Rated: T
Ships: Merwainethur (Arthur/Gwaine/Merlin)
Word Count: ~4k
A/N: this is the final chapter, im marking them all under the tag 'merlin dangerous devotion'. Gwaine gets hurt in this one >:3
“I don’t understand why we have to entertain the brat,” Merlin mutters and Arthur sighs.
“You can’t call him a brat,” Arthur says, though he has to agree with the sentiment. He has no idea how Prince Fredrick became such a brat when his father is such a good king, except he sort of does. He knows personally the spoiling quality royalty has about it, especially when you’re young. And the tragedy is, King Richard’s good rule means occasionally his son falls by the wayside. Like now. Merlin rolls his eyes. “I just need someone to entertain him while his father and I speak. I figured you could do some of those parlor tricks of yours.”
“Parlor tricks?” Merlin repeats, voice just shy of high-pitched with indignation. Arthur just barely misses hiding his smile, but Gwaine doesn’t bother to smother his snort. Merlin gapes angrily at him.
“We’ll be happy to,” Gwaine says, throwing his arm over Merlin’s shoulders, and Arthur narrows his eyes at the knight.
“You are not to take him to any taverns or give him alcohol of any kind. The last thing we need is the two of you making fools of yourselves in front of him,” Arthur says. “Or, triple goddess forbid, get him in trouble.”
“I don’t need alcohol to make a fool of myself, you know that,” Gwaine says and Arthur pinches the bridge of his nose. “And Merlin doesn’t need it to find trouble.”
“Hey!” Merlin protests, “I don’t find trouble, I get the two of you out of trouble.”
“I know,” Arthur says to Gwaine, ignoring Merlin– Merlin makes an offended noise– and suddenly questioning his decision to leave Richard’s son in the hands of these two. He could’ve left him with Leon or Lancelot. Or George. But no, he picks these idiots for some unfathomable reason. “Richard’s a friend, so please just take care of Fredrick, yeah?”
“We’ve got it all handled, Princess,” Gwaine says and sighs and nods. Arthur thinks it’s all rather dramatic of him.
“Alright, I’ll meet you two on the training grounds as soon as we’re done,” Arthur says. Truth of the matter is, he wishes he could be with them instead of talking to King Richard. Even if he does rather enjoy his talks with the other king. Richard is the first king who recognized his rule after he took over from his father. Richard is the first king he made peace with by himself, repairing a relationship broken by his father, instead of relying on old treaties.
“If you actually think of my magic as parlor tricks, Arthur, we’re having words when this is all done,” Merlin says, pointing at him.
“Yes, yes,” Arthur says. He takes Merlin by the shoulders, turning him around and pushing him out of the hallway he’d paused them in and toward the courtyard where they’re to meet their visitors. “Scold later, dignitaries now.”
Merlin huffs in annoyance and twists so Arthur’s hands fall from his back. The three of them fall in step, walking side-by-side to meet King Richard’s party. Arthur can feel nerves curling in him. It’s been years since he’s met the other king. The last time Richard was here, the anti-magic laws were still intact and Arthur wasn’t aware of even Emrys’ existence. The three of them pause at the top of the steps, Gwaine standing to Arthur’s left with loose limbs and Merlin standing to his right and worrying at his lip. Arthur crosses his hands behind his back and looks out to where King Richard’s horse will ride up, where the sun is rising, painting the sky and courtyard in beautiful shades of pinks and oranges. They wait there for several minutes, the sun slowly climbing, Gwaine humming whatever song is stuck in his head, until Arthur spots King Richard’s white horse.
King Richard is just as imposing a man as he remembers. He is large like an old oak, sturdy and of a stocky build. His hair is golden like Arthur’s, though his eyes are a deep brown. The lines on his face tell stories of both the stresses of a king and a lifetime of smiles— smiles which are warm and freely given, as if everyone he meets is an old friend.
“Welcome, King Richard,” Arthur greets, walking down to meet his mare. King Richard swings off it with grace and grasps Arthur’s forearm when Arthur holds out his hand.
“It’s nice to see you again, King Arthur,” Richard says, before bucking convention in a way Arthur’s never experienced with another ruler but is quite familiar with when it comes to him. He uses his grip on Arthur’s arm to pull him into a tight hug. Arthur returns it gladly.
“It’s nice to see you again, as well,” Arthur says.
“You may remember my son, Fredrick.” Richard says and places a hand on the shoulder of the boy next to him. He’s taller than the last time Arthur saw him, but five years will do that to a still growing child. Arthur smiles.
“Of course,” he says. “Though he’s grown since we’ve last seen each other.”
Richard smiles proudly. “Yes, I’m fairly certain he’s going to overtake me in height soon. And he’s looking more like his mother every day as well.”
“Lucky him,” Arthur says with a smile and Richard’s eyes twinkle at his words in a silent laugh. Any other king and Arthur would worry about offending him, but never Richard. The man held a good humour Arthur’s little seen in other nobles.
“His mother would agree with you,” Richard jokes, turning to Merlin and Gwaine, his smile widening as he places his hands on his hips like an assessing parent. While he may not be Arthur’s own parent, Arthur knows well he truly is assessing them. Arthur’s own smile turns proud as he also looks toward them, Gwaine as seemingly unbothered as ever while Merlin’s fingers curl nervously into his sleeves at being made the center of attention. “Now, who are these young men by your side?”
“This is Merlin, my Court Sorcerer, and Gwaine, our personal knight,” Arthur says, gesturing to each in turn. Richard hugs both of them, just as he’d hugged him, and Arthur nearly laughs at the look of surprise on Merlin’s face and the way Gwaine wheezes at Richard’s grip. With the way Gwaine smiles afterwards, Arthur is fairly certain Richard has endeared himself to the knight faster than Arthur did. (An easy feat, Arthur thinks, with a bit of embarrassment.)
“It’s nice to meet the both of you,” Richard says.
“It’s nice to meet you as well, sire,” Merlin says, inclining his head as if he’s ever held a shred of propriety in his body. At least Gwaine doesn’t pretend.
“Now,” Arthur says. “I’ve asked them to keep watch over Fredrick as we talk, if that is alright with you?”
“It would be quiet alright, Arthur,” Richard says with a smile, and Arthur can see the grumbling in Merlin’s eyes as Richard tells his son to go with them and to behave. Arthur suppresses his own smile at Merlin’s reluctance. Much as Merlin would deny it, he is strangely adept with children. Even the older ones, such as Fredrick is. Once they’ve left, going off who knows where but hopefully nowhere they’ll find trouble, Richard turns back to Arthur.
“They aren’t just your Court Sorcerer and knight,” Richard says, soft and knowing, and Arthur ducks his head.
“They’re not,” Arthur says.
“You love them a lot. And they you,” Richard says and Arthur turns to him, eyebrow raised. “It shows. Are they your consorts?”
Arthur nods. “They are.”
“You’re a very lucky man,” Richard says and the approval in his eyes is a balm Arthur knows he’d never get from his own father, were he alive. “To have two people who love you as much as they do.”
“I am,” Arthur agrees.
This visit with Richard is something Arthur wasn’t aware he needed, but he did. For more than just the official political reasons the other king was there for. It was nice to have a friend who understood the more kingly duties Arthur holds, the challenges of holding a kingdom on his shoulders. Someone older and, Arthur readily admits, wiser.
Arthur parts ways with Richard after the meeting and a short tour of the new things Merlin and Gwaine have brought Camelot, heading towards the training grounds. He knows his knight and sorcerer well enough, as does he know what it’s like to be a young king-in-training, to guess that is where they’ve likely ended up. He is not disappointed. Rounding a corner, he spots them up ahead, a gaggle of knights and Merlin watching as Gwaine fights Fredrick. Smiling to himself, Arthur leans on the fence surrounding the training area to watch as well.
Fredrick isn’t bad, if untried. He stumbles more than a knight should and Arthur knows from the way he moves the knights in Richard’s kingdom likely go easy on him often. Understandable, but damaging in the long run. He should bring it up when he sees Richard later. As he watches, Fredrick stops moving like a knight and Gwaine follows suit, the fight looking less and less like a duel and more like a tavern brawl and Arthur gets the idea Fredrick also knows the knights go easy on him. He wonders if the young prince has found other avenues to learn fighting. Less honourable ones. If he does, the thoughts very quickly become unimportant.
Fredrick slashes and Arthur sees red hit the dirt. It’s clear everyone does, the way even the knights go silent. The sky rumbles with thunder, Camelot’s sky darkening so fully of clouds there’s no sky to be seen in any direction. The knights shift, knowing the danger it heralds. Merlin has lived in Camelot so long now, he feels like a fixture of the castle. So does Gwaine. The image of the knight falling seems to sear itself into his mind in a moment, interwoven by dark clouds. Arthur jumps over the fence, running toward Gwaine as he slips to the ground. He slides to his knees barely a moment before Gwaine lands, catching the other man in his lap and guiding him to lean back into his chest to keep the weight off the wound. He looks over Gwaine, taking in the harsh slash dug into the side of his leg. It’s bleeding badly and Arthur makes quick work removing his shirt to press it against the gash. George is sure to have a fit about it later, when he discovers the blood seeped into one of Arthur’s best shirts. Especially when he made such a fuss, dressing all three of them in their best to meet Richard. Gwaine hisses, flinching as Arthur presses the cloth into the wound and Arthur sees Merlin flinch as well, glancing back at them, eyes nearly molten from how brightly the gold shines in them.
If Fredrick were wise, he’d be scared. But instead he is laughing, sword pressed into the dirt and stained red with Gwaine’s blood. The second he notices the beautiful, terrible gold, he scowls. As if Merlin is just a speck Fredrick can’t believe would dirty his shirt. It angers Arthur, partly because he would’ve been the same– was the same– at Fredrick’s age. Raised on his father’s bigotries. He knew Uther’s bigotries still lived in the hearts of some men, but he didn’t think it extended even to King Richard’s kingdom. Not when Richard was always kind to magic users, refusing to bow to Camelot’s laws when they changed. This is something else he’ll have to bring up when he sees Richard again. The other king has to know the dangerous thoughts which live within his own house. For the good of his people.
“Gwaine?” Arthur says, focusing back on his knight. There are bruises forming where he’d been hit during the mock fight. What was supposed to be a mock fight. Gwaine grunts, voice softer than it usually is. Merlin makes a savage noise at the sound.
“‘m fine, Princess,” Gwaine says. “I’ve had worse.”
“You shouldn’t have,” Merlin says, acerbic, and Arthur mentally agrees. It’d be preferable to never see Gwaine injured like this, to never see it at all, but he knows their reality means it’s inevitable.
“Merlin’s right, at least in this instance,” Arthur says. “Wounds like this aren’t supposed to happen during training. Who even suggested using real swords?”
“Who do you think, Arthur?” Merlin growls. It’s the kind of noise Merlin seldom makes, the one that sends a shiver up even his own spine. Merlin makes it easy to forget he’s more than just an idiot with a bright smile, that he’s also the world’s most powerful warlock, magic itself, and could’ve caused the entire castle to simply crumble to the ground around them all the very first time he entered Camelot. He makes it easy to forget how very lucky they were that destiny called him here in the beginning, not revenge.
The worst part is, a very real part of him wants to see Merlin unleashed. Wants to see Merlin return hurt for hurt. But it’s not who Merlin is, to hurt a child, even one as foolish as this. It’s not who Arthur is, either. He’s very happy for that, because he knows it easily could’ve been.
Fredrick trembles, ignoring Arthur entirely, focus clearly torn between the pissed off warlock in front of him and the knight he hurt. It nearly makes Arthur feel sorry for him, but the blood seeping into his hands through the cloth dampens the feeling. Being a knight since he was old enough to hold a practice sword dampens the feeling, weapon safety hammered into from even before he could hold the practice sword. Fredrick should’ve known better. There is a lesson he sorely needs to learn, and it’s better for him to learn it here than elsewhere. With them, rather than someone crueler. “Le– leash your dog,” Fredrick’s voice shivers, skipping through fear.
“Merls,” Gwaine calls, fingers digging into Arthur’s arm as he moves to sit up better, Arthur helping guide him. It’s the first thing which gets Merlin to look away and Arthur watches the gold dim slightly when he looks at Gwaine, recognizes in Merlin the same thing he already internalized himself. A force of nature, muzzled and waiting. When Gwaine shakes his head, the gold leaves Merlin’s eyes entirely.
“You will return to your father and inform him you’ve been confined to the guest chambers for the rest of the night and tomorrow,” Arthur says, voice firm. It’s the voice Merlin’s mockingly called his ‘king voice’, the one he learned more from Morgana than their father and perfected in council meetings over the years. The one which gets people to shut up and actually listen. “You may roam Camelot again after tomorrow, but if you pull something like this again, you will be banished back to your kingdom and you will never be allowed within her walls again.”
A warlock’s love can be a dangerous thing.
And so can a king’s.
The child glares at them and leaves in a huff, but doesn’t talk back, knowing if he does he may find himself in much more trouble with his father for angering the king of the kingdom they’d come to visit. Fredrick is lucky Arthur won’t throw away an alliance and– more– a good friendship just because the son made a mistake, as long as the father doesn’t make one as well. (He trusts King Richard won’t.) He turns back to Gwaine, Merlin already kneeling at Gwaine’s other side.
“Are you okay?” Merlin asks, checking Gwaine as best he can with the way Gwaine’s leaning against Arthur.
“I’m fine,” Gwaine waves Merlin off, only to wince. Arthur scoffs.
“Fine indeed,” Arthur says. He stands carefully, slowly, and Gwaine groans as he’s forced to stand as well. “We’re taking you to Gaius.”
“But-” Gwaine starts, only to be cut off by Merlin’s sharp “No buts, Gwaine”. Gwaine shuts his mouth after, but he looks more fondly annoyed than chastized. Merlin places Gwaine’s other arm over his own shoulders so the two of them can support Gwaine while they slowly make their way towards Gaius’ chambers. It’s too slow for Arthur, impatience eating at his guts, but he knows any faster would be worse. Every few limping steps, Gwaine flinches and both Arthur and Merlin flinch with him.
Arthur opens the door and Gaius looks up, spectacles perched on the end of his nose, chain keeping them in place. He knows the moment Gaius notices Gwaine as Merlin and he carefully maneuver the knight into the room by the way Gaius stands, quickly clearing the wooden table.
“Set him here,” Gaius instructs and they quietly do as told, helping Gwaine sit up on the table, his legs hanging off it. Merlin moves the bench so Gwaine can rest his feet on the wood. Gwaine settles back on his elbows as he does, closing his eyes, leg stretched out and heel on the end of the bench. “Alright, let’s see.”
Gaius sets a bucket of water next to Gwaine which Merlin heats without a word or even looking at it as Gaius cuts away Gwaine’s pants, carefully pulling the material away from his skin where the blood has dried and where it’s still tacky. It looks worse than it is, Arthur thinks. But Gaius still grabs needle and thread, asking Merlin to sterilize it.
“Will you need to amputate it?” Gwaine asks, opening his eyes to smile at them. Merlin looks annoyed, but Arthur can see the way his shoulders relax.
“No, I’m afraid you’ll just have to make due with the same old leg,” Gaius says, dipping a rag in the bucket and wringing it out to work on cleaning the wound before doing anything else.
“And here I was hoping Merlin would get to outfit me with a cool tree leg,” Gwaine sighs, before yelping when Merlin whacks him with a cloth. “What was that for?”
“For being an idiot,” Merlin says, bright, turning away to sterilize the needle as asked. He’s quiet as he does, washing it in steaming water. It doesn’t escape Arthur, how his eyes aren’t bright and his smile is strained. It doesn’t escape Gwaine, either.
“Merls,” Gwaine says, softer, catching Merlin’s free hand. He brushes his thumb over Merlin’s palm. “I’m sorry.”
Merlin sighs, shaking his head, but he squeezes Gwaine’s hand back. It unfurls something in Arthur’s chest and he takes his own breath, stepping closer, settling his own hand on Merlin’s shoulder.
“The important thing is you’re okay. And that you don’t do this again,” Arthur says, shuffling to the side so Gaius can stitch Gwaine up. The movements are sure and quick, the hands of someone who has stitched many a wound. Arthur’s always been glad he has someone like Gaius in his court; has been since he was a child and Gaius was patching his broken bones and healing the fevers he was prone to at a younger age. Not just for Arthur himself, but for Morgana as well, caring for injuries only he could care for. Caring also for those smaller injuries which could only be healed by pressing a kiss to them, in a child’s mind.
“Talking about doing this again-” Gwaine says, earning a sharp look from Merlin. He raises his free hand. “Not that I mean to, I assure you. Arthur, what you said to Fredrick. You’d really break the peace between you and Richard, just for me?”
“Yes,” Arthur says immediately, causing Gaius to turn sharply toward him. Gwaine hisses as the wrap pulls too tight.
“Sire!” Gaius gasps, chastising.
“Son of a good king or not,” Arthur says seriously, “I will not stand by as he injures one of my consorts then mocks my other.” Merlin squeezes his shoulder; a thank you. Arthur reaches up to squeeze his hand back; an of course. Gaius shakes his head at them, though it is with exasperation rather than anger.
“Dogs, all three of you,” Gaius mutters and Gwaine snorts while Arthur grins, teeth feeling oddly sharp in his mouth.
“Perhaps we are.”