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Merlin let out a long suffering sigh when he entered Sir Oswald and Sir Ethan’s chambers. He’d already brushed down their horses (the stable hands were incredibly busy as it was with the mêlée, he didn’t want to ask them to do it again), washed their spare sets of clothing (they’d been perfectly clean) and polished all their armour (like he’d already done this morning), only to come face to face with a mess of a table. He knew from yesterday that if he left it, they’d only take it out on him.
Not bothering to stifle a groan, he put down the armour he was carrying and went to grab the half eaten dinner plates. As he approached the table however, one of the last sunbeams of the day reflected on something mostly hidden underneath a fine red cloth. Uncovering it revealed their mêlée swords.
Merlin had to grin.
This whole thing was so ridiculous. It really was just going to be a bunch of pretentious, arrogant, self-important prats pushing each other around like little children, trying to prove they can push harder than the others. Granted, swords however dull did make it slightly more aggressive, but to its core it truly was nothing more than a fist fight masquerading as something grander.
He held up the two swords, not old banged up practice swords like Arthur’s but seemingly freshly forged specifically for the mêlée, as they were clearly blunt with not a single scratch on them. He had to admit that they were beautifully made, despite the fact that they were going to be used by two so called noble knights in an attempt to “fillet the little brat”, as they’d put it earlier.
Merlin scoffed quietly. Yeah, right. He’d like to see them try. Arthur had needed less than a minute to put Sir Oswald in his place during training, having Sir Ethan at his side wasn’t going to make that much of a difference.
He let their tips bump together, the metallic clink echoing through the room, and went to put them back down. As he let the blade of the second sword slide over his free hand, he flinched at the sudden pain flaring up in his index finger.
Blood immediately welled up from the cut, dripping down onto the table.
What in the-
“What are you doing with that, boy?”
Merlin jumped at the voice, spinning around to see Sir Oswald and Sir Ethan entering their chambers, his thoughts about the impossible blades momentarily interrupted.
“Wha-” he began, before putting his uninjured hand to his chest and releasing a breath. “I, er, I was just tidying.”
“Is that what you were doing?” Sir Oswald asked, his eyes flitting from the table back to him, the usual condescension in his voice replaced with anger. He stalked towards Merlin, who instinctively took a step back.
“Yes,” he said hurriedly. He fisted his left hand around his bleeding finger with a wince, hoping to quell the blood flow a bit. “I polished your armour and- and I was just going to clean up the table.”
“It didn’t look like you were cleaning,” Sir Ethan said, coming up to him next to Sir Oswald. Merlin took another step back, very much aware that they were blocking his exit. He did his best to keep up his practiced mask of unawareness – because at this point it had clicked in his mind that those swords were probably magical and that they meant to harm, if not kill, Arthur in the mêlée – but the throbbing in his finger and his general unease around the two of them was making it very hard.
“I was cleaning,” he insisted, trying to keep the waver out of his voice. “I’ll just go bring the plates back to the kitchen and-”
“What’s that then?” Sir Oswald asked, none too gently grabbing his right wrist. Merlin let go of his finger with a gasp, trying not to squirm in Sir Oswald’s iron grip.
“I- I just cut myself on…on…”
“Yes?”
“The knife,” Merlin settled on. “From your dinner.”
Sir Ethan grinned, a cruel glint in his eyes.
“That’s right,” he said. “What a clumsy fool you are.”
“Isn’t he just?” Sir Oswald agreed, twisting his wrist to inspect his by now quite bloody hand. Merlin bit his lip as not to protest at the tight grip that was sure to leave a mark. He simply nodded, hoping it would satisfy them.
He needed to get to Gaius. And then he needed to get to Arthur.
Without warning, Sir Oswald suddenly pushed Merlin’s hand against his chest, making his back and head forcefully collide with the wall behind him. He didn’t manage to bite down a gasp of pain.
“Just to make sure,” Sir Oswald hissed. “What did you see?”
“Nothing, I saw nothing,” Merlin said, not caring about how much like a frightened child he sounded. He wanted to be out that door and away from them now.
Sir Oswald gave Merlin’s wrist he still had pinned to his chest a rough push.
“You tell anyone, you won’t live to see the mêlée.”
“I won’t,” Merlin said quickly, pulling more desperately against Sir Oswald’s hold. “I won’t tell, I swear.”
“Thank us,” Sir Ethan demanded, that callous expression never having left his face. “We could’ve reported you. Instead we’ll let you go. You should be grateful.”
The perverted request was almost enough to make Merlin’s anger rule over his fear and sense of self-preservation, but he just about managed to push down all the insults ready on his tongue.
“Thank you,” he ground out, trying not to sound too defiant as he locked eyes with both of them.
After a too long moment of still being trapped against the wall, finger freely bleeding and the two knights staring him down, Sir Oswald finally released his wrist. Without a moment’s hesitation, he ran out of the room, not even bothering with the plates.
Merlin looked over his shoulders a good three times as he ran, only allowing himself to slow down to a fast walk when he was halfway through the castle. He was still breathing heavily, both from running and from the confrontation.
Alright, he had to get to Gaius first, ask him if he knew anything about blades like these, and then try and catch Arthur before he retired for bed. Which was a ridiculous notion, since it was usually his job to serve Arthur at any time of the day and not to split his time between him and two random knights Arthur for some reason had decided he should serve as well. There were other servants. Although no, he didn’t wish for anyone to have to go through what he had. And why had Arthur had to volunteer him up to those two? Although, again, ironically it was good that he did, otherwise he wouldn’t have found out about the magical swords.
Just as he was about to round the corner towards the corridor leading to Gaius’, a voice rang out behind him. He swivelled around, heart in his throat, then he recognised who had spoken.
“Ah, Merlin. Before the mêlée tomorrow I’ll still need my armour polished.”
Merlin let out a sigh of relief, walking up to the prince.
“Arthur, I have to tell you something. Sir-”
“What’s that?” he interrupted him with a frown, reaching down to grab his right hand. Merlin jerked back with a hiss, making Arthur freeze.
“It’s nothing,” Merlin assured quickly. “Arthur, Sir Os-”
“Let me see,” he cut in again, making Merlin groan. He raised his hand to let Arthur inspect it so he could finally continue.
“Sir Oswald and Sir Ethan have these swords,” he said as Arthur carefully took his hand, rolling up his sleeve a bit to reveal reddened skin that Merlin knew was going to be a nice ugly bruise tomorrow. “They appear blunt but when I touched them, well-”
“One of them did this?” Arthur interrupted once again, gesturing at the blood and the handprint visible around his wrist. Arthur’s hard and, dare he say it, protective tone of voice made Merlin falter however.
“Yeah, it was Sir Oswald,” he admitted quietly, feeling oddly embarrassed mentioning how Arthur’s supposed equals and friends tended to treat him. Not that nobles were always this horrible, but still. Despite knowing that Arthur was usually on his side in these matters, it served as a reminder of the ever present class divide between the two.
“But that’s not the point, Arthur,” he continued. “I’m fairly certain their swords are magic. They mean to kill you in the mêlée.”
Arthur’s eyes snapped from his injured hand up to look into Merlin’s, alarmed and searching for a moment. Merlin kept his gaze, hoping that for once he wouldn’t have to fight for Arthur to take him seriously when he uncovered yet another attack on him, Uther or Camelot as a whole.
“Are you certain?” he asked, not in his “Merlin’s an idiot” voice but in the one where he already believed him and just wanted confirmation. Merlin felt his racing heart settle a bit.
“Yes,” he said earnestly, then nodded at his bloody hand still resting in Arthur’s. “Blunt swords don’t cut this deep.”
Arthur considered this for a moment.
“They appeared blunt?” he asked. Merlin nodded.
“And they hurt you when you found out they weren’t?”
Merlin nodded again, swallowing.
“Threatening to kill a servant may be on par with noble behaviour, but I daresay it paints a picture in this instance,” he said in an attempt to lighten the mood, but saying it out loud just made it sound sad. Something flashed in Arthur’s eyes, and then his frown deepened.
After a moment of silence, he gingerly rolled the sleeve on Merlin’s right arm back down and let go of his hand.
“Get to Gaius, have him patch you up,” he said softly, his hand coming up to squeeze his shoulder. “I’ll take care of Sir Oswald and Sir Ethan.” With that, he turned on his heel to march towards their chambers.
Any lingering anxieties about potentially having to go back into their chambers to fetch proof were expelled from his mind, and Merlin found himself able to breathe more freely.
“Please, be careful,” he called after him. Arthur turned to shoot him a grin, but even from this distance he could see the near murderous look in his eyes. Sometimes Arthur was not afraid to pull his rank at all, and Merlin almost pitied the knights that were going to be on the receiving end of his wrath. Almost.
It made something warm blossom in his chest, as it always did when Arthur decided to stop being a spoiled clotpole and show that he cared. Merlin smiled to himself, knowing that just this once, he wouldn’t have to handle everything alone.