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Merlin is a clumsy person. Gwaine knows this for sure, because once or twice he’s been the one who’s had to catch Merlin before he falls down stairs or drops a tray full of Arthur’s leftovers. He’s all awkward elbows and knees and limbs that sometimes he looks like he doesn’t know how to use. Gwaine thinks it’s pretty endearing.
But there are times when Gwaine passes by to grab hangover cures from Gaius to find Merlin reading a medical book in one hand, long fingers crooked over the spine as he steps up on tables to reach high shelves of ingredients. And the first time it happens, Gwaine nearly steps over himself trying to catch Merlin as walks over the table, not even looking, but Merlin is fluid. Graceful, almost, as his feet weave past and over the various objects on the table as if on instinct, feet landing lightly on the floor with a thump hops off the workbench. He glances up, finally noticing Gwaine and smiles, greeting his friend. It doesn’t always happen like this, but Gwaine thinks that Merlin looks natural here.
Then there are times when, in times of need and dire consequences, Gwaine witnesses Merlin thread through the forest as fast as or faster than some of the other knights, all to get to Arthur’s side. It’s almost like Merlin knows where to step, where his feet belong, where the path to his king lies and the world shifts itself accordingly to let Merlin pass. Moments like this are rare, considering Gwaine has other things to concentrate on. Like not running into trees.
He wonders if Merlin would run like that to him, and finds himself hoping that Merlin would.
*
Merlin has, according to Arthur, a mental affliction of some sort. And Gwaine might’ve believed him at first - that dopey smile of Merlin's doesn't help his case.
But there are times, when Merlin says things. Says things that cut straight to the heart of the matter. He’s endlessly optimistic, it seems - save for certain times but even then, even then, Merlin continues to carry on when most men would have thrown down their arms and pressed their faces into the dirt, begging for mercy.
Merlin is brave - there’s no doubt about this, he knows that Merlin would throw his life down for Camelot just like the rest of the knights. But it’s through intent watching that Gwaine notices Merlin is brilliant. He’s not a tactical genius like Arthur, he’s not Gaius when it comes to healing - but he’s got a certain level of clarity that unnerves Gwaine. There’s a sharp, pragmatic feel to Merlin’s words, his actions, and he didn’t have the bias that Merlin was an idiot when they first met. Maybe a little dim, blindly braveand loyal, but a good fellow - he just didn’t know how deep Merlin’s insight actually ran until he got to know the other.
But when he learned, well.
Merlin is disarming - layers and layers of mystery that a guy like Merlin shouldn’t have but does and Gwaine likes it. A lot.
More than he should.
*
Merlin isn’t that attractive in the general sense. He’s sharp and angled - flat chest unable to be compared to the buxom ladies of the court and taverns that Gwaine usually likes to surround himself with.
But there are times when Gwaine finds himself stopping in the middle of training, to catch his breath or adjust a piece of his armor - and looking over in the direction of the other. Merlin is usually doing something like polishing spare gauntlets or sharpening swords or just simply standing and watching the knights, like many others. And there are times when Merlin glances in his direction and - oh, oh. Merlin stands there, dressed in the same clothes that he always wears and that - Arthur calls it dumb, Gwaine thinks it’s a tease - neckerchief, looking for all the world like he’s proud. That breath that Gwaine had been trying to catch is suddenly gone, but he grins anyway and waves amiably at his companion.
Merlin waves back, and Gwaine thanks whatever higher powers are out there for Merlin’s smile.
*
Merlin is weak, and terrible with a sword, crossbow, or generally any weapon. He’s got stringy arms, and bruises quite easily.
But what attracts him to Merlin and, though he won’t admit it, surprises Gwaine most of all, is because even if Merlin smiles, he laughs, he plays the innocent, hapless fool - is the fact that Gwaine thinks Merlin has killed a man. Maybe more.
He doesn’t know for sure - hasn’t seen it happen, but he senses there’s something there. And he has a feeling Arthur has no idea.
There aren’t distinct clues, but Gwaine considers himself a great judge of character. If you overlook the initial ‘you’re a noble and therefore I don’t give a shit’ thing he does, at least. Merlin holds himself like a servant when in Arthur’s presence, perhaps a snippy friend-servant mix - but a servant nonetheless. When Arthur isn’t looking, or there - like when Merlin asks him for help to follow Arthur to the Perilous Lands, that Gwaine notices there’s always a tenseness to Merlin that Gwaine has seen in knights preparing for battle. Others might mistake it for a slouch, maybe, but Gwaine sees it like the taut string of a crossbow prepared to fire.
Which is ridiculous, because Merlin is as unarmed as they come, he thinks.
In any case, Merlin holds himself like someone that’s always ready to fight, always poised to jump out and defend someone (Arthur) - regardless of the consequences and his own lack of protection. Gwaine playfully waves it off, but he sees Merlin as someone fierce.
Merlin hides it, but he sometimes holds himself like someone that’s accepted the mantle of making hard choices, or of being the executioners axe - and for the life of him, Gwaine cannot figure out why.
But he’d like to, somehow.
*
There’s a point in their friendship - where Merlin, always the good friend, helps a slightly bleeding Gwaine back to his room to clean up a cut on Gwaine’s forearm from bar fight with a man with a dagger - that Merlin stares at him with strikingly blue eyes and an expression he’s seen Merlin try to hide from everyone before. And he says, not the words that Gwaine would have liked to hear, but words that surprise him nonetheless;
“Gwaine. I have magic.”
Things click into place, suspicions float away like clouds in the drink-addled space of Gwaine’s mind and oh. Oh.
Merlin’s looking at him like he’s terrified, Gwaine stares into his face. And then he laughs, because it makes sense. Everything makes sense.
“Well, that clears a lot of things up. I bet you’ve saved our asses more times than we can count, am I right?” He says with a grin, hand going to squeeze Merlin on the shoulder and shake him lightly, in a companionable and hopefully comforting sort of way. Merlin is a startled deer as he looks at Gwaine, but the hand on his shoulder briefly tenses and then relaxes as Merlin smiles himself. He looks positively radiant, Gwaine thinks - even better than the tittering, giggling women that fawn over his muscles and run their fingers through his hair when he whispers naughty, explicit promises into their skin.
“I told you, I’m not from Camelot. I don’t fear magic in the ways that most of its subjects do.”
“I - uh, okay.” Merlin looks like he’s going to split his face in half with how hard he’s smiling, and Gwaine feels like kissing him. He feels like leaning in and wrapping his hand into the hair on the nape of Merlin’s neck and tugging him close. He feels like pressing his lips to Merlin’s and sucking on his bottom lip and licking out into Merlin’s mouth - wants to have Merlin wrap his arms around his neck and return that kiss. He wants to explore Merlin’s mouth with his tongue, he wants to have Merlin’s skin and angles press against his own, wants so very much to press Merlin against this bed they’re sitting on and suck, rub, lick away any of the fear Merlin had felt earlier.
So he leans in and -
“Arthur already knows,” Merlin says, hands up and animated as he speaks, completely unaware as Gwaine freezes, “And well, we’re talking about repealing the ban on magic! I’m trying to get a general feel of how the kingdom still feels about magic and all that. Arthur doesn’t want to shock the kingdom into it. He’s been really great about it though - I mean, we’re not executing anyone for sorcery anymore, yeah? It’s fantastic.” He’s fantastic, Gwaine practically hears Merlin say.
It all comes down to Arthur.
He stifles that particular comment with another sip of water from the cup on his bedside that Merlin has gotten for him, and he nods. The smile on his face is still there, listening to Merlin prattle on about policies and negotiations and all the plans he and Arthur have.
He and Arthur.
It always comes down to Arthur.
Jealousy curls low in Gwaine's chest, and the immature part of his mind stamps it's foot and screams but Arthur's an idiot. There’s still love in Merlin’s eyes - and Gwaine is not so blind that he thinks it’s just devotion to his king. No. It’s love. It’s the kind of love that doesn’t just drive armies - it’s the kind that gives them the passion to fight wars and then brings them home. Gwaine thinks he’s seen it before - but has ignored it, on the pretense that Merlin is just a good servant. But no. No it isn’t.
He can’t tell if Merlin’s have been returned, but he thinks back on hunting trips and the way that Arthur and Merlin interact on a daily basis - the occasional hushed conversation, random grins in each other’s directions, the touches that might linger for a bit longer than necessary but not long enough to raise any alarm to someone not looking for it. Gwaine wonders if they’re closer in private - actually, he has no doubt that they are. No doubt whatsoever. Even if their relationship isn't mutual or sexual or at whatever point they'd both like it to be at this point in time, Gwaine thinks it will be soon enough. It’s probably inevitable. And even if it were inevitable, Gwaine doesn’t think he has the heart in him to take that kind of a possibility away from either of them. Damn his loyalties.
Gwaine doesn’t know if he loves Merlin - he doesn't think he does, but he’s not quite sure. He hasn’t been in love before, he thinks. He’s been smitten, had crushes, fancied people, lusted after many, sure - but love feels like a different, terrifying plane of existence that Gwaine himself has yet to tread. But he likes Merlin. A lot. And it could grow. But now he can’t let it. Won’t let it.
Still. He wants to peck Merlin on the lips. Just once. Just once - and he’ll swear off Merlin forever, like swearing off ale or sex - and nothing like it at all. He just wants one kiss - and damn it all, when has he ever felt this pathetic? It's being turned down without ever having said anything. He doesn’t like it. So he doesn’t do anything. He doesn’t lean forward. Doesn’t seduce Merlin into his bed. Doesn’t rub Merlin’s shoulder through the flimsy fabric of his clothes, dipping lower and lower to the small of his back. And he definitely doesn’t kiss Merlin, however much he wants to.
Because Merlin and Arthur are destiny embodied, two paths twined together like a damned love story that musicians sing about. They’re two sides of the same coin almost, something in the back of his mind chimes - and however ridiculous, it’s accurate.
So, for all his dislike of nobles and nobility, their frivolity and persnickety, pretentious ways - Gwaine can’t help but be a little jealous of his king.