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It's obvious to anyone who's ever seen Merlin handle a sword, that he can barley hold one without hurting himself, let alone wield it. And while it's true that he's not the most capable with a sword, that doesn't equate to him being poor at wielding other weapons. And although most people don't know it, he's got incredible accuracy with a bow and arrow.
"Are you going to sign up?" Lancelot asks him as they walk through the market place on a sunny afternoon.
He shakes his head. "I don't think so."
"Why not?"
"I've just got better things to do." He replies. "Besides I have nothing to prove by entering, I already know I'd win."
While some people would call Merlin arrogant, maybe even pretentious in the way he makes fun of royal blood and refuses to use titles, he's actually quite a timid person. At least when it comes to being confident in his decision making, magic, and self worth. But the one thing he could spend hours talking about, is archery. Sometimes when Lancelot notices him feeling a little down, he'll ask him about it just to get him smiling again. He'd then spend the next three hours listening to him drone on about draw lengths and bracers.
"And here I thought ten pounds of gold would have been a good enough reason." He quits.
He stops walking and turns to him. "Ten pounds?" He asks. "That's enough to restring my bow."
"It's enough to buy you a dozen new ones too." He laughs.
He hums in contemplation, turning to the man at the fruit stand, and taking an apple from him. "Well, it looks like I've got the rest of my week planned out."
"The rest of the week?" He questions as they keep wondering through the sea of merchants. "It's just one afternoon."
"The competition is just one afternoon," He says taking a bite of his apple. "you and I sweetening the pot will take the rest of the week."
He smiles, seeing where his heads at. "We're going to run up the bets against you?"
"Unless you think that's immoral."
"It's definitely immortal." He replies in agreement. "But I need a new sword."
"So we have a deal then?" He asks.
He nods.
➵ ➵ ➵
For the next three days they run up the bets as much as possible. Merlin decides to "accidentally" let it slip that he was signing up as a "bet" from one of the knights. He tells the other servants that he's never actually shot a bow, and thinks it'll be humiliating when he competes against such good archers. Specifically Arlo, who he's seen practicing out the field a few times.
"I hope you won't me betting against you. It's just that I saw Arlo win the last archery contest, I know he's good."
"Not at all." He replies respectfully. "I don't think I've got a chance anyway."
Meanwhile, when he's in the armory Lancelot subtlety asks about who everyone is betting on, and mentions he's placing his bet on Merlin.
"Merlin? Does he even own a bow?"
He resists a pompous response. "I think he just got one." He lies. "It's all broken up since he got pretty cheap."
While it was neither new nor cheap, it was in fact quite broken in terms of the quality of the wood. It's been scratched up from it's many years of use, but even though many people would argue that the bow was the most important part of archery, Merlin knows that even the best bow is useless if you don't know how to use it properly.
"Why are you betting on him if you know he won't win?"
"He's my friend," He replies. "I felt bad."
"You should never let friendship come between you and winning a bet. Especially one as sure as this."
He nods. "Perhaps you're right, I may still change my bet. After all Arlo is the best archer in all of Camelot."
➵ ➵ ➵
Oddly enough, even with most of the kingdom now knowing about (and betting against) Merlin's involvement with the competition, the news didn't quite reach the king. And when the morning of the contest finally arrived, he's caught off guard by the announcement.
"I'm actually busy this afternoon." He says refilling his cup as he eats breakfast.
"Busy with what?" He asks suspiciously as he picks it up.
"With the archery competition." He replies. "I entered it."
He chokes on his water. "You entered it?"
He nods. "There's no rules against it, I checked."
"No I know, it's just...you can't shoot."
"How would you know?" He asks. "Have you ever seen me with a bow?"
"No, but you've stabbed yourself while just holding a sword on several separate occasions. What makes you think you should add flying arrows into mix?"
He shrugs. "It was Lancelot's idea, I didn't actually want to do it. Seems like a waste when I already know I'm the best."
"The best!" He exclaims. "Merlin you couldn't hit a target if it was one yard in front of you!"
Well of course not, that would damage his arrows, he'd need at the least thirty.
He wasn't planning on antagonizing Arthur, but since the opportunity seemed to fall right into his lap, he'd be a fool not to take it. "Care to make a wager if you're so confident?"
"I'm not allowed to bet on contestants, and even if I could I wouldn't place any on you."
"I'm not talking about the bets, I'm talking about a bet, just one. You can't bet on who will win, but what if we bet on who will lose? As in everyone who isn't me."
He smiles, contemplating it for a moment. "Alright, I'll bet you can't make ten points within all nine shots.
He nods. "And I'll bet you I can get at least thirty."
Of course he plans to make every shot, scoring him a perfect ninety. But if he were to say that his confidence would definitely make Arthur reconsider the bet. Besides, he never said he couldn't go over thirty.
"Thirty?" He repeats. "That means you'd have to land at least one bullseye."
"I know." He says before excusing himself from the room to go prepare this afternoon.
➵ ➵ ➵
It was never his intention to hide the fact that he practices archery from his friends, and in all honesty he didn't purposely go through any extremities in order to do so. It was just something he never felt the need to bring up. Occasionally he'd warn a knight that the nocking point needing to be fixed on a bow before handing it to over, or correct one when they're stance was off, even complimenting the bowyer who made them once or twice. No one ever seemed to notice beside Lancelot.
He didn't have many talents growing up (aside from the obvious) until he picked up a bow for the first time. He found it interesting how something that seemed so simple could be so complicated. And he enjoyed the feeling of peace it brought him whenever he breathed in deeply before letting an arrow soar.
The first bow he ever used wasn't even his, but his friends. And it wasn't until he was almost fifteen that he got his own as a birthday gift. It was old and worn, the strings needed replacing, and the arrow heads needed sharpening. But he loved it anyway, and practiced with it up until the moment he could afford a new one. Not a nice one per say, just nicer than the one he owned previously.
And that one, the one he spent months saving up to buy, is the same one propped up in the corner by his door while he sits on his bed and fletches his arrows. There's a knock at the door and shouts for whomever it is to come in without bothering to look up from his work.
"You're taking this seriously." Lancelot notes.
He shrugs. "They needed to be re-fletched anyway, I figured this was a good excuse to get it done."
"Right." He sits beside him. "And what exactly is fletching?"
"It uh, stabilizes the arrows." He explains holding one up. "Makes sure it spins properly after the release. I'm just cleaning off the excess glue."
"Got it." He replies. "I just came by to tell you that everyone I talked to is betting on Arlo. They're saying it'll be easy money."
"You know, I wasn't really looking forward to a few days ago," He says smiling. "But now I'm thinking this is going to be a lot of fun."
➵ ➵ ➵
The sun seems to beat down harder than any other day they've had this year, and while most people probably appreciated the wind that blew through town, cooling them off, Merlin didn't. Even the best archer can make a mistake if the conditions aren't right. Weather is an important variable that one should always account for. And even though he wasn't entirely worried about it, he didn't exactly want to risk being put off by the wind.
But there's nothing he can do about it, so he walks side by side with Lancelot, only mildly complaining about the outside elements. "It's just ridiculous that something as trivial as wind can make otherwise incredible archers miss their target."
"I thought you didn't miss."
"I don't." He replies easily, and somewhat offended. "But that doesn't mean I enjoy shooting in the wind, why do you think I practice at night? It's stiller."
"I thought it was because you liked the challenge of having your vision impaired." He says.
"That too."
The stands are filled and behind them are practice targets for those who entered the competition. He can't help but let his eyes wonder to the people around him, mentally taking note of everyone making at least an eight or higher per arrow. Only three. Arlo of course being one of them.
"There you are! We were started to think you were backing out." Arthur says, heading the group of knights. Those among them including Gawain, Percival, Elyan and Leon. Along with two others who look vaguely familiar, despite not being able place their names at the moment.
He shakes his head. "Not at all, I was trying to find my bow, I misplaced it this morning." He lies. He's been spinning a web of deceit for the last few days. Why stop now?
All of them except for Lancelot laugh.
"Well, you've got a target." He says putting his hand on it. "You're welcome to warm up with everyone else."
"No thanks, I practiced last night."
Another few laughs. "Are you sure?" Lancelot asks him with an unusual gleam in his eyes. "Maybe you should try an arrow just to see."
It clicks immediately that he wants him to commit hamartia on purpose. He'd never expect that kind of behavior from him, but honestly he found it slightly amusing to see this side of him. And of course, he'd be happy to oblige him, solidifying everyone's assumptions of him.
"Alright." He says pretending to be nervous, and lining up an arrow. His posture is weak, as is his pull. When he lets it go, it just barely hits the edge of the target, and quite frankly he's impressed with himself for the shot. Anyone can hit a bullseye, but it takes an impressive amount of skill and control to have half of an arrow head off the target and the other at the very edge of it.
There's an incredible amount of laughter, not only from his friends but also his competitors. He glances at Lancelot, and he can tell he's struggling to keep from smiling. He winks, and resisting his own urge to grin, he fake pouts, pulling the arrow from the target. "Well that was just a warm up, I'll do better in front of an audience."
"I'm sure you will." Arthur replies, trying to be supportive, but clearly doubting him.
He watches them walk off, knowing that he completed his goal of making them doubt him even better than he had expected. If there was a single person who had believed in him, they would surely switch bets after seeing his poor display just now.
"I don't think I've ever been more excited for anything in my life." Lancelot says.
"Me neither."
He pats him on the back. "I'll see you out there."
➵ ➵ ➵
The way the competition was set up allowed Merlin to see every archer take their turn individually. He wished he could say it was a stroke of luck that put him last, but (to be completely transparency) he bribed the event assembler to let him be the last to go. That way he could gauge if he had an actual competition. He didn't.
A few of the archers he knew were actually quite good, it was just a stroke of bad luck that the wind took their arrows in the wrong direction. Some landed it the dirt, others hit the target but only gave them a few points. Most commonly he saw people hitting the blue, earning five to six points. Which was actually quite impressive considering the wind conditions.
Only two people hit bullseyes, Arlo and Atticus, both scoring a total of sixty. They both seemed rather conceited about it too, as if scoring a sixty out of a ninety was enough to make them the best archer in all five kingdoms.
The spectators probably assume they'll see a showdown between the two, but Merlin has no intention of letting either of them compete in a tiebreaker. After all, he just has to make a sixty-one to win. Though honestly, why stop at such a low number?
When it's finally his turn he's surprised that his nerves aren't worse, he never had an audience watch him shoot before, but he feels calmer than ever. Confident too. He watches them bring out new targets for him to replace the torn ones. Once they leave he pulls back his bow, but he stops himself before shooting. He frowns and lessens his grip, putting the arrow back in his quiver, and walking away.
He can hear murmurs from the crowd, and one person shouting at him, calling him a coward as he walks. But he brushes it off, finally stopping when he reaches the edge of the grassy field after putting a good three-hundred yards between him and the targets.
"Any closer and it'll be too easy!" He shouts to the crowd, no longer hiding his hubris or his smile.
He squares his shoulders back, standing taller and taking his stance, then pulls another arrow. Lining it up with his nocking point he shuts his eyes while taking a deep breath, and he feels the feather tickle his cheek. He smiles as the wind blows, the familiar calming sensation washing over him as he releases the tension of the bow string.
Everyone is quiet, watching as the arrow twists, flying through the air and hitting the dead center of the target. Ten points.
He exhales, quickly glancing at the crowd for a moment before drawing another arrow. This time he shoots faster, his muscle memory kicking in and making it seem as if he's the only person in the field. One by one he lets them go, watching the archers paradox play out perfectly each time.
By the time he's down to his last three arrows the cherry of bullseye on his target is almost completely full; so he turns, pulling an arrow and shooting it over his shoulder, aiming for the used targets that are on the other end of the field, and then he finally lowers his bow.
He tilts his head, both admiring and correcting his technique. There's a quiet out of sync clapping that slowly grows, pulling his attention to the crowd of people now cheering. He smiles as his friends walk over, all but one with a gaping mouth.
"What was that!" Arthur asks. "You couldn't even hit the target earlier!"
"I told you I'd do better in front of an audience." He replies.
"Where'd you learn to do that?"
"Home." He answers in a single word.
"Why did you keep it a secret?"
"I didn't really. It's just that no one ever seemed to notice when I comment on recurve bows or nocks." He hands his bow to Arthur. "Except for Lancelot of course, he noticed after his first few weeks here."
"You said he couldn't shoot!" One of the knights shouts.
He shrugs. "I had to make sure you would bet against him somehow."
"Unbelievable." Arthur comments. "You two swindled everyone here!"
"It was nothing personal." Merlin clarifies. "And I did technically tell you I was the best, you didn't believe me."
"No one did!" He exclaims. "How was I supposed to know that you're secretly an expert archer?"
"I don't know, pay attention?" He quips.
"C'mon, let's go celebrate our victory at the tavern." Lancelot suggests. "First rounds on me."
He nods, pulling off his shooting gloves and stuffing them in his pocket. "I hope you know I expect to get those arrows back." He shouts over his shoulder as they walk off. "I just fletched and sharpened them this morning!"
So the two of them go to celebrate, leaving Arthur in the middle of a grassy field, holding the battered old bow that caused him to lose both his pride and his gold in a single afternoon. "I'm never making another bet with either of them ever again." He mutters.