#merlinbbc

YN stopped then, turning on her heel to face him. She was grinning, her eyes crinkling at the corners in a way that always made Merlin feel a little less like the weight of Albion was resting solely on his narrow shoulders. “That,” she said, pointing a finger at him, “is just to see if you’ll actually wade into the mud to get it.” 

Merlin groaned, letting his head fall back. He stared up at the canopy of ancient trees, the leaves shimmering like emerald coins against the blue sky. “He hates me. Everyone hates me. I am a servant to tyrants and madmen.” 

“You love it,” she teased, waiting for him to catch up. She fell into step beside him, bumping her shoulder comfortably against his. It was a gesture of easy camaraderie, one that required no words or explanations. In a castle full of secrets, hierarchies, and rigid protocols, YN was a rare breath of fresh air—someone who knew him. Not just Merlin the servant, or Merlin the clumsy idiot, but Merlin. 

She knew about the magic. It had been an accident, months ago—a falling chandelier, a whispered spell, and YN standing in the doorway with a basket of linens. She hadn’t screamed. She hadn’t run to Uther. She had simply asked if he could fix the broken vase she’d dropped the week prior. Since then, the bond between them had solidified into something ironclad and fiercely protective. 

“I do not love it,” Merlin argued, though the bite was gone from his tone. “I could be sleeping. I could be eating. I could be doing literally anything other than hunting for Grog-wart in the most spider-infested part of the kingdom.” 

“But look at the day, Merlin!” YN spread her arms wide, encompassing the forest. “The sun is shining, the birds are singing, and Arthur isn’t here yelling at you to polish his chainmail for the third time. It’s practically a holiday.” 

Merlin looked at her. She had a smudge of dirt on her cheek and a few leaves caught in her hair, and she looked entirely at peace. It was infectious. “I suppose,” he conceded, hitching the strap of his satchel higher on his shoulder. “But if we see a giant spider, I’m using you as a shield.” 

“Fair enough. I’m sturdier than you anyway.” 

They walked in comfortable silence for a while, the only sounds the crunch of dry leaves under their boots and the distant, rhythmic hammering of a woodpecker. The woods were beautiful, Merlin had to admit. Away from the stone walls of Camelot, the air smelled of pine resin and damp earth rather than horse stables and woodsmoke. It hummed with a subtle, underlying energy—the life force of the land—that buzzed against Merlin’s senses like a second heartbeat. 

He watched YN scan the tree roots, her focus intense. She was better at this than he was. While Merlin had the magical affinity to sense life, YN had the practical knowledge passed down from her grandmother. She knew which berries would sweeten a tart and which would stop a heart in three beats. 

“Found it,” she whispered triumphantly, dropping to her knees beside a fallen log that was more moss than wood. 

Merlin crouched beside her. “The Grog-wart?” 

“The very same.” She pulled a small knife from her belt and began to carefully pry the ugly, bulbous fungi from the rotting bark. “Hand me the sack? The canvas one, not the linen. This stuff stains.” 

Merlin fumbled in his bag, retrieving the rough canvas sack. As he held it open for her, he watched her hands work—steady, precise, efficient. 

“You know,” Merlin said softly, “you could have been a physician. You know almost as much as Gaius about the flora.” 

YN paused, her knife hovering over a particularly stubborn patch of fungus. A wistful shadow passed over her face, fleeting as a cloud blocking the sun. “A nice thought, Merlin. But the court doesn’t look kindly on physician’s assistants who wear skirts. Besides,” she glanced up, smirking, “who would keep you out of trouble in the laundry creates?” 

“I don’t get into trouble in the laundry,” Merlin defended. 

“Last week? The red sock? Arthur’s white tournament tunic?” 

Merlin winced. “That was… an alchemical miscalculation.” 

“It was pink, Merlin. The Prince of Camelot wore pink to the training grounds. Leon nearly fell off his horse laughing.” 

“It brought out the color in his cheeks,” Merlin muttered, though he couldn't help but smile at the memory. He remembered the look on Arthur’s face—a mix of homicidal rage and utter confusion. 

Once the Grog-wart was harvested and stowed away, they continued deeper into the woods, the terrain growing rougher. The ground began to slope downward toward the river valley, the earth becoming softer and more treacherous. This was where the Silvershine Moss grew, on the damp stones near the water’s edge. 

The slope was steep, slick with the previous night’s rain and hidden beneath a deceptive carpet of dead leaves. YN navigated it with the grace of a mountain goat, finding footholds where there appeared to be none. Merlin, however, was less fortunate. 

He took a step, his boot found nothing but slick mud, and his arms pinwheeled wildly. 

“Whoa!” 

“Merlin!” 

He didn’t tumble so much as slide, a chaotic descent of flailing limbs and indignity. He grabbed at saplings that uprooted in his hands and clawed at grass that offered no resistance. He came to a halt only when the ground leveled out at the bottom of the ravine, landing flat on his back in a puddle of stagnant, brackish water that smelled distinctly of sulfur and decay. 

Silence reigned for three seconds. 

Then, from the top of the ridge, a face appeared. YN peered over the edge, her expression battling between concern and amusement. 

“Are you alive?” she called down. 

Merlin spat out a mouthful of muddy water. He sat up, peeling a wet leaf off his forehead. His tunic was sodden, his boots were caked in gray sludge, and he could feel the cold damp seeping into his very bones. 

“I’m fine,” he croaked. “Just… resting.” 

YN scrambled down the slope, sliding the last few feet in a controlled crouch. She landed lightly beside the puddle, barely kicking up a speck of dirt. She took one look at him—drenched, miserable, and looking like a drowned rat—and bit her lip. 

“Don’t,” Merlin warned, pointing a mud-covered finger at her. “Do not laugh.” 

“I’m not!” she insisted, her voice trembling with suppressed mirth. “I’m very concerned. Truly.” 

“You’re vibrating.” 

“It’s the cold. Shivering.” 

Merlin glared at her, but the absurdity of the situation caught up with him. He looked down at himself. He was covered in slime. He sighed, a long, suffering exhale. “Gaius is going to kill me. This was my clean tunic.” 

YN couldn’t hold it back anymore. She let out a snort, which dissolved into full-blown laughter. It wasn't mean-spirited; it was the kind of laughter that invited you in. She offered him a hand. “Come on, you bog monster. Up you get.” 

Merlin took her hand, letting her haul him out of the muck. As he stood, dripping and squelching, he looked at her beaming face. 

“You seem to be enjoying yourself,” he noted dryly, wiping sludge from his neck. 

“Oh, immensely,” she admitted, her eyes dancing. “It’s the highlight of my week. Watching the most powerful warlock to ever walk the earth defeated by a patch of mud? It’s poetic, really.” 

Merlin rolled his eyes, but he felt the corner of his mouth twitching. “Glad I could entertain. Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to avoid catching pneumonia.” 

He glanced around. The ravine was deep, shielding them from prying eyes. The trees grew thick here, creating a natural wall of privacy. 

“Coast is clear,” YN said softly, knowing exactly what he was thinking. She turned her back to him, facing the slope, keeping watch. “Do your thing.” 

Merlin took a breath. He centered himself, feeling the warmth of the magic in his chest, a golden coil ready to spring. He whispered the words, his eyes flashing gold for a fraction of a second. 

“Bael onbryne.” 

A rush of warm air, like the blast from a furnace, swirled around him. Steam rose from his clothes in a thick cloud. The mud dried instantly, cracking and flaking off, turning to dust that he easily brushed away. The dampness in his boots evaporated. Within seconds, he was warm, dry, and relatively clean, save for a few stubborn stains. 

“Better?” YN asked, looking over her shoulder as the steam dissipated. 

“Much,” Merlin sighed, rolling his shoulders. “I love magic. I really do. It’s significantly better than towels.” 

“Show-off,” she nudged him. “Now, look. While you were busy wallowing, I spotted the moss.” 

She pointed to a cluster of rocks jutting out into the stream a few yards away. They were coated in a shimmering, silver-green substance that seemed to glow in the dim light of the ravine. 

They moved toward the stream, the task refocusing their minds. As they harvested the moss, scraping it carefully into glass phials, the atmosphere shifted into something more contemplative. The earlier laughter settled into a comfortable, quiet intimacy. 

“Do you ever think about leaving?” YN asked suddenly. 

Merlin paused, the glass phial in his hand suspended over the rock. He didn't look up immediately. “Leaving?” 

“Camelot. The chores. The secrecy.” She sat back on her heels, wiping her hands on her apron. “Just packing a bag and going somewhere where you don’t have to hide. Where you could… I don’t know. Be a court sorcerer? Or just a village healer who doesn’t have to lie about how he cured the miller’s gout?” 

Merlin scraped the last of the moss into the jar and corked it. He sat down on a dry stone, looking at the rushing water of the stream. It was a question he asked himself in the dark hours of the night, but hearing it out loud made it feel heavier. 

“I can’t,” he said simply. 

“Because of destiny?” 

“Because of Arthur.” 

YN smiled softly, picking up a pebble and tossing it into the water. Plunk. “He doesn’t know how lucky he is. To have a friend like you.” 

“He thinks I’m an idiot,” Merlin reminded her. 

“He thinks you’re an idiot because that’s the mask you wear,” she countered gently. “But he trusts you. More than he trusts his knights. I see the way he looks for you when he’s stressed, or how he relaxes when you’re in the room. You’re his anchor, Merlin.” 

Merlin looked at her, surprised by the depth of her observation. “You see a lot, don’t you?” 

“I’m a servant, Merlin. We’re invisible. People say things and do things in front of us because they forget we’re there. I see everything.” She shifted, turning to face him fully. “I worry about you, though. Carrying all of that alone. Even with Gaius… it’s a lot of weight for one person.” 

“I’m not alone,” Merlin said. The words came out before he could filter them, honest and raw. He looked at YN—at her kind face, her steady presence. “I have you.” 

YN’s expression softened, a genuine warmth flooding her features. She reached out and squeezed his forearm. “Yeah. You do. And don’t you forget it. If you ever need to rant about destiny, or dragons, or how heavy Arthur’s head is… I’m here.” 

“His head is remarkably heavy,” Merlin joked, breaking the tension. “I think it’s all the hot air.” 

They shared a laugh, the sound lighter this time, grounded in shared understanding. It was these moments, Merlin realized, that kept him sane. The moments where he didn’t have to be the savior of Albion or the bumbling servant. He could just be Merlin, sitting by a stream with a friend. 

“Right,” YN said, slapping her knees and standing up. “Sentimental hour is over. We still need the River-leech. And I am not catching those. They’re slimy.” 

Merlin groaned, standing up. “I hate leeches.” 

“You have magic,” she pointed out. “Can’t you just… summon them?” 

“It doesn’t work like that. Living things are tricky. If I summon them, I might accidentally summon a water snake. Or a very angry pike.” 

“Manual labor it is, then.” 

They spent the next hour wading in the shallows. Thankfully, no further falls occurred. They collected the leeches (which were indeed disgusting), found the wild garlic Gaius wanted for his soup, and even stumbled upon a bush of sweet blackberries, which they ate until their fingers and tongues were stained purple. 

By the time they climbed out of the ravine, the sun was beginning to dip low in the sky, casting long, golden shadows through the trees. The air was cooling, the heat of the day giving way to the crispness of evening. 

They were walking back along the ridge when Merlin stopped dead in his tracks. He held out an arm to stop YN. 

“What?” she whispered, freezing instantly. 

Merlin tilted his head. “Do you hear that?” 

“Hear what?” 

“Hissing.” 

YN paled. “Snakes?” 

“Bigger.” 

From the undergrowth ahead, a massive shape emerged. It wasn't a snake. It was a badger. But not just any badger—this beast was the size of a large dog, with stripes as wide as a man's hand and claws that looked capable of digging through stone. It stood in the center of the path, chittering aggressively, its teeth bared. 

“That,” YN whispered, “is an unusually large badger.” 

“It’s a Dire Badger,” Merlin corrected, his voice hushed. “Territorial. Very grumpy.” 

“Can we go around?” 

The badger took a step forward and snapped its jaws. Snap. The sound was like a branch breaking. 

“I don’t think he wants us to go around,” Merlin said. 

“Magic?” YN suggested, gripping Merlin’s sleeve. 

“If I blast it, it’ll make a noise. We’re too close to the patrols near the city limits.” 

“So, what? We run?” 

“Badgers are fast, YN. Surprisingly fast.” 

The badger growled, a low rumble that vibrated in the ground. It looked ready to charge. 

Merlin scanned the area. He needed a distraction. Something subtle. His eyes landed on a heavy branch hanging precariously above the badger’s head, attached to an old oak tree by a sliver of wood. 

“Cover your ears,” Merlin whispered. 

“Why?” 

“Just do it.” 

YN clapped her hands over her ears. Merlin focused on the branch. “To-springe,” he muttered, his eyes flashing gold. 

The wood snapped with a sharp crack. The heavy branch plummeted straight down. 

It didn't hit the badger—Merlin wasn't cruel—but it landed inches from its nose with a thunderous thud, exploding into a shower of bark and leaves. 

The Dire Badger, startled out of its wits, let out a high-pitched squeak that was entirely undignified for a creature of its size. It performed a clumsy backflip in its haste to turn around and bolted into the underbrush, crashing through the ferns like a runaway cart. 

Silence returned to the path. 

YN slowly lowered her hands. She looked at the spot where the badger had been, then at the fallen branch, and finally at Merlin. 

“Did you just… prank a badger?” 

“I prefer the term ‘tactical redirection’,” Merlin said with a grin. 

“You almost gave the poor thing a heart attack.” 

“Better than it eating our ankles.” 

YN shook her head, laughing as she started walking again. “You’re impossible, Merlin. Truly.” 

“I try.” 

As they neared the gates of Camelot, the tension of the city began to settle back onto them. Merlin’s posture shifted, his shoulders hunching slightly, the mask of the servant sliding back into place. YN noticed, and she moved closer, her voice dropping to a murmur so the guards on the wall wouldn't hear. 

“Thank you,” she said. 

“For what? The badger?” 

“For the day. For trusting me.” 

Merlin looked at her. The castle loomed ahead, a monolith of stone and duty. But for the first time in a long time, the walk back didn't feel like a march to the gallows. 

“Anytime,” he said softly. “Although, next time Gaius asks for River-leeches, we’re telling him we couldn’t find any.” 

“Agreed. I’m not scrubbing slime out of your boots again.” 

“I have magic for that!” 

“And yet,” she teased, poking him in the ribs as they passed under the portcullis, “you still missed a spot behind your ear.” 

Merlin frantically rubbed at his ear, causing the guards to give him strange looks as he passed. YN laughed, skipping ahead toward the physician’s chambers. 

“Wait! YN! Is there really mud?” 

She turned back, walking backward, her smile radiant in the torchlight of the courtyard. “No. But you fell for it.”