Chapter Text
Griffin.
The word clattered through Merlin's head, chasing away every other thought. Gaius' bestiary had not done it justice; not at all. The creature towered over him, its wings spread and mantled as its paws cleaved into the soft forest loam. A croaking scream escaped its throat. The stench of foul meat and piss clouded around it as wisps of steam rose from its sweating flanks.
Fear blanked his mind, leaving him breathless as his magic coiled under his tongue. He could feel it surging in his veins and pressing against his teeth, but before he could utter a single syllable, another roar echoed through the air.
A race of thudding footsteps: the clang of iron and grunts of exertion.
Merlin could only stare as the stranger harried the creature, driving it back. That hooked beak parted around a scream of outrage, its wings flapping in annoyance. A moment later, the blade connected with the animal's side. He expected blood and fury. He got it half right. Unfortunately, there was little in the way of damage except a few sliced feathers and a broken sword to show for the man's efforts.
'Run!'
The griffin's squawk of triumph almost drowned out the stranger's desperate urging, but Merlin obeyed him all the same. He grasped the warm hand that helped him to his feet before tearing across the forest floor, scattering mud and leaves in his wake. They darted around trees and scrambled through the undergrowth, his new companion always barely half a step behind him.
The thunder of the griffin's pursuit gained ground with every moment, and Merlin snatched in a breath as they broke out into a clearing. Up ahead, a vast trunk lay in their path: deadfall from last winter. As shelter went, it was a pitiful offering, but he would be happy to get anything between his vulnerable back and that beast's murderous claws!
He vaulted over the crumbling wood, scrambling to hide in its shadow, his right hand flung out to urge the stranger into the same feeble sanctuary. Merlin bit his lip, his chest heaving and sweat cooling between his shoulder-blades. He cocked his head, listening to the stamp of paws and the rustle of wings as the griffin croaked its annoyance.
He could feel it: its power. They were both creatures of magic, and like called to like. Still, he doubted the beast would claim any kind of kinship with him. Not when he was such a tasty, defenceless morsel. Besides, now he had an audience to any spells he might perform. All he could do was lie there, panting, repeating the same plea over and over in his head.
Go away. We're too much trouble. Too bony to be worth the hunt. Go away!
A handful of thudding heartbeats later, the griffin got the message. The boom of its wings announced its departure, stirring up a tempest of dead leaves. The trees trembled and creaked their farewell, and Merlin let out a gusty sigh.
'It's gone.' He twisted, craning his neck to check the coast was clear before turning to his would-be rescuer with a grin. Slumping back against the tree, he sighed in relief before sticking his hand out in welcome. 'I'm Merlin, by the way.'
The man looked at him, his dark eyes gleaming with weary amusement before he clasped Merlin's palm in his own. 'Lancelot.' He shifted his weight as if to stand, pausing as a chalky pallor washed over his face. Merlin frowned, watching beads of sweat pop out across Lancelot's brow as his hand went to his side.
A smear of blood stained his threadbare tunic, and Lancelot's blunt, competent fingers shook as he pressed his palm over the wound. His lips parted, quivering around an in-drawn breath. His brown hair clung to his temples.
Merlin knew he would pass out a moment before his eyes rolled back in his head.
Lunging forward, he grabbed Lancelot's shoulder as he tried to gauge the severity of the injury. There were no good manners to be found in undressing an almost-stranger, but needs must, and he shoved aside the thin fabric of his tunic to take in the damage. It was deep, but not fatally so. A narrow gash let forth a wanton dribble of blood, staining Lancelot's skin with its accusation. The griffin must have caught him a glancing blow with its talon, and he pursed his lips as he considered his options.
He reached for the neckerchief that normally graced his throat before rolling his eyes, remembering he'd left it behind. The warm weather made it a nuisance, and now he felt its lack. The hem of his tunic would have to do instead, and he ripped the well-worn, softened linen into strips so that he could pad and bind the wound.
A rough sound of discomfort caught in Lancelot's throat, and Merlin dithered. They needed Gaius, but how could he get him to Camelot? He'd left his horse in the stables, having walked into the woods for herbs and mushrooms. He had not been expecting to haul an unconscious man back with him. Lancelot may be a touch shorter than Merlin, more Arthur's height than his own, but he was still built like a knight, strong and stocky. Merlin doubted he had the strength to do more than drag poor Lancelot over the forest floor. He certainly couldn't carry him.
Not unless he used magic.
He could almost feel the weighty disapproval of Gaius' eyebrow. His uncle had put it to good use since Merlin's arrival at Camelot a few months ago. It conveyed disappointment, disbelief and outrage without a single word being uttered. If he knew he was contemplating using a spell on a complete stranger, Gaius would not hesitate to bring it to bear.
Still, what the old man didn't know couldn't hurt him.
Biting his lip, Merlin spread his hand, remembering the mantra of word, intent, power that Gaius had drummed into him. Some of his abilities lay beyond such structure, responding more to his unspoken whim, but Merlin had soon realised the best way to cast a spell with any finesse was to follow the simple lesson. After all, he only wanted to lift Lancelot a small distance off the ground, not fling him to the treetops.
'Getæslican āhefe.'
Power whispered through his veins, gentle as a summer breeze as it rippled outwards, finding its focus on Lancelot's supine form. To Merlin's relief, he levitated gently upwards to about waist-height, light as a feather and free from the snarling roots of the forest floor.
With great care, he guided his fallen friend – for what else could he be, after the adventure they had shared? – towards the edge of the woods. He watched for onlookers and listened for the first sign of Lancelot stirring back to wakefulness. Every sense unfurled, attuned to the world around him as he sought out the flickers of life and checked the path ahead.
By the time Lancelot gave a quiet moan, pain drummed at Merlin's temples. His magic still surged beneath his skin, but the effort to control its influence wore at him, and he lowered Lancelot to the ground with a sigh of relief. He would have had to stop soon anyway. The closer they got to the road, the greater the chance of discovery. With any luck, they could limp back to Camelot together.
'Are you all right?' he asked, reaching for the waterskin tied to his belt. He held it up to Lancelot's lips, letting him drink. It would not be the freshest, but it should help. 'We need to get you to the court physician.'
Lancelot groaned, shaking his head. 'Can't afford it.'
'Don't be stupid. You saved me from that griffin. Besides, he's my uncle, and I'm his apprentice. You won't have to pay.' In truth, Merlin knew Gaius would never deny anyone aid simply for lack of coin. He took what the rich could spare and, more often than not, ended up giving it to those worse off. Merlin could admit he was much the same.
Lancelot blinked, his face softening as a smile curved his mouth. 'I hardly saved you,' he pointed out. 'I did nothing more than break my blade, but I thank you for your kindness, Merlin.'
'Come on.' He placed his hand under Lancelot's elbow, easing him to his feet and giving the man a moment to gain his balance. 'Lean your weight on me. It's not too far.'
They probably made a sorry sight as they approached the city, the two of them smeared in mud with dead leaves in their hair. Yet with every step, Lancelot's face brightened, some of his seriousness falling away as he took in the citadel towering before them. 'I have long wished to find myself within these walls,' he confided, his dark eyes gleaming.
Was that what he had looked like, Merlin wondered, when he walked through the gates that first time? If so, his awe had soon faded, left for dead by the swoop of an executioner's axe upon a sorcerer's neck.
'Why's that?'
'I want to be a knight.' He lifted his chin as if daring Merlin to laugh. 'To serve my king and protect the people of these lands.'
Merlin could see it all too easily. Brave and humble, strong and of good heart, Lancelot embodied all the ideals that Arthur looked for in his knights. All, he suspected, except one.
'You're not of noble birth, are you?'
He knew he wasn't wrong. Nobles, even kind ones, had an air of superiority about them that they simply could not shake. The privilege they enjoyed each day left hints of entitlement, and Lancelot bore no such faults. A lord could dress like a peasant, but they could never behave like one: not truly. They did not know hunger or poverty, and they could not mimic the scars those trials gave a man.
'No – I... No.' Lancelot bowed his head, and Merlin both hated and recognised the shame that pinched his gaze. He felt it himself whenever anyone reminded him that he was just a bastard servant boy. As if the circumstances of anyone's birth made them somehow less human. 'Does it matter?'
Merlin guided him around a cart full of squawking chickens, picking his way towards the southern gate that marked the boundary between the Low Town and the richer, more resplendent streets surrounding the castle. 'To me? No. To the king?' He shook his head. 'He only allows men of noble birth to become knights. Some rubbish about loyalty to the crown being in their blood.'
Lancelot's expression crumpled, his joy extinguished as if his greatest dream lay shattered at his feet. Perhaps it did, and Merlin felt like pond scum for being the bearer of such grim news. 'Then my journey is for nothing.'
'Not nothing.' Merlin paused, checking that the bloodstain on Lancelot's tunic had not spread further before they entered the courtyard and turned towards Gaius' chambers. 'I can't make any promises, but I'm the prince's manservant. Maybe...' He shook his head, his mind already racing. 'Maybe there's something I can do.'
'You would help me?'
He blinked, meeting Lancelot's wide-eyed surprise with a crooked smile. 'Of course.'
'Then you are right. This journey is not for nothing. Not if it has brought me a friend such as you.' He squeezed Merlin's shoulder, firm and sure, and his ears turned warm as he ducked his head.
'Good. Come on. Let's get you seen to.'
He left Lancelot in Gaius' care, amused by his calm acceptance. Anyone would think Merlin bringing home injured strangers was an every-day occurrence. 'It was a griffin,' he called over his shoulder as he departed, just in case it made any difference to treatment. He did not think it mattered, but you could never be too careful when it came to magical maladies. 'I'll be with Arthur.'
Grabbing his jacket from behind the door, he shrugged it on, checking it hid the ragged hem of his tunic. He darted around others in the corridor, offering smiles to servants and ducking his head to anyone of higher rank that might take offence. Mostly, he got waves and chuckles in return. At this time of day, the truly noble were busy elsewhere, and those who took joy in keeping servants in their place had better things to do than haunt the castle's halls.
He could hear the ring of swords as he stepped outside, coupled with distant shouts and jeers. Arthur would be on the practice field, no doubt testing the latest crop of would-be knights. Every evening for a fortnight he had listened as Arthur complained about the quality of young men he had been sent: and young they were, many barely out of boyhood. At twenty, Arthur was hardly a veteran, but compared to the bold, brash fools he had been trying to train, he was a consummate professional.
'Right, this is your final test.' Arthur's voice rang out, carrying over the wind that toyed with the pennants on the castle wall. 'Pass this, and you're a knight of Camelot. Fail, and you're no one.'
Merlin rolled his eyes.
'You face the most feared of all foes: the ultimate killing machine.' Arthur paused, adjusting his glove with complete indifference before levelling a cool gaze at his opponent. 'You face me. Your challenge is to last to the count of a hundred in free combat.' He shifted, bracing his weight and lifting his sword. 'Begin!'
Merlin rested against the fence as he settled in to watch. The grass had been torn to mud by the constant stomp of knights' boots, but those upon it seemed not to care. They were lost in a haze of glory, desperate to prove themselves: all flash and no substance. Even Merlin could see that. Their movements were too big and grandiose, lacking any of the efficiency on which Arthur relied. His opponent was disarmed and on the ground in less than twenty heartbeats as the spectators politely applauded.
Arthur pursed his lips, shaking his head as he stalked across the practice ground, stripping off his gloves and throwing them at Merlin. He caught them in one hand, tucking the fine leather in his belt and grimacing as Arthur began to fight his way free of his gorget, spaulder and gardbrace. A moment later, his arms were full of plate armour, all of it in need of a good polish.
'That's the third to fail this month,' Arthur muttered, shaking his head as he led the way back towards the castle. 'How am I meant to defend Camelot with these – these children?'
Merlin sighed, shifting his burden as he hurried to keep up. He understood Arthur's frustration. Ideally, there would be no need to train new warriors because the city would be at peace, but he could not see such a thing happening in Uther's time. There were always skirmishes and bandit attacks, magical beasts and invading armies. The kingdom went through knights swiftly, and they took all their hard-earned skills with them to the grave.
'Maybe I can help?'
'You, Merlin? You haven't the faintest idea what it takes to be a knight.' Arthur glanced over his shoulder, his gaze raking Merlin's slender form and clearly finding it wanting. 'You'd not last a morning on the training field, let alone in battle.'
Merlin bit his tongue, letting the insult slide over him like water from a duck's back. 'I'm not volunteering. I've got more sense than that,' he replied, putting just enough mockery in his tone to ruffle Arthur's feathers while avoiding being sent to the stocks. 'I'm definitely not knight material, but I know someone who is.'
'Oh, really?' Arthur stopped, turning to face him and folding his arms, one eyebrow lifted in disbelief. 'And who might that be?'
'Lancelot. He's brave, strong and loyal: everything you could want.'
'He sounds too good to be true.' Arthur smirked. 'Lance-a-lot. That's not a name I've heard mentioned in court.'
'Yeah, about that.' Merlin winced. 'He's not of noble birth.'
Arthur sighed, his shoulders slumping. 'The First Code...'
'Isn't fair.' He bit his lip, knowing there was a fine line between simple disagreement and treason. King Uther's word was not to be questioned; at least, not directly. Taking a deep breath, he lowered his voice. 'Not fair to those who wish to serve, and not to Camelot. Why should the kingdom have to satisfy itself with the limited talent available within the ranks of the nobility: they only have so many sons to give!'
'Oh, so it's Camelot you're worried about. Not your friend?'
'Just meet him. Let him go up against you and see what he can do.' Merlin cocked his head, narrowing his eyes as he tried to read Arthur's expression. 'Then you can decide for yourself if he's worth the trouble or not, but I guarantee he's better than any of the others you've tested this month.'
For a long moment, Arthur simply stared at him, the silence dragging on until Merlin's arms began to ache from the burden he carried. He shifted his feet but refused to look away. Arthur might be a prat, but he did listen, and he had to know that what Merlin said made sense.
'If I do this,' Arthur replied at last, 'you will owe me.'
'Of course, Sire.' Merlin grinned, watching Arthur's expression melt in grudging defeat. 'I'm yours to command.'
'Of course you are, Merlin; you're a servant. Tell your friend to meet me at the barracks tomorrow at noon, not the practice field. There's space there, and no audience beyond those that I trust. We'll see if he's as worthy as you claim.'
'You won't regret it!'
'I already do.' Arthur sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. 'Right, my pauldron needs cleaning, the stables need mucking out, my chambers are a state and every sword in the armoury is blunt. ' He clapped a hand on Merlin's shoulder with a smirk. 'Hop to it. Oh, and your friend better at least have a weapon and some armour to his name!'
'Can't he borrow some?' he called after Arthur's retreating form.
'Not until he's an actual knight!'
'Prat,' Merlin muttered, huffing out a breath. Arthur was just trying to throw up stumbling blocks in Lancelot's way. Well, he wouldn't succeed. Not if he had any say in it.
With a quick detour to Arthur's room, he left the armour by the hearth before turning to contemplate the mess. Arthur did it on purpose, he was sure. Still, he would likely be with the existing knights a while longer, discussing strategy or whatever it was they did. The twist of the key locked the door, keeping out unwanted spectators as he raised one hand and let his magic flow.
He did not dare do this very often. The risk of being caught hung over him like a sword raised to strike the death blow, but sometimes, when Arthur demanded the impossible, Merlin took grim pleasure in exceeding his expectations. Now, the bed made itself in a flurry and dirty clothes whipped their way towards the basket. Boots scurried across the floor to jump in the wardrobe, and the flagstones swept themselves clean. A whirl of wind then deposited the fluff and dust into the kindling that lay in the fireplace.
'Forbærne!'
Merlin nodded, satisfied as golden light dappled the walls and the flames in the grate chased away the chill. The rest of his chores could wait. He'd stay up all night doing them if he had to, but he wasn't about to let Lancelot miss his chance.
Rushing back towards Gaius' room, he burst through the door, flushed and out of breath. 'How is he?'
'I'm very well, Merlin,' Lancelot answered with a smile. 'Nothing that won't mend.'
'He was fortunate,' Gaius added. 'It was little more than a graze, which meant the somnolent poison on the griffin's talons did not have too great an effect. A shame I wasn't there, really. The stuff makes wonderful sleeping potions.'
Merlin pulled a face at the idea of harvesting venom from a griffin's claws. He doubted the beast would give it up willingly. 'Are you well enough to fight Arthur?'
'Arthur? As in Prince Arthur?'
'It's how he tests would-be knights.' Merlin took a deep breath, hurrying to explain. 'He knows you're not noble, and maybe he will never change the First Code, but he's willing to see how good you are.' He shrugged. 'I know it's no knighthood, but it's a start.'
'More than I could have hoped for!' Lancelot got to his feet, clasping Merlin's arm in thanks. 'I would spar with him even if I lay at death's door. Nothing could keep me from the honour.'
'Except a lack of decent equipment. We need to get you a weapon and some armour; thankfully, I know just who to ask. Come on.'
The walk to Tom's forge was a quick one, and he smiled to see Gwen with her father, her shawl cast aside thanks to the heat of the fire. She waved in greeting, beckoning the two of them closer to the anvil as Merlin made introductions.
'Lancelot, this is Tom and his daughter Gwen, who is also the Lady Morgana's maid. Tom's the best smith in Camelot.' His grin took on an apologetic slant as he met Gwen's gaze. 'We need your help.'
'Anything for you, Merlin,' she replied, her face flushing becomingly as she stammered. 'I mean, well, not anything, but I'm sure we have what you need.'
Lancelot shook Tom's hand and pressed a kiss to Gwen's knuckles, his soft "My lady." making her eyes sparkle. 'I'm afraid Merlin may have forgotten my lack of coin,' he apologised.
'Lancelot wants to be a knight. Arthur's agreed to let him spar.'
'Forgive me!' Gwen dropped into a curtsy. 'I did not realise...'
'No, my lady, there is no need. I'm not of noble birth.'
'But, the Code...' Tom raised an eyebrow. 'Prince Arthur is willing to overlook it?'
'I asked him to,' Merlin explained, ignoring the way Tom's eyes widened as Gwen hid a smirk behind her hand. 'And he agreed. Sort of.'
'Sort of?' Gwen asked.
'He's not about to challenge his father, not until he knows it's worth it. Which he will, as soon as he sees you fight.' He clapped Lancelot's shoulder. 'The problem is, he has no chainmail, and he broke his sword on a griffin's hide just this morning. He saved me from it.'
'Well, I wouldn't say –'
Merlin nudged him with his elbow. There was a time and a place for modesty, and now wasn't it. Tom's expression was one of admiration and Gwen looked positively enraptured. 'Do you have anything he can borrow, just for a while?'
Tom scratched the back of his head, giving a quick nod as he surveyed his stockpile. 'I think I've got some bits that'll do. It won't be a perfect fit, but it should save you from the worst of the prince's strength.'
Merlin retreated as Tom and Gwen both took charge, offering Lancelot a hauberk and aventail, as well as a gambeson to wear beneath. Tom pressed swords into Lancelot's hand, judging the result with the eye of a master-craftsmen. Three had already been rejected, not by Lancelot but by Tom himself. At last, he settled on a sword that looked just like all the rest to Merlin's eye.
'That's better.' Tom nodded, satisfied by some quality Merlin could not see. 'Much better.'
Lancelot sheathed the blade reverently before sketching a bow. 'Thank you.'
'Think nothing of it. If anyone admires my work, just send them my way.'
'Consider it done. My lady.' Lancelot bowed again, lower this time, to Gwen, before allowing Merlin to guide him back through the bustle of the town.
'I have never seen someone so beautiful,' Lancelot murmured, the expression on his face very similar to the one he'd worn when he first arrived; starry-eyed and reverent. He hesitated, wetting his lips. 'Though I fear her heart may belong to another?'
'Er, no. No, I don't think so.'
'So, you and she are not...' Lancelot made an odd rolling motion with his hands. Merlin flushed hot, thinking of the occasional flirtations and Gwen's shocked, chaste kiss when he had recovered from the poison of the Mortaeus flower.
That was all they had shared, however, and neither one of them had made an effort to take it further. He loved Gwen, but not in a way that he wanted to bed her. It meant that telling the truth was that much easier.
'No. She's my friend. No more than that.'
'She is lovely.'
Merlin smiled. Normally such raptures were reserved for Morgana's stark, cool beauty. It was nice to hear someone praising Gwen. She was Merlin's first friend in all of Camelot, and he'd not missed the way she looked at Lancelot, all amazement and warmth. 'Focus on dealing with Arthur,' he urged. 'Win a knighthood, then win her heart.'
'You think I could do such a thing?'
'You'll never know until you try.' He shrugged. He could not speak for Gwen, but nor could he let the desperate hope in Lancelot's voice go unanswered. 'I have to see to my chores. Return to Gaius; let him get you fighting fit for tomorrow.'
'I will, and Merlin?' Lancelot stepped back, his handsome face kind and genuine. 'Thank you, my friend, for everything you've done.'
'Beat Arthur,' Merlin urged him with a grin. 'That's all the thanks I need.'