Chapter Text
Merlin’s eyes shifted over the sleeping form of the young man occupying his bed of all places, for the moment, completely unaware of the warlock’s scrutinizing gaze.
There was something about the man—Gwaine, he had called himself, offering an introduction mid-bar fight as if it were nothing. Perhaps this Gwaine was in his element in the middle of a fight where the odds were against him.
Of course, now he was lying unconscious in his bed, recovering from a rather precarious stab wound to the thigh. Quite the thanks given his support in a fight he hadn’t even started.
No, that was Arthur, and perhaps he had played a small part in egging those goons on. So, it was really his duty to help the man out, after all. Arthur assumed it was as he had foisted the man onto him, and he had carried his dead weight to Gaius’ apartment. And to think, he certainly hadn’t predicted his day to be interrupted by a grievous injury before noon.
Merlin moved to mop the sweat from the man’s brow, shaking his head as he raked his gaze over the man’s firm chest. It certainly wasn’t because he found this eccentric man charming. He was probably a rake. The type of man who wooed as many hearts as he broke in the same night. Never mind that he was disarmingly attractive or had perfect timing.
The door creaked behind him as Gaius entered the room, his eyebrows arching at the state of the man’s undress.
“I didn’t do it,” Merlin exclaimed, standing up to put some space between him and the hot man on the bed—literally hot, of course, given his fever.
“He pulled it off in the middle of his fever. I wasn’t just going to force it back over his head. He could probably break me in half in his sleep.”
“I didn’t ask, Merlin,” Gaius sighed as he took a seat by Gwaine’s bed. “Despite the seriousness of the injury,” he continued, “I believe his fever will break soon.”
The warlock nodded solemnly.
“You don’t see young men willingly jumping in on a bar fight for others,” Gaius observed. “You were lucky to have him there.”
Merlin nodded. “I don’t disagree.”
“Hopefully, you remembered to thank him before he fell unconscious.”
Merlin shook his head. “I didn’t leave him on the floor of the tavern, did I?”
Arthur, of course, had demanded he carry Gwaine to the physician as soon as he passed out. Merlin would have done it without Arthur’s haughty demands, but the long trek through the castle, Gwaine a deadweight in his arms, made him question his resolve.
And he was here now, in his bed, an enigma Merlin wished to puzzle out.
“Keep an eye on him and let me know if anything changes.”
Merlin stayed with him through the night. The stab wound had been quite serious. Any closer to the artery and he might not have survived. Even now, his body struggled to overcome the stress of the injury. Gwaine had made it through the worst of his fever, and now, when Merlin touched his brow, it felt like his temperature was dropping.
Gwaine shifted as Merlin pressed the cool cloth to his forehead, his eyes snapping open to reveal deep umber eyes that were as stunning as they were disoriented.
Merlin reacted slowly as Gwaine reached for something at his side, perhaps a sword, though there were no swords to be found here.
Merlin pressed a hand to his bare chest—which he had somehow conveniently forgotten about until this very moment—the man’s chest rising harshly as if he expected another fight.
“You’re alright, Gwaine,” he soothed, the name still foreign but not uncomfortable on his tongue. “You were stabbed in the fight, so I brought you to the court physician.”
Gwaine’s eyes focused on him, still clouded by the residual heat of his fever. “Merlin?”
There was something quite transfixing in his voice, even strained and disoriented as it was.
“Good, you remember me,” the warlock said with a grin.
He stood up, moving to a nearby pitcher to pour the man a glass of fresh water.
“I’m sure you’re parched. You had quite the fever earlier,” he said as he passed the glass to the other man, his eyes drifting downward before he forcefully trained them back on Gwaine’s face.
A hint of a smile played at the man’s lips before he gratefully drank his fill.
“If I had known I would be nursed back to health by such a fascinating young man, I might have risked getting stabbed sooner,” the man said at last, earning quite a startled look of bemusement from his target.
Merlin found himself momentarily at a loss for words, so he deflected, taking the glass from Gwaine’s hands. “You definitely need more water. Dehydration can make you delusional, you know.”
Merlin turned away, his heart hammering quite loudly in his chest. He wondered if the man could hear it, too.
“I assure you, I’m quite well now.”
Merlin refilled the glass, water sliding over the lip of the glass onto his hand, which he wiped hastily onto his tunic. He turned back, his movements stilted. “How many fingers am I holding up.”
He held up three fingers close to Gwaine’s face, the man’s brows knitting together as he backed away enough to see. “Three.”
Merlin hastily dropped a finger. “No, it was definitely two. You need to hydrate and rest or you’ll make things worse. Physician’s orders.”
“Are *you* a physician?” Gwaine asks, his tone pitching slightly higher in amused accusation.
“No, but I am apprenticed to one, which is certainly close enough.”
Gwaine let out a breathy laugh that turned into a wince as he shifted. Merlin’s expression tightened instantly, his hand darting forward to steady him before thinking better of it and pulling back.
“You really shouldn’t move too much.”
“I’m beginning to suspect you just like bossing me around,” Gwaine teased, letting his head fall back against the pillow. “I could get used to it.”
Not knowing how to deal with the way that Gwaine made him feel, the butterflies in his stomach that were as likely to be guilt as attraction, adding to how flustered he already felt. It was far easier getting through the day when people ignored him, but Gwaine’s gaze felt too electric, too demanding.
Instead, he reached for the bandages and moved to clean Gwaine’s leg wound. Which was suddenly more nerve-racking now that he had Gwaine’s eyes fixed so intently on him.
“You shouldn’t,” Merlin said at last, too defensively.
But Gwaine only grinned. “Why not?”
Merlin blinked. “Why not what?”
“Why shouldn’t I get used to you looking after me?”
There was no mockery in the question, no smirk—just a low, teasing softness that made Merlin’s stomach flip over itself. He swallowed thickly and looked away, wiping his hand dry again even though there was no water left to wipe away.
“I could come up with many reasons,” he said finally, his tone lilting in a matter of fact way that demanded no rebuttal. “For one, it sounds like you plan to cause more trouble,” he continued, “and I would hate to see you wind up in the stocks or the dungeon after I vouched for your character.” He certainly wasn’t going to tell the man that was exactly what happened to him shortly upon arriving. He planned to keep his own follies a secret.
Gwaine tilted his head, the grin tugging back into place like a reflex. “Maybe. But maybe I’ll have a reason to stay awhile.”
Merlin shook his head and shifted his attention to changing Gwaine’s bandage and to check the stitches holding the wound closed.
“Already expected trouble from me, Merlin?” Gwaine asked, his insufferable grin returning—when had it gone from charming to insufferable?
“Perhaps you shouldn’t be so ready to see trouble in others,” Gwaine continued.
“We found you in a tavern,” Merlin shot back, “And apparently you had nothing better to do than join in on a brawl,” Merlin answered back, earning a grin from the affable rogue. “If that doesn’t scream trouble, I don’t know what does,” Merlin added.
“And you’re not from here,” he continued as if he had to get everything off his chest. “What would possibly make you stay?” He folded his arms again, leaning back to more accurately scrutinize the other man.
Gwaine’s gaze met his, lingering. “I think I could find a reason or two to stick around,” he repeated, his tone low and hypnotic.
Merlin felt his mouth go dry, for once, no retort ready to deflect and distract the man in his bed.
“You know, I’ve heard Camelot has some of the best taverns in all of Albion,” Gwaine continued. “And the tavern wenches,” he continued. “Truly a sight to behold.”
Whatever spell Gwaine had cast broke at the mention of taverns and wenches, though by that time Merlin had stayed silent too long. Instead, the clatter of a dropped cup in the outer chamber broke the silence.
Gaius was hardly the clumsiest person Merlin knew, but sometimes he would get so immersed in his work that he’d leave small traps for himself; misplaced mugs of cold tea, plates of forgotten meals half eaten were often knocked into the floor.
Merlin turned sharply toward the noise, grateful for the excuse not to respond, already flustered and retreating with the practiced skill of someone who had spent years hiding what he really felt.
But Gwaine didn’t press. He just leaned back into the pillows, watching him go with a look that was unreadable—but maybe, just maybe, a little hopeful.
——
Gaius was reaching for his dropped goblet, back hunched as Merlin entered the workshop. He glanced at his apprentice, picking up on his flustered state as only a concerned mentor is capable of.
“Is everything alright?”
“Oh, yes. Absolutely,” Merlin answered far too readily despite his flustered tone.
“I heard voices in your room. I take it the young man is awake?”
“Yes, he is,” Merlin said, a soft smile spreading across his face. “I’ve advised him to rest. He should be ready to depart in the morning.”
“It was very kind of you to give up your bed,” Gaius pressed. “But where do you plan to sleep?”
Merlin’s smile faltered very briefly as the thought occurred to him once more. “Ah, yes that. I will be sleeping on the floor.”
It would not be comfortable, but it was something he was no stranger to as Arthur’s manservant.
As Merlin returned to his room, flour sacks under his arm, he couldn’t help but feel like he was intruding with Gwaine still spread out on his bed. He dropped his gaze, silently kicking himself for his servile behavior. This was *his* room, not Gwaine’s.
He dropped the sacks down in the corner before tossing a blanket over it, ignoring the heat of the other man’s eyes.
“You know, I would be more than happy to share the bed with you, platonically, of course. It is your bed, after all.”
Merlin’s gaze shifted to meet Gwaine’s before focusing on the small space beside him. The mere thought of being that close caused his heart to flutter, and he shook his head. “There’s barely enough room for one person, let alone two. I will be alright here.”
Gwaine chuckled, the sound of it warm and welcoming. It was a sound Merlin believed he could get used to.
“Are you certain?” Gwaine pressed, and Merlin had to turn away.
He dropped onto the firm bags of flour with a groan. He would ache in the morning but what else was new?
“Get some sleep.”
Belatedly, he realized he had left the candle on the bedside table lit. It cast shadows against the wall he now faced, and the last thing he wanted to do was approach the bed after saying he would be alright on the floor.
After a moment’s pause, however, he heard Gwaine shift on the bed and blow out the candle, the room falling into darkness.
He turned onto his back, ready for a long night of broken sleep when he heard Gwaine shift once more, breaking the silence.
“So, will you tell me your secret or will I have to figure it out on my own?”
Merlin swallowed thickly, his gaze shifting to the bed, but in the darkness, Gwaine was no more than a dark form atop his bed.
“What kind of secrets could a manservant possibly have that would interest you?” Merlin deflected.
Gwaine shifted, the rustle of cloth loud in the quiet room.
“Servants in general? Probably not much, but you?” He paused, the silence stretching out between them. “You are manservant to the prince, which must come with all the court intrigue attached.”
Gwaine paused again, perhaps waiting for a rebuttal of some kind, then continued.
“Barring that, there’s just something about you—something in your eyes—that suggests you have experience keeping secrets.”
Merlin remained silent, his thoughts returning to his magic and to the tome hidden beneath his bed. Gwaine was getting too close to the truth, but did he suspect Merlin of magic? Or was he merely probing into Merlin’s business for his own amusement?
“I suppose everyone has secrets,” Merlin began slowly, his thoughts spinning as he considered the best way to deter the man’s nosiness.
“I will tell you mine if you promise not to tell a single soul.”
Gwaine shifted forward in the bed, his shadow growing larger on the wall and for a moment, it felt as if the man had crossed the distance between them just to hear what Merlin had to say.
“Not a soul,” he breathed in a hushed tone, and Merlin wanted to believe him. How much of a relief would it be to share his magic with someone who wouldn’t judge him for it? But as much as he wished for a confidant, he couldn’t voice that secret to anyone. Not now, possibly not ever. So he had to come up with something else–something believable.
“I can’t swim,” he lied flatly, wondering briefly if such an admission was too mundane.
Gwaine responded at first with silence, then followed up with a “Really?” doubt clear in his voice, but he didn’t press. “You know, I could teach you.”
Merlin couldn’t help the small smile that formed on his lips, glad instead for the darkness between them.
“You know, I’ve survived so far without knowing how to swim.”
“And if you fall in a lake?” Gwaine pressed.
Merlin took a moment to respond, deciding whether to be serious or not. “Then I suppose I would drown.”
The bed rustled in response.
“How would the prince survive without you?” Gwaine said at last.
“Honestly, I have no idea.”
——
The rest of the night passed silently, Gwaine’s steady breathing lulling Merlin in and out of a restless sleep. When the sun rose, he ducked out to perform his morning rituals, returning an hour later to find Gwaine awake.
“I wasn’t certain if yesterday’s events were real,” Gwaine said, his tone more pensive than the night prior now that his fever had passed.
“Having any regrets?”
“Prince Arthur,” he sighed before shaking his head. “I don’t know if I would have jumped in if I had known,” he said again, tone dark.
Of course, Merlin knew what reputation the Pendragon name had earned throughout the kingdom. Uther’s ruthlessness had far-reaching consequences and Arthur would have to work hard to overcome it before he became king.
“He’s a good man,” Merlin said softly, hoping it would be enough.
“If you say so.”
“You’re a hero,” he said, hoping to ease the mood and to deliver the news passed on by Arthur. “The king wants to thank you in person.”
Instead, Gwaine’s demeanor only darkened further. “Please, no. I've met a few kings. Once you've met one, you've... you've met them all.”
“He’ll probably give you a reward.”
“I'm not interested. Besides, I've got everything I need right here.”
Merlin found the man’s honesty equally as startling as it was refreshing and he couldn’t help the curiosity he felt toward the other man.
“Why did you help us?” He asked, needing to know now that they were being honest with each other.
Gwaine lifted his gaze to meet Merlin’s, his eyes sparkling with amusement. “Your chances looked between slim and none. I guess I just kind of like the look of those odds.”
They parted soon after once Gaius gave the man a clean bill of health. As Gwaine gathered his belongings, masking his unsteadiness on his feet quite gallantly, he shot Merlin a wink.
“See you around.”
Merlin was certain the man was up to no good.