but an undertone of something else. Something sensual. It brought a blush to Miriam’s cheeks.

“Hello yourself. Do you work here?” Juliana shook her head, mouth curving into a smile which Miriam found herself mimicking.

Juliana took another step forward, Miriam standing her ground. She lifted her head to look up at the stranger. “I work in the laundry. My name is Juliana.” She leant down, mouth brushing Miriam’s ear, “What’s yours?”

Miriam felt herself shiver at the sound, pulse racing. Her legs clenched at the tingles sparking between them. “Miriam.”

“Well, Miriam,” Juliana stepped back to look into Miriam’s eyes, “it has been a pleasure to meet you, but I must return to work. Unless you wish to do something else, that is?” Her smile was sly and knowing, eyes with a mischievous glint. Miriam found herself nodding before she even processed the question. She took Juliana by the hand and lead her through the kitchens, keeping an eye out for Bea who had disappeared outside for some fresh air. They arrived at the back of the long room, next to a small door: a storage cupboard. With one last glance behind her, Miriam pulled the pair inside and closed the door.

--

Gwen rubbed her eyes. Surely, after all that transpired last night, she was mistaken. She refused to accept that Miriam, the woman who tore her heart in half (whether knowingly or not) was taking Juliana by the hand and leading her towards the back storage room.

And yet, even after shaking her head, taking a deep breath, and rubbing her eyes again, that is exactly what she was seeing.

And oh, how it hurt.

After gathering all the food that had been requested and setting it neatly onto three separate plates, Gwen found her eyes drifting towards the cupboard again. She had tried with all her might to shut her eyes off to the sounds of pleasure emerging from inside as she grabbed rosemary from the hook beside the room, but she was still forced to hear more than she had wanted. Despite her anger, her pain, Miriam’s voice was clear, and it did things to Gwen’s body that she truly wished it wouldn’t. Even when moaning Juliana’s name, Miriam had a tremendous affect on the young serving girl.

Gwen hated it.

With tears in her eyes and a heart of lead, she balanced the plates across her arms and made her way towards the Lord’s room.

Luckily, Gwen bumped into Merlin before she got to her destination. He caught the trays (Gwen pretended she didn’t see the glow in his eyes) and, after straightening themselves out, he noticed the look in her eyes. The ways her eyes shook with tears and she was biting her lip – brows pulled taught. He immediately softened, shoulders relaxing to comfort her.

“What’s wrong, Gwen?” His voice was soft but laced with concern. It broke her. The flood gates opened and tears streamed down her face. She did her best to prevent herself from sobbing aloud – they were still in the corridor and she was meant to be on duty. He pulled her to the side as some Lady walked past, and gently wrapped his arms around her, placing the plates on the floor first. She sagged into his chest, shaking.

He rubbed his hand in circles over her back, whispering sweet nothings into her hair.

With a hiccough, Gwen pulled away, tears finally running dry. She wiped her nose on her sleeve and pushed the balls of her hands into her eyes to get rid of the wet. Her shoulders still shuddered slightly, and her breathing was irregular.

“I’m sorry, that was unprofessional of me,” she bent down, reaching for the plates to set on her way, “I shouldn’t have done that, I have work to do.” Merlin intercepted, grabbing her wrists softly.

He pulled her up to standing again, shaking his head at her. “Gwen, it’s okay, you don’t need to do anything. I am sure whoever was after food has ordered someone else to get it for them by now.” She bit her lip harder at this, hating the way it sounded like she had failed her duties. Hated the fact that she had failed them.

Sensing her train of thought, Merlin started up again, “You didn’t do anything wrong; you needed a break – it was a hard night. I’ll explain it to Steward if he asks, you’ll be fine.” She nodded, still unsure.

“Thank you, Merlin.” Her voice was thick with phlegm and tears.

He nodded, smiling down at her. “Now come on, let’s go sit down somewhere.”

“What about…?” She gestured to the plates.

Merlin shrugged, grinning mischievously, “Arthur hasn’t eaten yet, how about we eat like Lords and Ladies for the afternoon?” She gasped, eyes growing wide, before coughing out a laugh. She nudged him, nodding, and picked up two of the plates, leaving the third for Merlin to pick up.

They set off towards Arthurs room in silence, bumping into each other every few steps playfully. Gwen’s head hurt from crying so much over the last few days, but she was happy to know Merlin was still there for her. He always would be, she was sure of it. Her heart still stung from last nights discussion, and her whole chest felt like it was imploding as she played over what she saw and heard not even an hour before, but she had her friend with her and that was as good a distraction as any.

They arrived before she knew it, the walk a blur. Merlin barged in, as usual, and Gwen followed with as much dignity as she could draw together.

Arthur was sat behind his desk, hands together with chin resting on top. Her looked frustrated at the paper in front of him, but his face broke into a smile at Merlin’s arrival.

And then dropped slightly upon seeing Gwen. Or, the rational part of her mind interjected, at her puffy eyes and damp cheeks.

“Guinevere?” He looked over to Merlin, eyes racking over his face for answers, “What happened?”

Merlin set his plate on the table and took Gwen’s from her hands. She was frozen in spot, looking between the King and the floor. She was biting her lip again and beginning to taste blood. Without her noticing, Arthur approached and lifted Gwen’s chin so he could look into her eyes. There was so much pain in them, he noticed. He pulled her into a hug, chin resting on the top of her head. She sighed, out of tears.

“What happened, Guinevere?” His hands squeezed her arms in a comforting manner.

“She – Miriam – I--” She broke off, voice thick again.

Arthur pulled away, thumb rubbing over her cheek lovingly. Merlin watched from beside the table, looking just as concerned.

Gwen groaned, rubbing her hand over her face. She pulled back from Arthur and sank onto a chair with a thud. Merlin and Arthur quickly followed.

After devouring a hand of grapes, Gwen cleared her throat and began again. “Either last night was a total lie, or she is a hypocrite, and I truly can’t tell which.” Merlin stretched a hand across the table, rubbing hers. He nodded for her to continue. “I went to the kitchens to grab luncheon for Lord and Lady Tyrine and their daughter and while I was waiting for the meat to finish being cooked, I saw—” She took a deep breath, “Miriam and Juliana,” she couldn’t help the bitter way she spat her name, “sneak into the back cupboard. Yes, that one.” She directed the last part at Merlin who was shooting a questioning look at her. He nodded slowly, knowing exactly which one she meant but not quite sure he could accept it.

Arthur, who had rarely set foot in the kitchens, interrupted, “What is so important about this cupboard?” Merlin made a series of nods and eyebrow raises before Arthur took a deep inhale, piecing it together. “Oh, right.”

Gwen spitefully tore into her roll.

“But she said…”

Gwen nodded, “I know exactly what she said and yet, judging by the moans I heard, she either doesn’t believe any of the shit she said, or she does, and she is messing with Juliana’s heart.” And mine, she added to herself. She sighed; this was all just too much for her to handle. She had been barely holding herself together after Morgana and now this? She truly wasn’t sure if she would be able to cope with another interaction with the girl. The beautiful, funny, kind girl.

They sat in silence, absently picking at their food.

--

Miriam straightened Juliana’s skirts, getting off her knees and wiping her mouth on the back of her hand. Both their faces were flushed, chests rising and falling quickly as they tried to catch their breaths. Turning around, Juliana took a strawberry from the box behind her elbow and places it between Miriam’s lips.

“So people don’t go smelling me on your breath.” She pulled the leaves away, replacing them with her own mouth and stealing a kiss. Miriam’s hands found Juliana’s waist and she pressed them both against the shelves again.

Slowly, she stepped back.

“It was nice to meet you, Miriam.” Juliana whispered, before poking her head out the door and stepping out, raising her hand is a brief wave and disappearing.

Miriam leant back, head resting on the wall. She groaned. She knew she shouldn’t have done that but when she had seen Gwen at the entrance to the kitchens, she couldn’t stop herself.

Oh, how she wished she’d stopped herself.

She brought her hands up to her face, rubbing her fingers in circles over her temples.

“Fuck.” She whispered to herself.

She took a deep breath, rolling her shoulders and putting on a pleasant smile, and stepped out into the kitchens. Thankfully, no one seemed to see her leave and she returned to her station seconds before Bea came through the door again.

She kept her head down for the last few hours of work, picturing Gwen’s face the whole time. She didn’t think the girl had noticed them but what if she had? Could she apologise? Did she even need to? Gwen was obviously upset with her for what happened last night (she was no closer to putting together what that actually was) and so maybe it was best not to interact for a little while?

By the time she was let off work, she was practically shaking with unanswered questions. She stumbled up the stairs and through to the courtyard for some fresh air but stopped when she heard drunken shouts.

Drunk.

Gods above, how she wished she could be drunk right now. With a contemplative sigh and a hand running through her hair, she set off towards the lower town in search of a tavern or inn. She didn’t intend to drown her sorrows, merely dull them enough to get to sleep without dreams. She hated the dreams. Not just the nightmares (though she certainly hated them too), but the mundane dreams. The ones where she woke up next to a woman – someone kind and gentle and happy – and kissed her shoulder and cheek before getting out of bed. The ones where she would make them both breakfast and they would eat in bed and wash the pans before setting to work in the field while the woman – her woman – would sit behind the spinning wheel. The ones where she was happy.

The ache in her chest after she woke from those nights lasted all day.

Sometimes she would even forget her reality, confused for a moment upon waking, wondering where her woman had gone to, before realising that it wasn’t true.

She knew it should be a good thing that it was just a figment of her imagination, that she hadn’t attached herself to a woman like that, but it still hurt. And then with Gwen, someone who she wanted to be attached to like that…