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There was a rule, when it came to ventures beyond the relative safety and contained chaos that was the Citadel: Something Always Went Wrong.
Be it a bandit attack, a kidnapping by mercenaries, a wild beast or some rogue sorcerer, it felt to Merlin as though every time the King and his Knights of the Round table dared set foot in the forests, disaster fell. Every time.
He was going to call it Merlin’s Law: any bad thing that could happen, would happen. Merlin had long decided he had the right to name such a law after himself, seeing as suffering would always be inflicted upon him.
This time around, it was a bridge. A bridge, crossing a deep, jagged ravine, exactly and perfectly placed in their path. Literally, in fact- it was as though the road the group had been following had been made first, then this wicked valley was placed to cut through it as an afterthought. Merlin had a very good feeling as to who by.
The guilty party in question was leaning against the post of the bridge, looking at the travelling collection of knights with more smugness than an individual should need in a lifetime. The thing looked like a regular man, but its ears were just a little too long, its skin just a little too pale, its teeth just a little too many when it grinned.
Merlin glared at the fae-pixie-spirit-thing with all the hatred of someone who was far too done with all of this. The creature just smirked back. Oh yes- it knew exactly who Merlin was, he could tell. Not that it seemed to care; none of the usual loud declarations of Emrys! were given- small mercies. Merlin had no idea how he would explain it if he suddenly had the rapt attention of some magic bridge creature, or worse- if it started grovelling.
“Good day,” Arthur called to it from the head of the group, sounding polite but appropriately trepidactious.
“It is indeed,” replied the fae, with a honey-sweet voice that made the hairs on the back of Merlin’s neck stand on end. “Always a good day when travellers come to cross my bridge.”
“You will let us pass, then?” Arthur asked. “Do you have… terms?”
“All I ask for is your names,” it watched the knights and secret warlock through its eyelashes. “Then you may pass.”
“That’s all?”
That wicked grin again. “That’s all.”
“Right,” Arthur said, frowning. “Well, I’m-”
“Absolutely not,” Merlin snapped, making seven sets of eyes turn his way. How dare it, trying to steal from those under his protection. “We will tell you our names if we must, but you cannot keep them.”
The fae glared right back. “But he said!”
“He said no such thing,” Merlin spat, ignoring how a sudden argument between himself and the magical bridge creature was beginning to get him looks from everyone else. “He never said we would give our names.”
Like a child, the fae stuck its bottom lip out in a pout. “You’re no fun. Should’ve known.”
“Yeah, I’m real scary,” Merlin snarled, already regretting the questions he’ll be subject to later. “We have denied your request- now let us pass.”
The fae, still scowling, began to step to the side. Then suddenly, something in its gaze lifted- eyes widening as a smirk grew across its face. “Yes, you must!” It cried.
A deep pit of dread opened in Merlin’s stomach. Oh no. What had he said? “...We must what?”
“You have to tell me your names- you said that you would, and even if I cannot keep them, I say that you must. Then you can cross my bridge.”
Merlin squinted. Fae deals were never this easy. “Are there any more terms you’re not revealing?”
“None,” it said, perfectly smug once more. “You need only declare your names. All of them.”
Arthur, apparently, was growing impatient, oblivious of the deep and abrupt dread overtaking his manservant. “Is that it?”
“Tell me your names- every name you have ever been known as. That is all I require.”
“What the hell is this obsession with names?” Gwaine scoffed, crossing his arms as if uncomfortable.
“I do not have one of my own,” the fae peered at him down its nose. “So I wish to know the names of the travellers who pass by me. Or take their names for myself, if I can.”
Merlin was beginning to hate that grin. At this point, he would have preferred the grovelling. “I can think of plenty of names that would suit you,” he grumbled.
Arthur was still watching it suspiciously. “Last time there was a magical man with a bridge, he gave me a name.”
“Grettir, that prick,” the fae spat, and oh no, the fae was bad enough to deal with when it was in a good mood. “Well? Get on with it! Who’s going first?”
“Is this wise, sire?” Leon asked Arthur lowly.
“You know what? I’m with Leon,” Merlin declared, suddenly chipper. “I think we should just walk around the ravine. Let’s just not risk it.”
Arthur glared at him. “You’re the one who made this deal, Merlin. And this is the fastest way along our path.”
“But I love walking,” Merlin tried. “Sooooo much.”
“You must all tell me,” the fae was positively gleeful. “That is what you agreed to.”
This is why Merlin hated leaving the Citadel.
“I’ll go first, sire,” Lancelot spoke up. “If you think it’s safe,” he added, with a subtle glance in Merlin’s direction. Merlin just shrugged helplessly.
Arthur sighed. “I see no other way, considering the deal has apparently already been made.”
“Very well,” Lancelot nodded, and stepped forward. Merlin watched him carefully, mind whirling for a way to get out of this, somehow. If the fae’s terms were as strict as it seemed, Merlin could not reveal his names. Not now. He wasn’t ready for them all to know.
“Lancelot du Lac, son of Ban,” he said, standing before the fae. “Knight of the Round Table of Camelot.”
The fae watched him, unimpressed. Lancelot glanced back at the others briefly, brow creased in confusion. “Erm…”
“All names you have been known by,” the fae reminded dryly.
“Oh…” Lancelot thought for a moment. “I have been known as a son of Lord Eldred of Northumbria, but that is not truly a name of mine.”
“But you have been known by it,” the fae replied, snippish. “My bridge, my rules. I say all names.”
Merlin’s day really couldn’t get any worse. Having to declare himself Emrys would have been bad enough, but with terms such as those, the list was beginning to rack up. He had been called the most powerful sorcerer to ever walk the earth to his face, which was really not something he wanted to repeat. What about topping it off with son of Balinor? The last Dragonlord would go down wonderfully, he was sure. Dragoon the Great would be perhaps the worst possible thing to say.
“Didn’t know you had the ability to be dishonest. Holding out on us, Lance?” Gwaine snickered, to which Lancelot gave him a flat look.
“It’s a long story.” He turned back to the fae. “I know of no more names of mine.”
“I can tell there is another,” the fae said, miffed. “And you must tell it to me.”
Lancelot frowned for a long moment, in thought. Then he glanced up, pleased. “Lance! That’s what this lot calls me.”
Dramatically, the fae sighed. “You may pass.”
Slightly hesitantly, Lancelot made his way across the rope bridge. It swayed a little under his weight, but held steady. Safely on the other side, he sent them all a double thumbs-up.
Merlin disagreed heartily. His mental list was growing far, far too long. Slayer of Nimueh, of the Questing Beast. Egg-father of the White Dragon Aithusa. Magic Itself. Oh, and his personal friend the Great Dragon Kilgarrah was fond of calling him Young Warlock. None of that was an issue, was it?
“Names, titles, nicknames and identity fraud,” Percival summarised.
“Doesn’t seem too hard,” Elyan shrugged.
“Easy for you to say.” Gwaine almost seemed to be regretting his life choices as much as Merlin was. Oh, of course- his secret ties to nobility. Merlin tried to pity him, and failed miserably.
“I’ll go next, then.” Arthur stepped forward, drawing himself up tall. “Arthur, son of Uther, house Pendragon. King of Camelot, Knight of the Round Table. Erm- that other fellow with a bridge called me Courage, do I need to include that? Oh… there was the whole Sir William of Deira thing, too.”
“Hah!” Gwaine jeered. “You lot have been holding out on me.”
“And?” The fae crossed its arms.
Arthur deflated a little. “I was known as…. Prince? Of Camelot?”
“And?”
“You could try prat? I call you that a lot.” Merlin suggested helpfully. “Clot-pole? Cabbage-head?”
“Those are adjectives, not nouns,” Leon corrected.
“What the hell are adjectives and nouns?” Merlin screwed up his face at him.
Leon shrugged.
Meanwhile, Arthur looked as though he was trying to stab Gwaine with a glare. “Princess.”
Gwaine cheered.
“And…” Arthur mumbled something under his breath.
“What was that, sorry?” The fae asked, not sounding the slightest bit sorry at all.
Arthur sighed deeply. “Artie.”
Okay, maybe something good could come of this. “What?” Merlin spoke up, delighted. “Artie?”
“It was what my wet nurse called me, alright?” Arthur snapped. “It’s not like I had a mother to give me a nickname.”
Merlin, immune to absent-parent-related-jabs, just shrugged. “Fair enough. Never gonna let you forget it, though.”
Arthur glared again, but eventually turned his ire back on the fae in his path. “Alright, that’s it. Can I pass, now?”
“Forgetting the most important one,” the fae snorted, as if Arthur wasn’t within earshot. “Typical.”
“What?” Arthur snapped. “I don’t have any other names.”
“Once and Future King,” Merlin instructed him.
“What the hell is that?”
“Just say it, would you?” Merlin was already doomed to reveal every one of his secrets within the next few minutes, what were a few more questions?
Arthur blinked at him, face screwed up in that confused, perturbed way of his, but repeated the title nonetheless. Reluctantly, the fae stepped aside, and Arthur crossed to join Lancelot.
Percival stepped up, next. “Percival, son of Pellinore, Knight of the Round Table of Camelot. In my village I was known as Peredur.”
“I didn’t know that,” Elyan raised his eyebrows.
“I knew that!” Lancelot called across the distance of the ravine.
“This group calls me Percy,” he continued. “Does that satisfy your terms?”
“It does,” grumbled the fae. It seemed more put out with every name it did not get to keep. “You may pass.”
“Leon, son of Ector, house Kay.” Leon didn’t hesitate to step forward as soon as Percival began to cross. “Knight of the Round Table and First Knight of Camelot. I’m afraid I have no nicknames.”
“You don’t?” Gwaine cried. “I have failed my duties as a friend.”
“Wait, yes I do!” Leon grinned, a surprisingly mischievous sight on the typically formal man. “Chuculain.”
Elyan spluttered. “The demi-god of legend? Who on earth bestowed to you a name such as that?”
Voice raised to be heard across the distance, Arthur called, “I hardly think we need the origin of every-”
“Oh, just some little boy named Artie,” Leon smiled pleasantly, as Arthur groaned and shielded his eyes from all but the forest floor.
“I changed my mind!” Merlin declared, as Gwaine burst into laughter beside him. “The bridge was a wonderful idea.”
“Why-” Gwaine tried to compose his breathing. “Why, Artie- whatever did Leon do to deserve such praise?”
“I was six years old, okay?” Arthur fumed.
Leon chuckled. “I was a dozen years his senior when he served as a page in my father’s House. I believe he thought me admirable.”
“I take it all back-”
“He also told me he thought I was as tall as the grandest tree in the forest, and could summon the warmth of the sun to the palms of my hands,” Leon waved his hands about in the most accurate and sensational imitation of magic Merlin had ever bore witness to.
“Betrayed,” Arthur bemoaned. “By my oldest ally!”
“I hope I still inspire such awe, sire,” Leon called back agreeably, already wandering across the bridge.
“This,” Merlin wheezed, in similar throes of laughter to Gwaine who was now leaning against the servant for aid in staying vertical, “is the greatest day of my life!”
“Come on then, Merlin!” Arthur hollered. “Your turn next!”
Merlin looked at the fae. The fae looked right back.
“This is the worst day of my life,” Merlin declared. “Maybe I should wait- Elyan and Gwaine still need to go, yet!”
“Stop being such a girl and get your sorry arse over here!” Arthur demanded. Merlin was starting to regret laughing at his expense.
“Look- I’m sure I could just walk,” he offered. “I can meet you all on the other side at some point, maybe-”
“Merlin!”
“Fine!” He snapped. Strode over to the fae. Stopped. Glared at it for a long moment. “Merlin. Of Ealdor. Son of Hunith? Servant of Camelot. Yay, I’m so glad that’s over now!” He marched towards the bridge, side-stepping the fae.
In the space of a blink- the fae was in his way on the narrow bridge, leaning leisurely on one rope railing. “Sorry? I didn’t hear them all.”
“I really don’t know what you’re talking about,” Merlin scoffed through gritted teeth.
“Don’t antagonise the owner of the precarious rope bridge, Merlin!” Arthur called from the bridge’s opposite abutment.
“Wh-!” Merlin threw his hands in the air. “I don’t know! Gwaine calls me Merls. I’m, er- Manservant to the King? Or- bastard, I’ve been called that plenty! What about Get Out Of My Way, Peasant?”
The fae examined its fingernails. “Hmm… no, there’s still a few missing there.”
“I think it’s messing with me- I’ve told it all my names and it just doesn’t want to let me pass!”
“Words may be my weapon, but I cannot lie.” The fae picked something between its teeth. “You have more names to tell, I can smell them.”
“Whatever it is, Merlin, just get on with it!” Arthur beckoned impatiently. “I promise not to tease you about it too endlessly.”
“I really don’t know!” Merlin cried, looking perfectly flustered and innocent. Sucks to suck, fae, Merlin loved being a great liar. “I’m- I’m just going to go back. Maybe I can find another way around.”
“Wait there and see if you can figure it out while the others cross!” Arthur yelled. “I swear we won’t leave without you!”
Gods, he was being sincere, too. How much easier Merlin’s life would be if he wasn’t.
“After you,” Gwaine beckoned to Elyan with a bow.
Elyan shrugged. “Fine, then.” He clapped Merlin heartily on the shoulder on his way past. “Elyan, son of Tom. Knight of the Round Table of Camelot. Uh- Travelling Blacksmith, they called me Elyan the White.”
Arthur choked. “They called you Elyan the what?”
“Elyan the White. What about it?”
Arthur seemed to consider for a long moment. “No, nothing. Carry on.”
“...Gwen called me Elle when we were kids. That’s about it.”
“Go on, then,” sighed the fae.
Elyan spun around, walking backwards on the bridge, hands up in a shrug. “Come on, boys!” He called back to Merlin and Gwaine. “It’s not that hard!”
Gwaine groaned- not dramatic this time, but sincere and suffering. “I don’t suppose you figured out that other way around, did you?” He asked Merlin lowly.
“If I did, you’d know about it,” Merlin sighed.
“Well then!” Gwaine clapped his hands together, all faux enthusiasm. “I suppose I brought this upon myself- let’s get it over with!”
He sauntered over, then crossing his arms in judgement, regarded the fae critically. “So you want to hear all the names we’ve gone by? All of them?”
“You must tell me alllllllll of them,” the fae snickered. “It fills me up. Yum, yum.”
“Gross,” Gwaine said.
“Come on Gwaine!” Elyan cupped his hands around his mouth to call to him, really an unnecessary gesture- it wasn’t that wide of a ravine. “I doubt anything we could hear from you could surprise us, by now!”
“Would you put money on that?” Gwaine smirked. “Right. All of them- here goes. My name is Gwaine, Knight of the Round Table of Camelot. Although, I was first named Gawain-”
“You were- that’s the same name!”
“‘Tis not,” Gwaine turned up his nose. “There is a great difference, says I.”
“It’s two letters!”
“You didn’t give Percy this treatment on his other name,” Gwaine huffed.
“At least it’s a full, different name!”
“And mine isn’t?” Gwaine scoffed. “Anyway. I’ve been called a couple of different things, I’ll admit. Gawayn, sometimes. Or Gawein. There was a little village I stopped at one time where they called me Gauvain for some reason. Or was it Gauven?”
“You’re just saying the same name many times!” Elyan protested.
“Hey, if I don’t have to list all of these in order to cross this damn bridge, I’m happy to forget them.” Gwaine harrumphed.
“Oh no,” the fae intoned, salacious. “Do go on!”
Gwaine sighed. “Well, there were three different lovely ladies in this one city that each called me Galvaginus, Gualgunus and Gualwinus, heavens know why. Plus that bridge-fellow called me Strength; I like that one.”
“Why do you have so many names?” Merlin didn’t know whether to be delighted, perplexed, or terrified.
“I don’t know!” Gwaine threw his hands in the air. “People just call me all sorts of things! It just happens, when you travel as much as I have.” He pressed his fist to his chin in thought. “What else? Gwalchmei was one, although it was sometimes Gwalchmai. Oh- the Hawk of May- that was a good story. The Maiden’s Knight, too, Knight of the Sun…”
“How?” Arthur shook his head. “You haven’t travelled from Camelot since you were knighted! I certainly didn’t give you those titles.”
Gwaine snickeded. “Didn’t need to.” He hmmed, thinking. “There was also Gavain, Gauven…” then in the most rushed, under-his-breath way he could manage; “son-of-Gwyar,-House-Llydaw-, Gawain the True, Gavayn, Gauan…”
“What did you say?” Arthur gaped, at the same time Leon exclaimed “House Llydaw?”
“...Gavan, Gavayne- what?” Gwaine said, the picture of innocence.
“Gwaine,” Arthur said slowly. “Are you a son of Lord Gwyar?”
“Did I say that?” Gwaine scoffed. “Did you hear me say that?”
Merlin shrugged. “Must have been the wind.”
“Gwaine!”
“I’m not done, if you don’t mind, Princess.”
“How are you not done?”
Even the fae was beginning to look perturbed. “I have never heard so many names,” it bit out, losing its delighted tone.
“Yeah, well, you asked for them,” Gwaine snapped. “When I was in the Kingdom of Lombard they called me Gavino, or Galvagin, or occasionally Galavano-”
“Lombard-” Lancelot spoke up. “When were you in Italia?”
“I’ve been around, okay? It’s not that big of a deal!”
“It is that big of a deal!” Said several people at once, including the fae.
“Well then, what about Galaván?” Gwaine said. “Gâwein? Gâwân? Galavam?”
The fae was beginning to look stressed.
“Galvão? Gaweyn? Gauwein?”
“I- I think you can pass, now,” the fae said.
“You asked for it, mate.” Gwaine laughed. “I still haven’t gotten to Gawan, or Gauweyn, or Calliano-”
“Really-” the fae gasped out. “You don’t have to-”
“Or even when they called me Wawen, for some reason! Walwanus! Waluanus! Walwen! Gaven!-”
“That’s enough!” The fae exclaimed. “By the goddess, I can’t take any more!”
“Really?” Gwaine asked, taking the fae’s former role as the smug one. “I’m sure I can remember a few more. I haven’t even gotten to Gavaon, or Gawin, or Valven…”
“I still have to finish, too,” Merlin offered. “I’ve just remembered many of my own!”
“Have I already said Waluuanii?” Gwaine was still going. “Walwin, Galwan, Walewein, Gaoulbanos-”
“No!” cried the fae. “Just leave! Both of you! I never want to hear another name again!”
And with that, the fae vanished, disappearing as if it were never there.
Gwaine shrugged.
Merlin gleefully followed close behind him as they made their way over the bridge. The fae did not reappear to try to stop them.
On the other side waited the six other knights, who were all watching Gwaine in agape silence as the man of many names sauntered past them without a glance. “Well, boys? Are we going or not?”
“Did you- erm.” Percival coughed. “Did you know that would work? Or are those truly all names you have been known by?”
“You’ll just have to live in wonder forever, Peredy,” Gwaine intoned dramatically.
“That’s not-”
“Please-” Arthur shook his head in wonder. “Nobody needs any more names. You’ve taken them all, Gawain Llydaw.”
“If you say so,” Gwaine was already wandering away down their path. “Although I had assumed you wouldn’t want anything revealed here ever mentioned again, Princess Artie.”
Arthur groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I’m cutting down this damn bridge.”
They did, before they continued on. Funnily enough, when they looked behind them later, the ravine in the middle of the forest didn’t seem to be there any more at all.