#some knight running up to arthur: sire sir gwaine is talking to cats again | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

mimiswitchywrites · 3 years

Text

Not A Burden: Chapter 4

TW: SH references, attempted s****de and references, child/s***al a**se references (not graphic but enough that could be triggering)

Masterlist or Read on AO3

2.3k words

---------

Gaius watched as the young girl shuffled in her sleep. She had tears trailing down her cheeks and was sweating profusely. He soaked the cloth again, pressing it against her head, cheeks and chest, and prayed to whatever was out there that the poor girl would be okay. He was well versed in the world of nightmares – his years caring for Morgana has assured that – but rarely had he seen someone with ones such as this.

The only time, he thought, was Charlie. He had returned from enemy territory a changed man. He could hardly keep his eyes closed longer than a minute before seeing the atrocities he had faces in their dungeons. The poor man ended up with a case of hysteria and walked off one day with only the clothes on his back, and never returned. Now, with more knowledge, Gaius hoped he could treat her before she ended that way.

Her right arm was healing nicely – scabbing over – but her left was in far from ideal condition. Arthur had reported that she had hit it on his chest plate at some point, and others had mentioned her picking at the wraps which seemed to amount to a slight infection. She had lost too much blood before being able to rest properly and the fact that she hadn’t collapsed into a sweating mess earlier truly impressed the aged physician. She was weak, both mentally and physically, and there was little he could do.

He dabbed her skin with the cloth again.

The candles in the tavern were burning low and with it came Gwaine’s high. He had drowned himself in ale, mead, cider and wine as soon as he had returned home (whether home was Camelot or The Rising Sun was still up for debate) and, even after two days, he showed no sign of stopping. At first, the other knights – both those of the Round Table and not – had joined him. Many a game of dice and cards were played, but eventually they left.

They always will. Another gulp of whatever was in his tankard, he’d lost track.

He traced the patterns on the table with his finger (fingers? He couldn’t tell how many were really there anymore) and felt his eyes growing heavy. He found a face in the wood, with thin lips and an angular jaw – it reminded him of his first infatuation. His first rejection. A final gulp.

His forehead found the table and snores soon followed.

Arthur sat at his desk, holding a blank piece of parchment and his favourite quill – the one Merlin had given him. He was trying to write a speech for an upcoming council meeting but all he could think about was his manservant. The, usually joyous, man had been distracted since they had arrived back, and he was unsure what to do about this. If Merlin were a knight, he would propose a fight or Torny or hunting trip (maybe not, that could be in bad taste even if he were a knight) but Merlin was not. Merlin was a country boy that practically cried at the thought of killing a fly, let alone fighting a full human with swords and armour. The king was stumped.

He wanted Merlin to smile again. They had barely performed their usual banter, all attempts by Arthur had fallen flat. He had even called Arthur ‘sire’ but it had none of it’s usual sarcasm, it seemed genuine which left an odd taste in Arthurs mouth. No, it would not do.

He slammed the parchment down, placing the quill next to it gently, and dropped his head in his hand. A frustrated groan escaped his lips.

A knock on the door interrupted his spiralling.

“Enter.”

Merlin stumbled in, basket in his arms. Merlin never knocks. The king squinted, discomfort over the situation growing. Giving up, he finally asked the question that had been plaguing him for days: “what’s wrong with you?”

Merlin’s head shot up from where it was rummaging through the pile of dirty clothes. He turned to face Arthur; confusion painted over his features. His eyebrows were pulled in, emphasising those lines in the middle of his forehead. His lips fell open and Arthur forced himself not to focus on them, and what they could do or where he wanted them to be.

“What?” As if Arthur ever had a reason to think Merlin was being formal with him.

“You’ve resembled the back end of a cat for days now. I don’t like it,” upon noticing Merlin smile as if about to make a remark about how the king cared or some other equally girly falsehood, he added, “it’s been affecting your work ethic. Be normal again.” He nodded, there, fixed it.

Merlin’s smile grew and Arthur’s heart began to swell. “If I didn’t know any better sire, I’d say you were worried about me.” Not quite fixed it would seem.

“Yes, well, good thing you’re an idiot then, eh?”

Merlin opened his mouth again and so Arthur gripped the cup next to him, prompting the boy to run out the room with his basket. A smile wormed its way onto Arthur’s face. He was glad to have his Merlin back, even if just for a moment.

Sir Leon prided himself on being King Arthurs longest standing and most loyal knight. He liked to think he knew the man like a true brother and so he also liked to think he knew when his brother was not acting normally. Hearing that he had shouted at a young, injured girl was a clear sign that he was not acting normally. He had wanted to talk to the girl first but, after bumping into Merlin (the poor boy and his basket almost went flying) and finding out that she wasn’t able to have visitors yet, he decided that he should get answers out of Arthur first.

Something Leon discovered early on about Arthur: he does not appreciate being told that he was wrong. While he has a huge heart and wishes the best for all in his kingdom, knowing he has done someone wrong leads him down a sad pit for days and so he tends to reject the notion. Being the one to tell him of his misdoings is not an enjoyable task.

Leon steeled himself as he stood outside the large oak doors. The guards – Thomas and Shaun – nodded at him respectfully before moving out the way for him. He knocked on the door: two quick raps, a single, and then another two. He heard the muffled “come in” from inside and obeyed, taking a final deep breath before doing so.

Arthur was sat, face in his hands with that smile that Leon had begun associating with a recent visit from a certain raven-haired servant. He had a light blush coating his cheeks and a star struck look in his eyes. Leon cleared his throat, bringing Arthur back to reality.

Reality didn’t have anywhere near enough Merlin in it.

“Sir Leon,” he coughed, voice dropping to his usual octave, “what can I do for you?” He gestured to a chair next to the fire and moved from the desk taking the other one for himself. Leon, after thinking about it for a second, sat. He tried to keep his feet still as he mulled over the best way to broach the subject of his visit.

“Well, and I mean no offence over this, I have no desire to attack you Sire—”

“You’re bumbling almost as much as Merlin, Leon. Come out with it, it’s alright.”

The knight cleared his throat, chuckling a little at Arthurs comment. “Right, well, I wanted to ask you about the girl.”

“Miriam.”

“Miriam, yes. I have heard confusing reports of something you said to her.” He watched Arthur’s face. His nostrils were flaring and there was a slight tic near his right eyebrow that Leon had learnt over the years meant frustration. “And” he continued, slightly quieter this time, “I was hoping you could shed some light on the situation?”

Arthur stood up, retrieving a goblet and the pitcher of wine that Merlin had left on his table that morning. He filled the cup, downed it, and filled it again, making his way back to his seat.

“What would you like to know?” He refused to make eye contact, staring into the dying flames instead. He must get Merlin to tend to the fire whenever he returns.

“What happened? I struggle to believe that you intended to hurt or scare her.”

Arthur let out a breathy laugh, smile not reaching his eyes. “I’m glad you have such faith in me, Leon.” He finally looked up at him, noticing how anxious the man was to be asking such questions of his friend. “You are right, I meant no harm to her, but harm is what I brought regardless.” He frowned, taking a large swig of his wine. “She got up in the middle of the night and disappeared into the wood. I couldn’t hear or see her, and it concerned me. I couldn’t take the idea that we had found yet another person wanting to harm those I… care for.” He tipped back the last of his drink, Gwaine would be proud. “Turned out she had just gone to relieve herself and, as she turned back to camp, we bumped into each other. She hit her arm on my armour and I said somethings that maybe I shouldn’t have.”

“It was all an accident then?” Arthur nodded, eyes on the embers again. “So why has the story been twisted so?”

“I may have argued with Lancelot about the situation and made it worse for myself.”

Leon bit his tongue, wanting to suggest the King apologise but knowing it would be far from a wise idea. “I understand, Sire. Have you visited her since?” he asked, knowing the answer was no. As expected, the king shook his head, inhaling deeply. “Perhaps you could arrange a time to see her with Merlin?”

“Perhaps.”

The conversation clearly over, Leon left, leaving his friend to brood over the situation. He took no joy in questioning Arthur or pushing him so, but it was important to do every so often.

Gwen peeled the carrots as Elyan brought the water to a boil, adding twigs to the fire occasionally. They had spent the last year getting into a stable routine together having not lived in the same home since they were teens. It was often silent in the hut, both consumed by their thoughts of work and their friends, but when they talked, gods did they talk. It was as if Elyan never left, conversation flowing all night long. They would laugh, joke, hug, cry on occasion, and they would be siblings again.

Now though, with carrots being cut up small, Gwen was in her head.

She had been tending to Miri as she slept when she had no other duties to take care of. Since Morganas disappearance, she didn’t often have other duties. The woman, likely around Gwen’s age, fascinated her. She looked a lot like Morgana did, maybe that was what drew her in. The way her black hair framed her face and her eyebrows furrowed in her sleep. The light brown spots that marked her cheeks were like none she had ever seen before. She wanted nothing more than to talk with her and find out what led her to the forest all those days ago. Gwen found her heart aching thinking of how lonely one must feel to do something like that.

Elyan took the chopping board from in front of his sister and emptied the carrots into the pot above the flames. He watched her as she stared at nothing, face scrunched in worry. She had been like this since meeting the girl and it concerned him. He put his hand on her shoulder, pulling her back. She placed her hand on his, smiled, and returned to preparing the dinner.

That night, as she lay in the rickety bed at the back of their house, she thought about Miri once more. She didn’t understand the feelings swelling in her chest – they were different from the ones she felt with Lancelot all those years ago, but she couldn’t figure out how. She turned onto her side, huffing out a frustrated breath. Morgana would understand, she always did, even when she didn’t.

The day Morgana ran away left a hole in Camelot’s heart. In Gwen’s heart. She had thought her Lady, her friend, could trust her but as she read the note that was left on the hut table, she realised just how wrong she was. She knew Morgana had been struggling with her dreams, with her magic (something that Gwen still hadn’t told anyone about) but she thought that, with Gwen by her side, she would be able to get through it. That they would get through it, together.

A lump grew in her throat and tears pricked at her eyes. She was so tired of crying over what could never be.

And seeing Merlin and Arthur as they were, knowing that, now Arthur was king, they could finally be something more than longing glances, it broke her.

She sat up, pulling her knees into her chest as the water trailed down her cheeks. She was so happy for her friends; for the love that was blooming, but sometimes she hated what they represented. They were everything she could never have. The way they would curl up close on cold nights away from home, the way Merlin would rest a hand on Arthur’s shoulder as he read whatever he was working on, the way Arthur made sure Merlin had a seat right next to him in council meetings. Although she knew they hadn’t talked about it properly, she knew they would end up married in all but title one day and even that could happen if Arthur was brave enough to fight the lords on the matter.

Her chest tightened and she could swear she felt her heart breaking all over again.

4 notes · View notes