Chapter Text
The descending sun left in its wake burning layers of bright orange and red at the horizon, followed closely by an ocean of pink and violet clouds. Twilight’s approach brought with it a chorus of insects, roused to attention to proclaim the fall of night across the forests and meadows. Birds chirped overhead, returning to their nests to settle for the night. And as the last traces of daylight grew faint, the sunbeams having long ceased their struggle to stream through the trees, the entourage of Camelot’s knights came to a halt.
“It’s nearly nightfall, we should stop,” Arthur announced.
Guiding his horse over to a newly fallen tree, Arthur dismounted and tied his steed’s reins to a firm branch jutting out defiantly from a recently fallen tree. The knights followed suit, unloading their packs and slinging them over their shoulders.
“Merlin,” Arthur called. “Why don’t you get started on tonight’s stew,” he proposed, and tossed two rabbits to an unsuspecting Merlin, who fumbled with catching them. Merlin huffed once he had hold of them and, knowing that the King’s words were meant as an order rather than a suggestion, acquiesced with annoyance, “Of course, sire.”
Within half the hour, the bedrolls were laid out, a fire was lit, and water was boiling in a pot. Merlin knelt by the fire, skinning the rabbits, focusing intently on the task despite being loath to do it, as he hated hunting animals for both food and sport. I wonder if Gaius knows a way to live without consuming meat, Merlin thought as he fought the nausea that always came with butchering. To distract himself, Merlin imagined Gaius’ response. “Merlin, my boy,” he would say, arching an eyebrow, “I know you dislike hunting, but you don’t need to avoid meat entirely. If anything, you can’t, because you of all people need it most—you’re but skin and bone!” Scowling at the imagined scenario that he knew was accurate, Merlin jumped when Gwaine slapped a gloved hand down on his shoulder.
“Let me help you with that,” he suggested, his voice muffled by the sound of his other glove clenched between his teeth. Gwaine reached around Merlin to take the knife from his hand but, noticing Merlin’s skeptical expression, he took a step back, pulling his glove from his mouth. “I’m starving,” he explained with a smile, splaying his hands in innocence. “Let me help you,” he insisted.
Feigning reluctance, Merlin accepted the offer with a sigh and a tinge of exasperation, “Alright, I hate this part anyway,” which put an amused smirk on Gwaine’s face. He knelt next to Merlin, who couldn't help but feel relieved to stop skinning the rabbits.
“Always such a girl,” Arthur jeered from several feet away.
Directing his gaze across the fire to Arthur, Merlin saw him snickering from his seat on a decomposing log, his proud face bathed in the glow of the fire as he watched Merlin and Gwaine.
That damned handsome prat, Merlin thought, his lips forming a tight line as he held back a slew of responses, Damn him for looking like that while being a complete arse.
“I should have known you’d be eavesdropping, you royal prat,” Merlin jived, “You’re so nosy.”
“It’s not my fault that no one is talking but you and Gwaine, Merlin,” Arthur scoffed.
While Merlin had his suspicions when he was younger, coming to Camelot and working for Arthur confirmed any questions he had about his attraction to both women and men. At first, he was nervous about that realization, but he soon didn’t think much of it as he noticed Morgana’s affection for Gwen, and later met Gwaine and learned about his similar interests as well. Merlin was certain that no one apart from Gwaine knew about his dual attraction, and he also know that if anyone were to find out, they wouldn't really care. But the only thing that Merlin was uncertain of, no, almost scared of, was how Arthur would react if he ever found out. He was afraid because, although Merlin and Arthur has shared many intense glances and private moments over the years, Merlin just knew that what they meant to him was entirely different than what they meant to Arthur. He was the prince, and now the king. It was only expected of Merlin to be there, always at his disposal. Always at his aid.
Parting with these thoughts, Merlin rolled his eyes and turned back to making supper, offering the butchering knife to Gwaine, who was observing Merlin with a half-smile, clearly entertained by his frustration. Taking the knife in hand, Gwaine resumed preparing the rabbits for the stew while Merlin grabbed the bucket of water he had gathered for cooking, and poured some into a bowl. Merlin then retrieved several vegetables from the pouch of food he had packed, briefly rinsing them in the bowl with a small cloth, and used a small knife to slice a potato over the pot of boiling water.
After a few moments of silence, Gwaine glanced at Merlin, and then across the fire. “In need of a conversation topic, eh?” he asked, a sly smile creeping across his face as he wiped the large knife on a cloth and looked expectantly at his fellow knights.
Arthur shrugged in indifference, and Gwaine began cutting the rabbit meat into chunks as Merlin sliced more vegetables into the stew. “Well,” Gwaine resumed, unprompted, “I have a lively start to conversation in mind.”
“Oh great,” Elyan responded sarcastically, “What type of conversation are you going to force upon us, Gwaine?”
Gwaine chuckled mischievously. “You’ll see,” he replied secretively. “Let me get this stew cooking for Merlin here and I’ll tell you,” he joked, nudging Merlin with a grin. Merlin gave an exasperated sigh.
“You offered to help!” Merlin reminded him. “You aren’t even doing all the work,” he added, stifling a small smile.
“If you say so, my lady. I just know how much you hate skinning," Gwaine replied matter-of-factory with a small shrug. "And I wouldn’t be a knight if I didn’t spare you that torment,” he added, teasing. He then promptly received a shove from Merlin in response, whose faintly flushed cheeks went unnoticed, lost in the glow of the fire.
“Merlin is quite the girl’s petticoat,” Arthur agreed, flashing Merlin a playful smile. Merlin willed himself not to blush further as he thought about how it made him warm all over every time Arthur sent that wolfish grin his way, with his crooked teeth poking out from his plump lips…
Stop that, Merlin thought, giving himself a shake and focusing his attention back to preparing supper. He grabbed a wooden spoon and mixed the contents of the stew as Gwaine added the last pieces of rabbit.
After stirring silently for a several long moments, Merlin was soon ladling out the piping hot stew into the knights’ bowls.
“Thank you, Merlin, Gwaine,” Leon acknowledged after a spoonful, “It’s good.”
Merlin gave a slight nod and then poured himself some stew, taking a seat on the soft ground near the circle of knights.
“Now Gwaine,” Percival said between enormous gulps of stew, “What were you saying before?”
Smiling at the question, Gwaine wiped his mouth with the inside of his cape, earning a glare from Leon, and paused to drink from his waterskin.
“The subject is of an amusing but… crude nature,” he explained, spooning more stew into his mouth and regarding his King with his raised eyebrows.
Stopping midway through his next spoonful of stew, Arthur gave Gwaine a confused look. “Did you really expect any of us to believe that it wouldn’t be crude?” Arthur asked plainly, then finished spooning stew into his mouth. “Go on, Gwaine,” he encouraged with an indifferent wave, scraping the bottom of his bowl for the last bits of stew before turning his attention to Merlin and holding out his bowl expectantly. “Would you be so kind, Merlin?” he asked with a smirk. Merlin pursed his lips and grabbed the pot. Prat, he thought. Always a prat.
As Merlin portioned out more stew into the knights’ bowls, Gwaine explained his idea. “The conversation is a game of choice,” he stated, observing at his fellow knights with the faintest of grins. “It goes like this: you have to say who it is you would bed, who you would wed, and who you’d want dead.” Then Gwaine leaned back on the log, looking at everyone eagerly.
Merlin nearly choked on his stew. Are they really going to do this? he asked himself, glancing around. Percival just rolled his eyes, while Leon appeared positively appalled, and Elyan shook his head either in amusement or regret, Merlin couldn't tell. Arthur, however, was staring into the fire. His expression was unreadable, and no traces of conviviality remained. Merlin was unable to investigate further, as his focus flew back to Gwaine when Percival spoke up far too quickly.
“Why don’t you start Gwaine,” he suggested.
Merlin groaned internally. They’re really going to do this. Now he had to think of who he’d “choose,” as Gwaine had phrased it. Well, he couldn’t mention Freya due to her magic, of course... As Merlin thought of Freya, he remembered his final moments with her. His eyes started to sting. No, he wouldn’t even try to include her in his answer, not even by changing her name, or altering any detail. He would not betray her memory like that. Quickly blinking away the threat of tears, Merlin tried to think. He wouldn’t dare to speak of Gwen since her banishment was not even a year past. And even if things were different and Gwen wasn't banished, Merlin still wouldn’t have been able to include her in his answer in good conscience, since he never liked Gwen the same way that she seemed to like him back when they first met. Having another spoonful of stew, Merlin sat in thought, half-listening to Gwaine’s response.
Setting aside his stew, Gwaine rested his elbows on his knees and rubbed a hand over his stubbled chin. Merlin cocked his head, watching Gwaine. Since the moment Merlin and Arthur met Gwaine, there was no denying how damn near beautiful Gwaine was. Men may not be called beautiful, but that’s what Gwaine was. And somehow, he grew more handsome every year. It boggled Merlin’s mind. Although he didn’t think of Gwaine romantically, Merlin had always been extremely attracted to him. There probably has never been a man more deserving of being called beautiful than Gwaine, he thought, biting his lip as Gwaine ran a hand through his thick brown hair. No, definitely no man.
“I’d have to say I’d bed Beth from the tavern,” Gwaine confessed in a non-confessional way, jarring Merlin from his reverie. Merlin quickly averted his gaze and glanced around to see if anyone had noticed him positively gawking at Gwaine.
Merlin met Arthur’s eyes, his stare still inscrutable. I wonder what’s bothering the dollophead, he thought, furrowing his brows in concern. His musings were cut short when he heard Gwaine say, “Then I’d wed Merlin, and I’d definitely want Percival dead so I can win all the arm wrestles at the tavern.”
Merlin’s face and ears flushed pink as Leon and Arthur gave him the same critical brow that he often received from Gaius. Gwaine has of course flirted with Merlin since the moment they met, but Merlin handled this by not acknowledging his coquetries. He did this in part because he knew that, while Gwaine was indeed an honorable knight, his morals were lacking when it came to his romantic and sexual endeavors. Sometimes though, Merlin didn't care about that. Sometimes, he actually considered giving in to Gwaine's entreating dalliances. They both knew it would hardly damage the casual, trusting friendship they shared. But no matter how tempted he was, Merlin always resisted the temptation. Because there was always a reason, one that was there before Gwaine ever came into Merlin's life. It was a blonde-haired, blue-eyed, dollop-headed, forever-to-be-unrequited reason. It was Arthur. Arthur, who would intensely study Merlin in moments when his vulnerability was so profound that it was downright overwhelming. He would regard Merlin in these moments with trust and sensitivity, before eventually averting his eyes. And Merlin, dedicated and besot as he was, would treasure these moments.
Merlin shifted nervously, hoping that Arthur wouldn’t judge him for Gwaine’s response.
“No surprises there, I suppose,” Elyan quipped with a laugh, and Merlin blushed all the more. Then Gwaine flipped his hair, damn him and put his shoulders back proudly in response, making Merlin’s blush deepen so much that he forced himself to fixate on the dirt between his crossed legs.
“Leon,” Gwaine nodded, indicating for him to go next.
“Alright, well, if I must participate,” Leon conceded reluctantly. “I suppose I would wed Guinevere—” he began, before immediately turning to his King and worriedly assuring, “My apologies, sire, I’ve just known her so long, and she’s the only person I could think of—” but Leon was cut off by Arthur’s raised hand.
“It’s fine, Leon,” he affirmed with a supportive, albeit slightly sad, smile. “Guinevere no longer troubles my heart. If anything, I may invite her back someday, which I see you may come to appreciate.”
Although Leon was not one to blush, his face betrayed him, and all the knights apart from Arthur chuckled at his discomfort.
Taken aback by Arthur’s words, several thoughts flooded Merlin’s mind. Inviting Gwen back? When did he decide he will do that? he thought. A king needs a queen…who will he marry if not Gwen? Merlin was surprised, if not a bit hurt that Arthur had not mentioned anything to him. He missed his friend.
“Well, thank you sire, I, ehm… I guess I will continue,” Leon said disbelievingly. “Right. Now I would want Gwaine dead, of course,” Leon joked, sending a Gwaine stern look that seemed quite genuine. Pausing for a moment, Leon’s eyes darted to the ground. “And, as for who I’d bed, well, I…” he hesitated, at a loss of words. Leon’s face grew even more aflush until he blurted, “I suppose Clara, from the inn.”
This caused Gwaine, Percival, and Elyan’s eyes to widen and such howls of laughter to escape from them that they clutched their sides. Merlin and Arthur looked at Leon expectantly, whose his face grew impossibly rosy.
“Who is Clara, Leon?” Arthur inquired.
“She—” Gwaine started, trying to catch his breath. “She’s the—” he tried again, but was cut off by yet another peal of laughter.
Arthur looked at Leon expectantly. “Well?” he asked again.
Leon stuttered with his response, and Percival came to his aid, interjected quickly, “She’s the innkeeper’s unwed daughter, sire. A young mom to a little girl. She’s the sweetest woman, to be sure.”
Merlin cocked his head and confessed, “Well, I don’t understand what’s so funny. She sounds like a nice woman to me—”
“Merlin,” Gwaine interrupted, “It’s funny because it’s Leon. Leon wanting to bed anyone is funny!” he exclaimed, his intense laughter hindered by a bout of coughing.
As the chuckles ceased and Leon’s blush finally started to fade, Elyan straightened his posture, wiping the tears from his eyes, and spoke, “I would wed a girl named Claudia. She was from the village I lived in before Morgana found me. And I’d bed her too, actually. She was tremendously kind.” Elyan smiled to himself, his eyes looking as though they were somewhere else. “And someone I’d want dead would be Gwaine, too, of course,” he concluded, making himself chuckle.
Gwaine rolled his head in exaggerated incredulity, and then defended himself, chortling softly, “Come now, I’m not that bad. If this is about what you’re all being forced to say, just remember that none of you argued against this.”
“All the same, Gwaine,” Elyan replied, holding back a laugh, “This conversation’s not the only reason behind my answer.”
Elyan’s response yielded guffaws from everyone, including Arthur, Merlin, and Gwaine, and they all struggled to breathe as tears came down their faces.
“Wow,” Gwaine said in mock offense, shaking his head in disappointment. “I better not be on your kill list, Percival,” he warned lightheartedly.
Percival beamed with mirth. “No promises, Gwaine.”
Merlin, though thoroughly amused at how this conversation was going, felt his stomach drop as he realized that Arthur was next after Percival, and that he would have to go after Arthur. What will I say? Merlin panicked, Gwaine? Do I really want Arthur to know that I like men too? Merlin frowned to himself. He didn’t want his relationship with his King to change so that being his manservant would become uncomfortable. Maybe he won’t care, he hoped.
“Alright, well I’d probably wed Leon here, seeing as he is the most responsible and boring of the lot of you, and could probably manage an estate quite well—” Percival ribbed, drawing Merlin from his thoughts.
Leon gaped at this, and Gwaine let out a loud shriek of laughter as everyone else hooted in hilarity until yet more tears streamed down their faces. Deciding to not wait for them to stop, Percival continued, “I’d kill Gwaine, for all our sakes. Maybe then we’d finally know peace and quiet.”
As the chuckles continued, and Gwaine looked at Percival with an almost affectionate look, a twinkle in his eye. Then Percival lowered his voice a bit as he added, “And I’d probably bed him too. But he already knew that.”
Gwaine purposefully flipped his hair, flashing a wink and kissing the air in Percival’s direction. “Of course,” he responded smoothly, making his sentiments for a smirking Percival quite clear.
Then Gwaine turned to Arthur, trying his best not to snicker at the King’s confused, open-mouth stare. “The stage is yours, Princess,” he rasped, reaching for his waterskin and taking a swig.
Arthur blinked several times, and, with a slight pink rising in his cheeks, he pressed his lips into a tight line. Merlin’s picked at his nails nervously as he realized that he would have to answer next.
I can’t just be honest with my answers, he griped. I can’t just tell Arthur I’m interested in men—it would make everything awkward and different between us, I can’t risk being pushed away. How then would I protect him? Merlin sighed. Even if I divulged the truth about liking men, I can’t just say that I’m besotted by the King himself! Rousing himself from his anxious thoughts, Merlin listened to hear what Arthur had to say.
“For me, I would…” Arthur started, but let his words trail off. He looked down at the ground, his eyes darting to Merlin’s face so fast that Merlin wasn’t sure if it was his imagination.
After a few long seconds, during which no one, not even Gwaine, pushed him to answer, Arthur continued, “To be completely open, I…” He paused again, shooting yet another glance at Merlin, then took a deep breath. “…I would probably bed and wed Merlin, and I would definitely kill Gwaine for prompting me to say that out loud,” he finished determinedly, staring at Merlin with reserve.
Merlin was convinced his heart had stopped. That he had not heard what he thought he heard.
Gwaine was the only one among them to make a sound as he chuckled slowly, not appearing surprised in the least.
Merlin let his wide-eyed gaze meet Arthur’s guarded one, in which there did seem to be a softness, almost, but it was too difficult For Merlin to discern for certain.
Does this mean that Arthur is attracted to me? he asked himself disbelievingly. In all the years Merlin had known him, Arthur never once let on that he may also be attracted to men. But why would he? Merlin realized sadly. He’s the King, and he needs an heir. There would be no point in pursuing anything with a man.
More and more seconds passed as they all sat in silence, no one daring to speak, until Arthur spoke, incapable of withstanding the quiet. “Merlin…It’s your turn,” he mumbled, his voice low, his eyes still set on his manservant.
Finding his resolve, Merlin shared the truth in his reply.
“I would positively kill Gwaine,” Merlin growled, glowering in irritation at the impish knight, who, true-to-form, offered him the faintest of smirks. Damn you for making us do this, he thought.
“And then,” Merlin concluded with conviction, searching Arthur’s indecipherable countenance, “I would unquestionably wed and bed my King.”
Silence more profound than before blanketed the group. As he kept looking into Arthur’s eyes, Merlin noticed that his expression remained unchanged. Suddenly, there dread sitting like a rock in his stomach, and a lump started to form in his throat. What if Arthur didn’t feel the same way as I do? What if he meant it as a joke? Looking down for an instant, his vision blurring all too fast, Merlin snatched the empty stew pot and walked away, muttering something about cleaning it.
Striding away from the knights and the crackling fire as fast as his long legs could carry him, Merlin bit his lip, and gripped the handle of the pot tightly, his knuckles burning at being bent so harshly around the rough iron. He refused to let any tears fall until he had walked a couple minutes deeper into the forest, away from everyone. Soon, Merlin shivered as his hot tears fell silently down his cheeks. He willed himself remain quiet until he reached the creek. He would not let anyone hear him cry.
When he finally stepped down onto the wet dirt at the bank of the creek, Merlin released the pot from his grasp and let it land on the ground with a loud clang. Dropping to his knees, he rested his tear-stained face in his aching hands, and finally allowed himself to fall apart.