[fic] The Ivy Crown, 8f/9

[da_ya_ri]

Although he'd woken up feeling relaxed and well-rested for what seemed like the first time in ages, by the time Merlin reached the dining hall the next morning, the heavy lassitude had dissipated from his limbs, leaving behind a strange, shivery sense of alarm.

The hall was empty, but several used plates littered the table, discarded goblets shimmering in the sunlight that streamed in through the windows. He'd woken up remarkably late, and it was only his growling stomach that had chased him downstairs in the first place. He would have loved to stay in bed for another couple of hours, if only to watch Arthur sleep and listen to the soft snores that he knew the prince would deny vigorously later. But no matter how warm and safe he'd felt in their cocoon of blankets and entangled limbs, he'd been hungry.

It was only out in the stairwell that the memory of the previous evening had come rushing back into Merlin's mind. He'd hurried down the deserted hallways, heart pounding in his throat, with his gaze constantly roaming the corridors for any sign of the servants. Thankfully, he hadn't encountered anyone, and had breathed out a sigh of relief when the door to the dining hall had fallen shut behind him.

Absently grabbing an apple from a plate of fruits on the table, Merlin walked over to the window. It had stopped raining, but the trees were still dripping with moisture, the lawn a deep emerald green as the grass greedily drunk up every drop of water that soaked the earth. Clouds hung heavy in the sky, seeming to brush the treetops with rain-filled gray.

The clanging of weapons reached his ears even through the glass, and Merlin took a big bite out of his apple when he spotted Leon and Lancelot out in the backyard. They were sparring, but it seemed halfhearted, their movements stiff and listless like they were just training because there wasn't anything else to do. Their shirts were spotted with wetness from the dripping leaves above them, and Merlin suddenly remembered the laundry he'd hung up the day before.

He craned his neck, but couldn't see even a scrap of colored fabric peek through the clusters of trees that were scattered in the backyard. Maybe Ragnelle had had the presence of mind to take down her own laundry and put his inside as well when the downpour had started. They only had a day left before they'd head for the Green Chapel, and Merlin rather hoped that he wouldn't be hauling along a big bag of sopping wet laundry. He could already hear Arthur complain about the lack of clean clothes.

A shadow caught his attention from the very edge of his vision; turning his head, Merlin wasn't all that surprised to catch sight of Ragnelle, since he'd already been thinking of her. She had her back half turned to him and was looking at something he couldn't see—Merlin shifted closer to the window, and this time he was astonished to see Percival there.

It seemed like they'd both been on their way to different destinations. They were standing on the stairs leading up to the back door; Ragnelle looked distinctly wet, her hair a tangled damp mess atop her head like she'd just taken a long walk through the soaked forest. Percival must have been on his way down to the training grounds when they'd met. Merlin couldn't hear their voices through the window, but they were talking avidly—well, avidly by Ragnelle's standards, at least. There was a hesitant note in the way she was carrying herself, something oddly hopeful in her cocked head, tilted back so she could look Percival in the eye. She seemed more relaxed than Merlin had ever seen her, even her shoulders letting go of the tension she'd carried around with herself ever since they had arrived at Grænn's house.

Merlin averted his gaze, feeling uncomfortable for staring at them like that, and took a step back from the window again to avoid being seen. Apple juice was running down his hands, and he absently licked it off while he let his eyes travel across the rest of the garden. It seemed empty even of lurking servants—apparently they had better things to do than spy on their lord's guests this morning. He allowed himself a small sigh of relief as he chewed on the last of the apple's pulp. The thought of what the servants really were still freaked him out.

But something caught his eye again, something dark that didn't seem to fit in with the shades of green that dominated the backyard. Merlin put the apple core down and squinted at it, trying to make sense of its odd shape, half-hidden as it was by a cluster of bushes. It was dark like damp leather, a metal buckle glistening wetly in the wan daylight. Merlin suddenly realized that it was a booted foot, and after a puzzled moment, he recognized it as belonging to Gwaine.

He muttered a distracted greeting to Percival and Ragnelle on his way outside, barely noticing that they both fell silent as soon as they spotted him, as if they weren't sure if they wanted to be seen talking to each other. But well, he couldn't blame Percival for being cautious, since he'd probably already been teased within an inch of his life by Gwaine—or not, considering Gwaine's current preoccupation with his personal impending doom.

Dodging wet branches and dripping bushes on the way, Merlin made his way over to where he'd seen Gwaine's foot. The wet grass darkened his boots, doing its best to soak through the leather, but Merlin didn't stop even when he felt his toes get damp. He could almost hear the little green stalks drink up any and all water they could sink their tiny roots into, thirsty after such a long time of uninterrupted sunshine.

Gwaine was sitting on a fallen log next to the fenced area that harbored their horses, watching them as he absently twirled a long stalk of grass between his fingers. The grass was uncut here, slowly soaking wet patches into his trousers even as a small beech tree trickled drop after drop of water onto his head. His hair was in disarray, sticking up like he'd been running his fingers through the dark brown strands.

Merlin stopped next to Gwaine, not quite sure whether he should sit down as well—the log looked rather damp, and he didn't fancy getting a wet patch on the bottom of his only clean pair of trousers. And he also wasn't sure if Gwaine even wanted his company right now. There were dark circles under his eyes, like he hadn't slept the night before, and Merlin could tell from the careful way he turned to look up at Merlin that he was nursing a headache.

Gwaine didn't really smile at him—it was more like a quick twitch of his lips, over again within a second, but Merlin still appreciated the effort. Then he turned back to the horses, watching as Llamrei slowly grazed her way across the field, her back shiny but not damp; the horses must have found shelter beneath the trees during last night's downpour.

"You're getting wet," Merlin told Gwaine at last, for lack of anything more encouraging to say. A slight breeze shook the beech, raining even more fat drops of water down on him, but he just shrugged, not taking his gaze off of the horses.

As if he'd felt the lingering stare of his master, Gryngolet stepped out from a copse of trees, following in Llamrei's wake in search of the most delicious patches on the field. There were grass stains on his white flanks, like he'd rolled around in the juicy grass more than once, for sheer joy of being free of a saddle. As Merlin watched, he lifted his head and looked at them, ears pricked up with interest. His eyes seemed to focus on Gwaine, as if to say, see how dirty I am? You'll have to brush me all by yourself, and next to Merlin, Gwaine let out a soft chuff of laughter like he'd seen the silent message in his horse's gaze as well.

"I've been thinking," Gwaine began abruptly, after another minute of silence. He still wasn't looking at Merlin, although his voice was casual, almost mocking, but Merlin could tell that the slight bitterness was not directed at him. "You said the Green Knight is magic, right?"

Merlin nodded silently, and Gwaine glanced at him from the corner of his eye before he looked back to the horses, a mirthless smile twisting his mouth. "I think he must have put some sort of chivalry spell on me. A spell that keeps me from running for the hills and makes me all noble and morally upright."

"You are noble," Merlin said quietly, well aware that the words were falling on deaf ears right now, but needing to say them anyway. This was exactly the kind of mood that he had no idea how to respond to. He could have found some way to deal with anger or desperation or even glum acceptance, but not with self-deprecating cynicism.

"Not brave, though," Gwaine said, with an expression that he probably meant to look like one of his trademark sunny grins. It was more of a grimace, though, and Gwaine seemed to notice, because he smoothed his features back into blankness again, save for a slight frown born of his headache.

"You don't really believe that," Merlin objected, more firmly this time. He knew that the dull bitterness in Gwaine's voice was just a thin veneer covering the helpless fear that probably roiled beneath, but although his instinct told him to back off a little, Merlin couldn't just let him say things like that. "And anyway, I don't think it's possible to make someone noble with magic."

"You wouldn't know," Gwaine muttered, more to himself than to Merlin; it sounded like his thoughts had already moved on. But the words cut through the fond concern in Merlin's mind like a knife through butter, making him flinch and draw in a startled breath although Gwaine had clearly not meant anything by them.

He stared down at Gwaine's bowed head, watched him shift back on his log until he could lean against the beech that rewarded him with another spray of water for the added weight against its trunk. He told himself that Gwaine didn't know what he'd just implied, that he couldn't know because Merlin hadn't told him, no matter how close he'd come during their conversation on the stairs yesterday.

It might just have been some residual adrenalin from the night before, but it happened too quickly for Merlin's mind to catch up. He felt his spine straighten on its own accord, his heart suddenly pounding nauseatingly close to his throat, but since it wasn't really a conscious decision, he couldn't stop the words from tumbling out of his mouth. "I do know," he said, more loudly than he'd intended, his voice echoing slightly across the wide field in front of them.

Gwaine snorted quietly and closed his eyes against the daylight, clearly not catching on to what Merlin was trying to say. Merlin swallowed hard, somewhat reassured because at least he didn't have to look at his friend's face, wouldn't have to see surprise morphing into distrust and finally settling on anger or fear or both. "I do know, Gwaine, because I—," and of course his voice chose that exact moment to break, although it was nothing like that evening in Arthur's chambers, nowhere near as terrifying.

Gwaine cracked an eye open to squint at him, just when Merlin finally blurted out, "Gwaine, I have magic," and snapped his mouth shut before anything else could fall out. He'd tried to sound decisive and firm, rather than desperately apologetic, but there was no way to disguise the pleading note in his tone, no matter how much he wished he had the strength to will it away.

There was a long, tense pause, only interrupted by the deafening roar of blood in Merlin's ears and the stumbling beat of his heart. Then Gwaine closed his eyes again, turned his face towards the sky, and said, with feeling, "God, I've got a hangover."

For a solid minute, Merlin just stared at him. His hands had grown clammy and cold at his sides, making him shiver with something more than nerves. A sudden gust of wind stirred the damp tangles of Gwaine's hair, but he didn't open his eyes, didn't even seem to reconsider Merlin's words. Either that, or he'd already known, Merlin thought a little wildly, a slightly hysterical laugh trying to bubble up in his throat at the thought.

"I'm serious," he insisted, suddenly almost angry at Gwaine for the dismissal. He latched on to the feeling and clung to it, because anger was safe, a step above the terrible, crushed hope he'd left behind in Arthur's chambers that evening, far better than the squirming mass of snakes that his insides seemed to have turned into.

Not caring about the dampness that seeped into his breeches from the long grass, Merlin marched around the log until he was blocking Gwaine's view of the horses. His heart was fluttering wildly in his throat, but his arm was steady when he thrust out his hand towards Gwaine, palm facing the sky. "Watch."

Gwaine blinked up at him, mildly astonished at his harsh tone; up close, Merlin could see how tired he really looked, his face paler than usual, but right now he discarded that thought. "Bærne," he whispered to his hand, for the second time in barely a day, and under the shroud of irritation, it was surprisingly easy to look Gwaine straight in the eye when he felt his irises burn gold.

Curiously enough, Gwaine jerked forward rather than back, his hands coming up as if to bat out the fire that had burst to life in Merlin's palm. Then he stilled suddenly, his eyes going wide and amazed when his gaze zeroed in on the dancing flames, his mouth dropping half open when he felt the heat emanating from the fire, making it real, rather than a cleverly crafted hallucination.

It didn't warm Merlin, though. He felt cold all over, every breath trying to hitch in his chest when a slow trickle of panic slid into his mind as he realized what he was doing. He hadn't just told Gwaine about the magic, he was showing him, too, and he knew, he knew that Gwaine wouldn't run to Uther when they returned to Camelot, but still— Merlin could feel his arm shaking now, his muscles trembling with the effort it took him not to snatch his hand back and deny that he'd ever said anything.

Unaware of Merlin's inner turmoil, Gwaine leaned closer to his hand, examining the fire from different angles as if to understand the trick behind it. The look of fascinated curiosity on his face chipped off a little of the icy silence in Merlin's head, especially because the barest quirk of a smile was tucked into the corner of Gwaine's mouth—it could grow into one of those grins Gwaine was so good at, one that might lift the shroud of desperate anxiety from Merlin's mind.

His gaze traveled up Merlin's arm until their eyes locked, but Gwaine was completely focused on him now, fully aware of Merlin's presence for the first time that day. "Could you dry my trousers without moving them?" he inquired, motioning to the damp legs of his breeches, honest curiosity sparkling in his eyes.

Merlin gaped at him for a second, but this time, it was exasperation rather than genuine anger that jerked him out of his stupor. He threw up his hands, just barely stopping himself from running his fingers through his hair and setting his own head on fire, "I've just told you I'm a sorcerer," he spat, "which could get me executed as soon as the wrong people find out—," he noticed that Gwaine's fascinated gaze kept following his gesturing hand, still cradling a ball of flames, and Merlin impatiently flicked his wrist to put the fire out, "—and all you can think of is your wet ass?"

"I'm not from Camelot," Gwaine pointed out, his eyes calm and untroubled as he looked up at Merlin, finally focusing on him rather than the extinguished flames. "Well, I might be a little, now, but just because I'm getting used to being a knight doesn't mean I'll accept each of those petty laws at face value."

"Petty laws?" Merlin repeated weakly, barely hearing his own voice over the noise of his heartbeat in his ears. The annoyance had drained out of his mind, leaving him to feel cold and exposed. There was something he was missing, he was sure of it—Gwaine couldn't just accept this so easily, without even a hint of anger or disappointment that Merlin had kept this from him for so long.

"Is that the invisible weight you've been carrying around all this time?" Gwaine asked, not bothering to grace Merlin's words with a reply. He was watching him with understanding dawning slowly in his eyes, like a couple of abandoned clues were finally slotting together to form a bigger picture.

Merlin shrugged uneasily, swallowing hard to get rid of the lump in his throat, although he wasn't surprised when it didn't work. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you until now," he said, hating the tremble in his voice because it left him open to attack, it eroded away all the confidence that irritation had shrouded him in earlier.

But before he could properly defend himself against what he knew was coming, comprehension lit up Gwaine's eyes again, and he leaned forward on his log, not seeming to notice that the tree trunk had dampened the back of his shirt. "That's what Arthur was angry with you about," he said, not as a question, but rather like stating a fact. "The reason why he barely spoke to you all these months."

Merlin found himself squirming under Gwaine's suddenly hard stare, dimly wondering where Gwaine was going with this. It wasn't like the memory of Arthur's reaction to his magic would soften the blow if Gwaine decided to cut him out of his life as well. "Yes, but we've come a long way since I told him—"

"You told him of your own free accord?" Gwaine pressed, his gaze like a physical grip that kept Merlin from looking away. His voice had gone dangerously quiet. "He barely spoke to you all these months because you told him, because you trusted him?"

A distinct sense of alarm began to stir in Merlin's stomach, and he only managed a strange jerking motion somewhere between a nod and a shrug. It wasn't like it didn't matter anymore, even now that he and Arthur were finally patching up what had gone twisted and wrong between them. Those weeks had been the hardest of Merlin's life, and he was sure he would remember them for years to come, until the memory blurred with time and the trembling, exhilarated warmth that had gripped him the night before, when Arthur had said, "Do something else," amazement in his eyes.

Gwaine stood abruptly, the beech brushing his head with damp leaves. His gaze wasn't amazed at all—it was flat and cold as stone, his eyes darker than usual as he strode around Merlin, heading back towards the house. He didn't say anything, but the hard, determined look on his face gave Merlin quite a good impression of what he was going to do.

"No!" Merlin shouted, startling a flock of small birds into flight from the trees. His feet slipped on the wet grass when he started to run after Gwaine, flailing wildly as he tried to steady himself. He ended up barreling into Gwaine's back, nearly knocking him off balance, and had to cling to his arm with both hands to keep from falling flat on his face.

"Gwaine, it's fine, I promise," Merlin blurted out, frantically hanging on to Gwaine with all of his weight to stop him, but he was just hauled along with his friend's bigger strides. "He's not mad at me anymore, he's doing his best to— no, really, he is," he insisted when Gwaine just scoffed, his dark, furious gaze still fixed on the house as if he wanted to set it on fire to get to Arthur faster. "I think he's come to understand a lot of things that he didn't get before, we're going to be fine, you don't need to beat him up—"

Finally, Gwaine whirled around to face him, but Merlin's sigh of relief got stuck in his throat when he caught sight of his furious expression. "You were like a ghost, Merlin," Gwaine hissed, his fingers suddenly digging into Merlin's shoulders. "You ate and you slept and you spoke when someone talked to you, but you were so— you tried to put on a brave face, but you certainly didn't fool me. It was like you weren't even really there anymore!"

Merlin took a deep, steadying breath, and then another, until the tight ache in his chest loosened a little. He could see the remains of distant, anguished concern in Gwaine's eyes, dragged up to the surface by his own words, and it shook something loose within him, the thought that his friend was so furious on his behalf. It made him feel suddenly, desperately close to tears, although there was gratitude there as well, mingling with the shivery, warm ache in his chest.

Still, he couldn't let Gwaine direct all of his anger at Arthur, righteous though it might have been. "I understand why he was so angry," Merlin said, fighting to keep his voice calm and steady. "I lied to him for three years—"

"You didn't lie about what was truly important!" Gwaine snapped, just shy of shouting outright. His voice echoed through the backyard, and he shook Merlin, not hard, but more like he wanted him to understand. "You didn't lie about being his friend or your loyalty to him!"

But Merlin shook his head, reaching up to grab Gwaine's arm, both to steady himself and to make him listen. "To Arthur, the fact that I kept my magic secret for so long was important," he insisted, willing the words to force their way through the defiance he could see sparking in his friend's eyes. "Look, I'm sorry—"

Gwaine laughed, a single bark of mirthless sound, but that didn't distract Merlin from the nearly anguished twist of his mouth when he almost pleaded with him to "stop apologizing, for God's sake, Merlin." Merlin closed his eyes for a moment to gather his courage, to will away the brittle, trembling feeling in his throat.

"I'm sorry I couldn't tell you what was wrong all this time," he said, meeting Gwaine's gaze with all the calmness he could muster, and was relieved that his voice didn't shake. "But you have to understand that no matter how angry you are, this—whether or not to forgive Arthur—this is not you decision to make."

For a long, silent moment, Gwaine just stared at him, clearly taken aback by the firmness in Merlin's tone. Merlin waited with bated breath, his heart thrashing uneasily in his chest as he hoped that his words would sink in. On the one hand he felt honored, cherished almost, to have Gwaine come to his defense so vigorously. But on the other, he couldn't let Gwaine take his anger out on Arthur. It was Merlin's call, Merlin's choice if he wanted to hold a grudge or let it go, and his decision had been made long ago.

He saw the moment Gwaine understood. His shoulders drooped, and his hold on Merlin loosened although he didn't let go. He fixed Merlin with a long, questioning stare, as if to make sure that he was serious about his words, but when Merlin didn't even flinch, Gwaine sighed and looked away. Maybe he recognized the similarity to the conversation they'd had the other day, when Merlin had offered to take care of things with the Green Knight and Gwaine had refused. Either way, he didn't pull away to hunt Arthur down anyway, and Merlin allowed himself a sigh of relief.

"Thank you, though," he said gently, pitching his voice low as he leaned closer, trying to catch Gwaine's gaze again. "For protecting me. I— I appreciate it."

There was a long silence, only broken by the faint rustling of leaves all around the backyard. Gwaine stared out at the field behind Merlin, a muscle twitching in his jaw, but Merlin pushed back the urge to speak again, to explain himself more. He had said what he'd needed to say, and now it was up to Gwaine what he wanted to do with it. And finally Gwaine nodded once, jerkily, before meeting Merlin's eyes again, like it was still hard to accept what he'd been told. His smile was a bit tight around the edges, but he squeezed Merlin's shoulders before he let him go at last.

Neither of them said anything for a moment; then Gwaine turned and resumed his walk back to the house. His steps were slow and deliberate, like he had to think carefully about where he put his feet, but at least he wasn't running towards the back door for Arthur's blood anymore. Merlin watched him go, trying to give in to the relief that coursed through his veins. He had the distinct feeling that this wasn't the end of the whole issue, and he suspected that Gwaine might still take Arthur aside for a few choice words when they were safely back in Camelot, but at least he had calmed down for now.

It was only now, with the tension slowly melting out of his shoulders, that Merlin realized Gwaine hadn't been angry with him. Judging from the look on his face, he'd been ready to strangle Arthur with his own entrails, but never once had he seemed disappointed in Merlin for the secret he'd been keeping.

And the stunned, wondering part of him wanted to run after Gwaine and tell him how much that meant to him, wanted to lay his relief at his feet like an overwhelmed gift. And he swallowed hard against the obstruction in his throat when he realized that with Gwaine, Merlin didn't need to humble himself like that, that Gwaine did not need his gratitude as payment for his acceptance.

Merlin exhaled slowly to combat the dizziness that gripped him, wiping his clammy hands on his trousers as he allowed himself a trembling smile. It was more than he'd ever dared to hope for, but then again, Gwaine was nothing if not prone to doing the unexpected.





By the time Arthur got downstairs, the heavy lassitude of sleep had already faded from his mind, leaving him jittery and strangely on edge.

He'd followed the familiar labyrinth of hallways and stairwells down to the dining hall to find that everyone else had already eaten, but he hadn't been surprised. Merlin had been gone when he'd woken up this morning, a cooling indent left in the mattress where he'd lain—Arthur had assumed that he'd gone downstairs to get some food. After the shock he'd received last night when he had learned the truth about Grænn, his manservant had most likely woken up ravenous.

It was around lunchtime when Arthur finished off his breakfast, which consisted of an apple and a cold piece of grilled boar from last night. He could hear the faint clashing of steel from outside and knew that some of his knights were sparring in the backyard, ever faithful to their duty even this far away from Camelot. But restlessness kept him from joining them, and so he settled for striding around the house for a while, aimlessly exploring the endless maze of corridors.

His mind was already whirling with thoughts of tomorrow, planning ahead for their departure. They would need to pack tonight at the very latest, and Arthur had to figure out some sort of strategy to get Grænn to lead them to the Green Chapel. But maybe their host would at least be forthcoming with that particular piece of information, since it had to be in his best interest to guide Gwaine to the place where he had to face his challenge.

And after that, they would have to race back to Camelot. He was already mapping out a different, less meandering route than the one they'd taken on their journey—he would make sure that they crossed the border into Camelot as soon as possible. Then he could finally find the squires and send a messenger to his father to let him know that they were safely coming home. But then he also had to make up a good story about what had happened to the murdered noblemen. Somehow, Arthur doubted that his father would be thrilled to hear that a forest spirit was responsible for their deaths, especially since Morgana was the real culprit behind the whole scheme.

Arthur sighed, running his fingers through his hair as he rounded a corner and walked down an unfamiliar corridor. For a brief moment, he wished himself back into bed with Merlin, if only to escape the spiral of thoughts—the facts remained the same, no matter how often he turned them over in his head. It didn't help that everyone assured him that Morgana's mind had become just as unhinged as Uther's; he still didn't know what he would say or do when he finally saw her again after all this time. He'd probably be too busy fending off her Mercian entourage anyway, all the while trying not to trip over Gwaine's severed head in the affray.

Like callused fingers sticking on fabric, his mind got caught on the matter of Gwaine, and Arthur paused his steps in the middle of a dimly lit stairwell. Maybe the knight was part of the reason why Arthur felt so restless, although the thought made him scoff—heaven forbid he felt anything like sympathy for him. For some reason, the whole thing was still unreal to Arthur, like a part of him expected to wake up from this strange dream any second. It just felt wrong to think that Gwaine would probably die tomorrow just because he'd been reckless enough to accept the Green Knight's challenge.

Slowly making his way down the rest of the stairs, Arthur heard a door open and close when he reached a wide corridor whose windows looked out on the backyard. As if he'd been summoned by Arthur's thoughts, Gwaine suddenly strode into his line of vision, crossing the hallway with long steps that somehow looked aggravated.

He paused only for a moment when he saw Arthur, sideswiping him with a foul look before he turned abruptly, ducking into a smaller, much less inviting passage as if he didn't want to walk past him. Arthur blinked after him in puzzled astonishment, wondering what he'd done now to deserve that glare; but then again, maybe it was just the fact that he existed, and would continue to exist past tomorrow.

Sighing deeply, Arthur squared his shoulders, trying to brace himself before he started to walk after Gwaine. It didn't matter now whether he approved of the other knight's rash behavior that had landed him in this situation in the first place. He was Gwaine's liege, and although Arthur was well aware that Gwaine probably wouldn't even let himself be reassured by him, he knew he had to try. It was his duty as Gwaine's prince, fellow knight, and even a kind of friend.

There was a muffled exclamation from ahead before Arthur could catch up with Gwaine, though, and he slowed his steps until he could peek around a bend in the corridor to watch. He was surprised to see that Gwaine had ran straight into Ragnelle, causing her to drop most of the armload of towels she'd been carrying.

For a moment, Arthur thought Gwaine would storm away in the other direction. But then he took a deep, steadying breath, pushing away the brooding thoughts that had occupied his mind, and bent down to help Ragnelle pick up the towels. "Sorry," he offered, forced cheer lighting his voice. "I should've watched where I was going."

Ragnelle shrugged, a brief flash of embarrassment crossing her features before she composed herself again. "It's okay," she said, and did her best to give him a reassuring smile. "I was looking for you anyway."

They both straightened up again when the last towel was back in Ragnelle's arms, and for a moment they just stood there in awkward silence, as if they were both waiting for something. Despite his awkward vantage point from around the corner, Arthur could see their faces clearly, illuminated by what little daylight trickled in through a narrow window.

"What, no kiss for me today?" Gwaine said at last, when the hush had stretched for too long. His tone was mildly teasing, belying the strain that Arthur could still hear in his voice. Arthur gaped at Gwaine's profile, taken aback by his blunt, cryptic words, not quite daring to believe that he had really just said that.

Ragnelle twitched like she wanted to chase away an annoying fly, but didn't answer right away. Her gaze slowly traveled up and down Gwaine's body instead, taking in his damp clothes and the dark circles under his eyes, standing out even more in his uncharacteristically pale face. "Are you alright?"

Arthur blinked, surprised that she didn't seem offended by his question. He had expected her to just walk off in the other direction, or even slap Gwaine with her free hand, but Ragnelle's gaze was steady when she fixed it on Gwaine's face once more, no hint of anger on her features.

"Never been better," Gwaine said airily, in as clear a lie as Arthur had ever heard him tell. Ragnelle just raised her thin, colorless eyebrows at him, and to Arthur's surprise, Gwaine shifted his weight uneasily before he shrugged. "Well, I have a headache. I don't know what's wrong with me—I keep getting hangovers here."

"Maybe my husband's cider is stronger than what you're used to," Ragnelle replied, her voice even, but there was something else in her tone, an undefinable undercurrent that sent a fissure of unease through Arthur.

Gwaine must have heard it too, because he paused in the act of scoffing to stare at her, his eyes going narrow. Hesitance flickered across Ragnelle's features, but then she seemed to steel herself, visibly squaring her shoulders. She took a quick look around the deserted corridor to make sure that no one else was listening; Arthur pressed himself closer to the wall, but the corner was blocking her view of him.

Ragnelle leaned closer to Gwaine as if to tell him a secret. "Maybe you've gotten yourself in trouble," she said, more quietly now, and Arthur had to strain his ears to hear the hushed words, "the kind of trouble that you don't know how to deal with now."

Frowning, Arthur crept a little closer to the hallway, trying to make sense of that. It sounded like she knew something about the situation Gwaine was in, although he had no idea how Ragnelle could have heard of the Green Knight's challenge. Gwaine seemed to think the same thing. He stared at her in utter disbelief, his face going even paler in the wan light—the dark circles under his eyes stood out all the more, and Arthur wondered if he'd even slept at all.

"I know you think your situation is hopeless," Ragnelle ventured, looking more hesitant than before, now that she had already unsettled him so much. Her eyes seemed to implore him to trust her for the moment, though, and sure enough, Gwaine wasn't walking away yet, and made no move to dismiss her. "But I have something to help you."

She started rummaging through the towels she was carrying, turning them over as she looked for something she must have hidden between them. Arthur craned his neck, trying to get a better vantage point without stepping even closer—he was acutely aware that Gwaine would only have to turn his head to see him, and that Ragnelle would spot him as well if she stepped any closer. But the scene unfolding before him reeked of secrecy, and Arthur knew he just had to watch, hoping that he might eventually understand what was going on.

"Here," Ragnelle murmured at last, softly, and tugged something out from between the towels. Her eyes were downcast, focused on whatever she was holding for a moment; Arthur only caught sight of a flash of green before her arm hid the item from view. "I want you to take this."

She held it out to Gwaine at last, and Arthur saw that it was a girdle, made of silky, grass-green cloth that shimmered in the dim light. It had been finely embroidered with silver thread, forming a pattern of ivy leaves that stretched down all the way to the clasp. Although there were no wrinkles in the fabric and it seemed freshly woven, the girdle still looked strangely old-fashioned to Arthur, like something from a century long past.

"Well, thanks," Gwaine said, plainly confused as he took the girdle from her hands. Ragnelle smiled, but didn't seem to mind his lack of enthusiasm. For the first time, Arthur noticed how relieved she looked all of a sudden, now that Gwaine had accepted her gift—he hadn't realized how tense she'd been before, but now it seemed like a weight had been taken off her shoulders.

"It's magic," she explained, rearranging her towels from the state of disarray that her search had left them in. She seemed to try for a nonchalant tone in case anyone was eavesdropping on them, but her eyes were still insistent, her gaze holding Gwaine's as she willed him to understand the meaning behind her words. "Wear it close to your skin, and it will protect you from harm."

Through the jolt of surprise, Arthur found himself staring at the girdle once more, but it didn't look like it possessed any supernatural powers. It was just a long fold of cloth, running silkily through Gwaine's fingers as he ran an experimental hand over the fabric. But then again, Arthur mused, surprised at the fondness of the thought, Merlin didn't look particularly magical either until his eyes flashed gold.

Arthur focused his gaze on Gwaine, unsettled by the other knight's prolonged silence. He was staring down at the pattern of ivy on the fabric, stroking a callused thumb over the embroidery, and understanding dawned in his eyes. He could wear it tomorrow, Arthur realized, with a jolt of uneasy surprise—he could wear it beneath his tunic and escape from the Green Knight's trial unscathed, if the magic did indeed work like Ragnelle said it would.

But there was no relief in Gwaine's face when he looked up at Ragnelle again, although he gave her a small nod to show that he understood. "Thank you," he repeated, more sincerely this time, but his voice sounded troubled. Just like that, Arthur knew that Gwaine would spend the rest of the day staring at the green fabric and wondering whether he should wear it tomorrow. Other men might have put it on immediately, but the conflicting emotions that Arthur could see in Gwaine's eyes set off an unexpected stirring of pride in Arthur's chest.

Ragnelle inclined her head, shifting her armful of fabric once more. She watched Gwaine carefully for a moment, like she knew what thoughts were running through his mind. All of a sudden, Arthur felt suspicion creep up on him like a fog, and he found himself wondering where she'd gotten the girdle in the first place. They weren't in Camelot, and it wasn't illegal to own magical artifacts here in Mercia, but it still puzzled him. And if Ragnelle truly knew of Gwaine's predicament, why was she giving him the girdle only now, on the third and last day of their stay?

Whatever she had seen in Gwaine's face seemed to satisfy her, because she finally lowered her gaze and bit her lip. "You will be gone tomorrow, and my task is almost done," she said hesitantly, jolting Gwaine out of his thoughts, if the way he flinched was anything to go by. "But I— I'm afraid I have to... accost you one last time."

Arthur was surprised to see that she was blushing when she looked up at Gwaine again, a slow flush that crept up her neck and made the sudden strain of discomfort in her features all the more obvious. Gwaine blinked, taken aback by the abrupt turn in the conversation, but he seemed to know what she was talking about. He folded the girdle and stuffed it into the inside of his tunic—rather carelessly, Arthur thought, since it could just be the thing that would save his life tomorrow.

"Be my guest, then," he replied, seeming to aim for a teasing tone as he spread his hands in invitation. Arthur watched, confused, as Ragnelle took a deep breath to steel her resolve; she seemed to try to smooth the unease from her expression, but didn't quite succeed. She took a step closer, her gaze meandering over Gwaine's shoulder as if she was about to turn her head—

Arthur hastily shrunk back into the shadows before she could catch sight of him, coming to the abrupt decision to stop eavesdropping. He almost tripped over his own feet as he retreated as quickly and quietly as he could, well aware that they would just have to turn their heads to see him, until he finally rounded a bend in the corridor that would block their view. There was no sound from behind, no more murmurs of conversation, but Arthur quickened his pace, not wanting to get caught eavesdropping.

He made his way back through the hallways, silencing his steps until he was well away from the two of them. Half-formed thoughts were flashing through his head, circling around the confusion that stubbornly clung to his mind. He had no idea what to think of the scene he'd seen—Ragnelle had obviously known something about Gwaine's compact with the Green Knight, or she wouldn't have given him the girdle. And while he hadn't asked her how she knew of the danger he was in, Gwaine had clearly felt conflicted and uneasy about accepting her gift.

A thought flickered through Arthur's mind, slowing his steps for a moment. He didn't even know if Ragnelle had told Gwaine the truth, if the girdle would truly protect him from the Green Knight's challenge. Maybe it wouldn't do anything at all if Gwaine finally put it on—but maybe it would break Gwaine's ribs and strangle the breath out of him. Arthur shook his head to dispel that mental image, scoffing inwardly at himself. It might have seemed likely in any other context, but although Arthur hadn't even spoken to Ragnelle during the past three days, he couldn't imagine that she would plot Gwaine's death.

With the vague resolution to ask Merlin if he'd ever heard of magical artifacts that protected those who wore them, Arthur turned his steps in the direction of the guest wing. Maybe Merlin would be able to shed some light on the matter, and if not, they could always traipse through the darkness together. At any rate, it might dispel some of his restless confusion. And if his manservant wasn't there yet, he could as well start packing while Merlin wasn't around to mock him for lowering himself to such servile duties.





"I know who you are."

The words echoed ominously in the hallway, bouncing back from the ancient stone walls, and for all the deep, steadying breaths Merlin had had to take before he'd spoken, he was proud of the fact that his voice didn't shake at all.

But then again, judging from how slowly Grænn let go of the door handle and turned around, he'd seen that coming all along. It had been a snap decision on Merlin's part to tell him—he'd just been walking down the corridor when he had spotted Grænn striding towards a door ahead of him. And before Merlin had known what possessed him, he'd darted after the man, catching up with him just when he'd reached the door.

Grænn's features were impassive when he finally turned to face Merlin, a polite, mildly surprised mask that didn't give anything away. Merlin forced himself not to take a step back when their eyes met, and he silently berated himself for not having realized his true identity sooner. True, his hair was an untamed, red mess that burned copper even in the cloudy daylight, and his features were different, less aristocratic and refined than the Green Knight's face. But his eyes gave him away, ageless in their strange calm, the fathomless green like a window to a long-lost time.

"And, you know," Merlin added, just for good measure because it irked him to see Grænn just standing there without even a hint of alarm or wariness, "if you want me to help you break free of Morgana's enchantment, beheading my friend tomorrow might not be the wisest thing to do."

Grænn seemed to consider that for a moment. Then he sighed, and stepped towards Merlin, who dug his heels into the dusty stone floor—though the Green Knight was an ancient, powerful forest spirit, Merlin would not budge or cower before him. The man needed his help, after all, and he knew there was no reason to fear him, although the memory of the relentless, invasive curiosity of the forest's primal magic was still fresh in his mind.

"So you have figured me out at last," Grænn said, more quietly than Merlin had expected, after his rather belligerent words. He rested an idle hand on the windowsill next to them, briefly glancing out at his backyard before he fixed the full weight of his gaze on Merlin again. "I never expected to fool you for so long, Emrys. But I suppose you were... distracted."

There was no smile in the Green Knight's voice, no hint of teasing innuendo, but Merlin still felt himself flush as the memory of the previous night worked its way to the front of his mind. He had been preoccupied, but he wouldn't call it a distraction, not when he hadn't felt as sure of himself and as comfortable in his own skin in ages. He still remembered the look on Arthur's face, the stunned wonder when he'd stared at the fire Merlin had made, and it filled him with the same kind of shivery warmth he'd felt last night.

"With all due respect, sir," Merlin replied, his head held high, "that's none of your business."

Grænn let out a long sigh, nodding to himself as if he'd already suspected that he had overstepped some invisible border. "I... apologize," he said, the word clearly unfamiliar on his tongue, but the respectful dip of his head towards Merlin was genuine. "The witch's enchantment wears on me, and I seem to have lost what little manners I had during my lifetime."

Merlin blinked, a little surprised that the man was backing down so quickly—but then again, the Green Knight had never shown him anything but careful deference. Of course he needed Merlin's help, but Merlin had always had the feeling that there was something else there as well, some kind of deep-seated regard that he didn't quite know what to do with. The Green Knight clearly knew of whatever ancient prophecies had been made about Emrys as well.

Curious, Merlin cocked his head, taking the time to properly look at Grænn for what seemed like the first time in days. Now that he was looking for it, he saw clearly that his words had been true—he looked older than when Merlin had first seen him, a little paler, although there were no dark shadows under his eyes to betray his exhaustion. He was staring out at the grounds again, watching the dripping trees and the velvety smooth lawn like the sight of his domain soothed him.

Merlin had spoken up with the urge to confront the man, to get him to admit to whatever scheme he—or, well, Morgana—was plotting behind all of their backs. But he couldn't convince himself to interrogate Grænn now that he looked so tired, their host's easygoing joviality completely stripped away. He couldn't imagine what it must feel like, to have his very spirit bound and enslaved by magic, forced into action like a doll at its puppeteer's whim, but it certainly sounded exhausting.

"What is all this, then?" Merlin asked, pitching his voice low; he would ask his questions, but he wouldn't point accusing fingers or threaten to withhold his help if the Green Knight didn't release Gwaine from his promise. He gestured at the dimly lit corridor and the cloudy day outside. "Why did you bring us here?"

"To protect you," the Green Knight answered readily, tearing his gaze away from his backyard as if with a great effort. "The witch has brought a considerable amount of Mercian soldiers with her, hoping to confront your king as soon as you reach the Green Chapel." He hesitated for a long moment, his eyes holding Merlin's in a silent, thorough assessment, but finally he added, "I wished to give you a reprieve, and to complete the test."

Gwaine's test, Merlin added silently, unconsciously standing up a bit straighter. Ragnelle's words came back to him—she was part of this, of what had seemed like a harmless game at first, but what Merlin knew was part of the beheading challenge. Suddenly he found his mind helplessly stuck on Gwaine, remembering how he'd tried to convince his friend to accept his help, although he hadn't been all that surprised when Gwaine had declined.

But now—Merlin stared at the Green Knight, swallowing hard as his heart fluttered uneasily in his chest. No one would have to know if he tried to convince him to release Gwaine from his promise now. He had everything he needed to bargain with the man—although he still didn't know how to go about breaking Morgana's enchantment, he could promise to do as much, if only the Green Knight let Gwaine live, if only Merlin would never have to hear the sickening thump of a head hitting the ground again—

No, he thought to himself, firmly, and clenched his hands into fists to stop them from shaking. Gwaine's decision had been clear, as firm as it could have been in the face of what awaited him, and Merlin had to accept that. And if Gwaine ever found out that Merlin had freed him from the bargain— Merlin swallowed hard, easily able to imagine the disappointed anger in his friend's eyes. He would not be as accepting of that betrayal as he had been of Merlin's magic. This, at least, was not his business.

He took a deep breath, and another, trying to settle the nausea that squirmed in his stomach. Struggling to push away the thought of his friend's trial, he passed an aimless look around the deserted hallway, acutely aware that the Green Knight was still watching him, and finally settled for asking, "Do you think he will pass your test?"

Grænn tilted his head, a thoughtful, strangely knowing look passing over his features, like he knew exactly what Merlin had just been thinking about. "Maybe," he replied, cryptically, but the brief glint in his eyes gave him away, and Merlin knew that he secretly hoped Gwaine would. "If nothing else, I have enjoyed bargaining with him."

"I'll bet you did," Merlin muttered before he could stop himself, remembering both the kiss in the dining hall and the one from the night before.

But the Green Knight didn't seem offended; his lips quirked in a brief wry smile before his expression grew serious again. "He has certainly done well these past two days," he said. It could just have been Merlin's imagination, but the thought of Gwaine seemed to revive something in his face, making him look younger and not as tired as he had before. "His spirit is honest and strong."

"And loyal," Merlin said softly, his mind drawn back to their near-argument in the backyard, the righteous anger that had hardened Gwaine's features on his behalf. He didn't quite know what drew the next words out of him, but somehow it seemed right to tell the Green Knight, if only to assure him once more than his opinion of Gwaine couldn't be more accurate. "I told him about my magic."

For all his calmness, the Green Knight clearly hadn't expected that. He paused visibly, going completely still as he absorbed that piece of information, his eyes widening in astonishment. Merlin felt like they saw through him, boring deeply into his own, but he couldn't avert his gaze, couldn't look away from the centuries-old, curious scrutiny that stared back at him. He squirmed a little, barely resisting the urge to fidget when the Green Knight's eyes flickered back and forth between his own as if to catch one of them in the act of lying.

"Why?" he asked at last, when scrutinizing Merlin's features didn't seem to give him the answer he was seeking, but carried on before Merlin could speak. "I told your king that he needs to be honest with himself, and he finally is, but now..." Tilting his head with a frown, the Green Knight trailed off for a moment, confusion evident on his features. "It is Gwaine's honesty that is put to the test here, not yours."

Blinking slowly, Merlin tried to catch up. It was true, the Green Knight had told Arthur that he had to be honest with himself when Arthur had tried to challenge him at the Beltane feast. He hadn't specified exactly what it was that the prince needed to face, but for some reason Merlin found himself thinking of what the Green Knight had said about distractions earlier. Maybe he'd known how twisted and wrong things had gone between them when Merlin had revealed his magic to Arthur, and now that Arthur had come such a long way towards understanding, it was only logical that the Green Knight knew they were closer than they'd ever been before.

He shook his head to dispel the thought, forcing himself to meet Grænn's gaze although a blush was trying to work its way into his cheeks. The thought of their host knowing about that was just a bit too unsettling. Still, Merlin squared his shoulders, and said, perhaps a bit more belligerently than he'd wanted to, "That doesn't mean I can't be honest as well."

"Well said, Emrys," the Green Knight answered with a courteous little bow. Just like that, the confusion was dispelled, and the smile that lit up his features made him look almost boyish. There was pride in his voice, like Merlin had just passed a test of his own. "The unity that this adventure has wrought among Camelot's finest fighters is remarkable." He paused, and his smile turned just a little wicked around the edges. "I know that the witch would not be pleased."

Merlin just stared at him for a moment, a bit taken aback by the sudden turn in the conversation. Little by little, the excitement faded from Grænn's expression, like he had just realized who he was talking about. His gaze drifted towards the window once more, as though he was trying to find comfort in the familiar sight of his lands, but judging from the muscle that Merlin saw twitching in his jaw, it wasn't working.

"My friends the druids have more sympathy for her than I ever did," he murmured, more to himself than to Merlin. The words sounded oddly faded and worn, like he had turned them over and over in his head too many times to count. "They would try to reason with her, if she weren't so far gone."

"Gone?" Merlin repeated, uneasiness stirring at the back of his mind. Iseldir had told him nearly the same thing two days ago—that what was left of Morgana's mind was bent towards revenge—but he still felt helpless about it. He wondered if this would be a good time to tell the Green Knight that the oh-so-powerful Emrys had no idea how to get all of them out of this mess alive, but wisely kept his mouth shut.

"Mad with grief," the Green Knight clarified, his eyes flat and emotionless when he looked at Merlin again, watching him impassively for any signs of pity. "Lost in her power." His features twisted for the briefest of moments, a cold, unearthing fury coiled to spring behind a thin veneer. "Lost in a kind of magic she only barely controls."

Swallowing, Merlin nodded, well aware that he was talking about his own magic now—the magic that had made him immortal all those centuries ago, and that was now harnessed to sow the seeds of conflict between two kingdoms. He had no idea if the Green Knight would even care if Camelot and Mercia went to war because of all this—somehow, he couldn't imagine that a long-dead forest spirit was all that bothered by the affairs of mortals that happened to reside in his lands.

But he did know that the Green Knight hated being used like this, and that he harbored no ill will towards him or Arthur—he respected them, even, he had called Arthur a king. If he knew about Emrys, Merlin realized, he might also know about his and Arthur's shared destiny.

"Why does she even want Arthur dead?" Merlin wondered aloud, although he at least thought that he knew that already. Arthur was Uther's heir, the one child that he had acknowledged as his own, and that might be enough to kindle Morgana's hatred, unleashed as it had been by her sister's death.

"The only one she truly wants to see fall is Uther Pendragon," the Green Knight informed him, his tone clipped and final. "I do not think she cares that her plan will kill his son as well."

Merlin exhaled slowly, wiping suddenly sweaty hands on his trousers. Protecting Arthur was so ingrained in his blood that he hadn't had to think about it like this in a long while. It wasn't anything he had to plan or contemplate—it just was, like a sixth sense at the back of his mind that came to roaring, protective life whenever Arthur was in danger. Pure instinct had saved his prince too many times to count, a hand flung out as the right spell flew to the front of his mind as if the magic itself was eager to come to Arthur's aid.

But this wasn't just a group of bandits that ambushed them on a hunt, barely a day's ride from Camelot's citadel. They were in Mercia, in the domain of a magical entity that was under Morgana's control, even though the Green Knight had been using what little leeway the spell left him to protect them all. Patrols of enemy soldiers were scattered throughout the woods, ready to go wherever Morgana guided them in search of Camelot's crown prince. And to top it off, they were dressed for hunting, not battle, their leather jackets and sturdy trousers a poor defense against sharp steel.

With a start, Merlin suddenly realized that the Green Knight stepped towards him, coming to stand so close that Merlin would only have had to reach out a hand to touch him. Something like regret flickered across his features when their gazes met, like he hadn't wanted to discourage Merlin with his words. Merlin blinked to steady himself, unprepared as he had been for the sudden close proximity to the timeless wells of his eyes, and realized for the first time that they were the same height.

The Green Knight lifted an ungloved hand, slowly, like he wanted to avoid startling Merlin, and put it on his shoulder, grounding him with the weight. Merlin took a deep, startled breath when an echo of what he'd felt beyond the mansion's walls ripped through him at the contact, the alluring call of the forest's wilderness dancing through his mind like a flash of lightning. He felt the weight of the Green Knight's hand, and the pull of timeless power just beneath, an eternal, thundering flow of magic just beneath his skin.

"This is a lot to guard against, Emrys," the Green Knight said, his voice quiet but vehement. "Be careful," he warned, and Merlin shuddered helplessly when his shoulder was squeezed in what was probably meant as a reassuring gesture. "I would not see you slain in an attempt to help me. Your survival is infinitely more precious than mine. My life was spent centuries ago, but your life is destined to guarding your kingdom."

Merlin blinked, startled out of the spiral of dizziness that had caught hold of his mind. At once, the Green Knight let him go, a contrite expression flickering across his face as though he had only just realized what his touch did to Merlin. He took a slow step back, seeming to make an effort to look unthreatening, but Merlin wasn't afraid, just a trifle confused as he shook his head to dispel the swirling fog that had settled in his head. Now that the Green Knight's touch was gone, he could feel the ivy leaf he had tucked back into his shirt that morning, a touch of grounding coolness against his skin.

It was one thing to nearly get lost in the wild, undulating call of the Green Knight's magic, but Merlin found his thoughts latching on to something else. "It's not—," he started, his voice hoarse and puzzled, and broke off when he realized he didn't quite know what to ask to make sense of the man's words.

"It's Arthur's kingdom," the Green Knight said simply, stepping further back, out of Merlin's personal space, and Merlin knew that he would tolerate no arguing on this. The barest hint of a smile lit up his features, like he had caught on to Merlin's thoughts within a heartbeat. "And that means it is yours as well."

Of all the things he'd learned, it was that that stayed with Merlin well into the evening, sticking to his tumultuous thoughts like a stubborn burr. It startled him how right it felt, how it settled comfortably into a hidden hollow space in his mind, just like Kilgharrah's talk of the prophecy had three years ago. The Green Knight's words had been anchored in meaning, but they felt unlike anything Merlin had ever felt before. They did not bear the guilty pull of secrets, but slid seamlessly into the edges of his mind, settling there like a weight he had earned.






__________ __________