Sir Leon, the Immortal, Chapter 2, Merlin fanfic

Disclaimer: I do not own Merlin or its characters.

“Gaius!” Myron burst into the physician’s chamber so forcefully that the door hit the wall and bounced back to hit him in the face so that he saw stars.

For the second time in the space of an hour, Gaius was startled into dropping something he was measuring. He turned around, exasperated, and exploded, “Myron, how many times must I tell you not to do that? I am an old man; my heart can’t take such commotion!” Suddenly, he noticed the look on his young assistant’s face. “Myron, what’s wrong?”

Myron waved his hands in front of his face, still trying to chase away the stars dancing in front of him. At Gaius’ question, he shook his head and stumbled towards him, babbling, “Sir Leon…the sleeping draught…fainted…something not right.”

Gaius grabbed the boy and shook him, trying to get him to calm down. When Myron grimaced and clutched his throbbing head, Gaius stopped shaking him, apologized, and said calmly, “Take a deep breath and tell me exactly what happened.”

Myron closed his eyes and took a deep breath, then another, and then a third before he began, “I took the sleeping draught up to Sir Leon’s room. He must have thought I was Sir Percival because he nearly ripped my head off when I knocked on the door, although I can’t imagine why he’d be so angry at SIr Percival; Sir Percival is Sir Leon’s best friend…”

“Time may be of the essence, Myron,” Gaius interrupted, resisting the urge to shake the boy again. “Please just tell me what happened to Leon.”

“Oh, right,” Myron replied brightly. “I told him you’d sent up a sleeping draught and gave it to him. He said he’d take it later if he needed it, but I told him you wanted me to be there when he drank it…that is what you said, right?”

Gaius’ rheumy eyes almost bulged out of his head as he gave Myron another shake. “Yes, yes, now what happened?”

Myron reached up to scratch his head, recalling what happened next. “He took the vial from me and walked over to the bed; I followed him. He smelled the draught and asked me what you’d put in there.” Myron grinned at Gaius and asked, “What did you put in it?”

“Ague root, willow bark…oh, for heaven’s sake, Myron! That’s not important now!” Gaius cried, throwing his arms up in the air. “Get on with it!”

“Oh, of course,” Myron stammered. “He closed his eyes and swallowed it down in one gulp, just like when I take Mother’s tonic.” Remembering what happened next, Myron’s expression became frightened. “Sir Leon glared at me and told me to tell you your potions taste like wet, moldy…”

Gaius shook his head. “Like wet, moldy what?”

Myron’s face crumbled as though he would cry. “That’s when his eyes got really big and he just fainted dead away. I came running as fast as I could to tell you. Is he going to be all right?”

Gaius began pacing around the room, thinking. Something suddenly occurred to him, and he looked sharply at Myron. “You said he told you the draught tasted like wet, moldy…something?” When Myron nodded, Gaius put his hand to his chin. “That’s odd. This sleeping draught shouldn’t taste that bad. I’ve even given it to children, and they seemed to find it quite pleasant.” Remembering that he had some left, he hurried over and picked up the flask. He held it up to the window and assessed the color. Pursing his lips, he held the flask to his nose and inhaled. His eyes flew open wide and he sniffed again. “Oh, dear…” he muttered. “Oh, dear, this isn’t good at all.”

“What is it?” Myron asked, clutching the back of a chair so that his knuckles turned white.

Gaius looked up at him. “When you burst into the room while I was mixing up the draught, you startled me. I was measuring valerian into the flask. I must have put too much in by mistake.” He thought back to when he was holding it over the flame, how long it had taken to turn the correct shade of green. “Oh, my. This could be serious.” He looked at Myron and started for the door. “Come with me.”

Gaius hurried up to the third floor as fast as his arthritic legs could carry him, with Myron close behind, fighting the urge to plow past his mentor to get to Sir Leon. The younger man’s mind raced with fear and feelings of guilt; if he hadn’t burst in and startled Gaius, he never would have measured too much valerian into the draught, and SIr Leon wouldn’t be…whatever he was.

As they reached the third floor, Gaius grabbed a torch from its holder on the wall and burst into Sir Leon’s room, followed closely by Myron. He quickly assessed the unconscious knight before thrusting the torch into Myron’s hands. “Hold this so I can see what I’m doing.” He leaned over Sir Leon, laying his ear against the young knight’s chest. Yes, his heart was still beating, though faintly. He held a mirror just beneath Sir Leon’s nose and breathed a sigh of relief to discover that he was still breathing, though only just.

Myron looked down at Sir Leon with anxious eyes. Even with his lack of training, he could tell the situation was serious. His adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed nervously and asked, “Will he be all right?”

Gaius didn’t answer right away, but stood staring at Sir Leon with his hand on his chin. He seemed to be searching his memory for something. Suddenly it seemed to register that Myron had spoken. “I don’t really know,” he replied with uncharacteristic uncertainty. “I have never had something like this happen before.” He turned to face Myron. “Come with me, Myron. We have some research to do.”

Back in Gaius’ chamber, the two men pored over books trying to find some kind of remedy for Leon’s condition. Actually, Myron was doing more fumbling than poring; the inexperienced man wasn’t entirely sure what he should be looking for. Three hours and a half dozen stacks of discarded books later, Gaius tossed aside his magnifying lens and rubbed his eyes. He looked across at Myron, who was paging through an ancient grimoire trying futilely to match up the negative effects of the herbs Gaius had used with counter active effects of other herbs. Seeing the look of hopeless confusion on Myron’s face, Gaius said, “Myron, I’m afraid this is beyond my abilities. I haven’t a clue what to do.”

Myron looked up at the sound of Gaius’ voice and blinked his blurry eyes quickly. “But I thought you could work anything out,” he replied reverently.

Gaius closed his final book and laid it atop a stack of books at his elbow. He chuckled at the boy’s words; he could be so naive at times. “I’m flattered that you think so highly of my skills, Myron, but you need to always remember that no one, no matter how wise, knows all things.” He picked up his magnifying lens and slid it back into its pouch before continuing grimly, “By all accounts, the potency of the sleeping draught…” He looked pointedly at Myron. “…should have killed him.”

Myron’s eyes widened, and he gulped audibly. “Why…why do you suppose it didn’t?”

Gaius sighed heavily, realizing there was much the boy did not know about events from Camelot’s not-so-distant past. “The reason Sir Leon is still alive is that he once drank from the Cup of Life.” Myron’s brows knit together in confusion, so Gaius related the story of how Sir Leon was mortally wounded in a skirmish but was then brought back from Death’s door when a Druid gave him water from the Cup of Life. “That is why he survived this fatal draught,” he concluded. “However, I do not know what to do to either awaken him or…” He gave Myron a pained looked. “…or allow him to pass on peacefully.”

Myron’s green eyes misted over with tears, and he was unable to speak for a moment. When he did, the wisdom of his words surprised Gaius. “The obvious answer is to find this Druid and seek his counsel,” he declared with a firmness and confidence that was unnatural for him.

Gaius smiled and nodded at the boy’s insight. Maybe there was hope for him after all.”I believe you are correct, Myron,” he agreed. “But first, we must inform the queen what has happened.” Looking out the window and noting the position of the moon, he continued, “However, the hour is late, and I see no need to waken her.” He rose stiffly from his chair and blew out the candles on the table before looking at Myron. “I am certain there will be no change overnight, but I still want you to stay with him. You can let me know at once if anything changes.”

And so Myron made his way back to the third floor and slept awkwardly in a chair next to Sir Leon’s bed. Sometime during the night, he heard footsteps coming down the passageway. They stopped in front of Sir Leon’s door before continuing on their way. Myron recalled Sir Leon’s reaction when he had knocked on the door earlier, and the knight had been angry because he had thought it was Sir Percival. He wondered again what the two had disagreed about, and he wondered how Sir Percival would react when he heard about his friend’s condition. For the briefest moment, he thought about running after Sir Percival and telling him the awful news, but he thought the better of it, knowing that Gaius would want to inform the queen first. He settled back in his chair and stared intently into the darkness till sleep overtook him once more.

Bright and early the next morning, Gaius seated himself in the Council Chamber before anyone else arrived so that he could speak privately with Queen Guinevere. The warm morning sun was just beginning to filter in through the windows when the queen entered the room. She was as beautiful as always, with her wavy black hair pulled back and secured with a simple gold and pearl comb, and wearing her favorite periwinkle-colored gown. Her confidence had grown during her time as queen, both during the time she ruled as Arthur’s consort and since his passing, and she carried herself regally, though never haughtily. Her dark eyes radiated wisdom, kindness and a touch of sadness that Gaius knew would never leave while she still breathed. Gaius rose from his seat as she suddenly noticed him sitting there, and she smiled as she greeted him. “Good morning, Gaius. You’re certainly an early bird this morning.”

Gaius smiled fondly at her, recalling the quiet, kind, and loyal servant she had once been and marvelling again at how much she had grown into her role. Taking her hands in his, he replied, “Good morning, Gwen. I wished to speak to you about…a delicate matter before Council meets this morning.”

Gwen’s brows came together in concern as she wondered what could be amiss. “Of course, Gaius. Please, let us be seated.”

The two sat down at the table, and Gwen asked, “What is it, Gaius? It’s obvious that something is troubling you.”

He raised his eyes to hers before looking away uncertainly, searching for the words to explain what had happened the night before. He worried about how she would take the news. She had already lost her brother and her husband, which had left her nearly devastated. Gwen and Sir Leon had grown up together; what would it do to her if she were to lose her dearest childhood friend as well? Knowing there was no way to get around telling her, he took a deep breath and began, “I am sure you have noticed that Leon has been…less than happy of late.”

A spark of sadness lit in her eyes as she nodded. “Yes, I have noticed that myself. I feel so bad for him, but I don’t know how to help.”

Gaius nodded. “Yes, and you’re not the only one who has noticed. Percival went to his room last night to urge him to come along with the other men to the tavern. He said he noticed that Leon had injured his hand again, apparently by punching the wall.”

Gwen sighed and threw up her hands in frustration. “Leon is so full of anger and regret over all that has happened. I fear he blames himself for much of it. He seems to be carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders.” She looked at Gaius. “And I fear he doesn’t sleep much; he always has those dark circles under his eyes.”

Gaius closed his eyes, knowing that Gwen knew much more than he realized. “Yes, well, I have been watching him as well, and when Percival came to me last night, I thought…I thought I could at least help him get some sleep.” He looked at Gwen, and his lower lip quivered. He did not want to bring Myron into this, fearing she might blame the lad and punish him, so he bent the truth ever so slightly. “I fear I measured incorrectly, and I put too much valerian into the sleeping draught.” He paused, letting the weight of his words sink in.

Gwen’s eyes suddenly flew open. “Oh, Gaius! Leon isn’t…he didn’t…?” She couldn’t bring herself to say the words.

“No,” Gaius replied quickly. “He is not dead, but…you know the situation with the Cup of Life.” Gwen nodded, tears forming in her eyes. “Well, that has afforded him some protection, but it has also left him in an unconscious state that I fear I haven’t the ability to remedy.”

Gwen was silent for a long moment, obviously mentally preparing herself for what she was afraid her mentor would tell her. “So, what do you think we should do?”

Gaius sighed with some measure of relief. “It was a Druid–Iseldir–who brought him back from death with the Cup of Life, so I ask your permission to consult with that same Druid to see if by chance he may know what to do to either awaken Leon…” He laid his hand on Gwen’s. “…or to allow him to pass on.”

Gwen choked back a sob and bit down on her knuckle. After a long moment, she composed herself once more and nodded. “Yes, Gaius, I grant you permission to consult Iseldir and bring him to Camelot. You have my word that he will be under our protection. Why don’t you take Percival, and maybe Beldyn and Brandis. Go as soon as you feel ready.”

As she finished speaking, the doors opened, and the other counselors entered the room. Gaius bowed quickly to her and excused himself from the meeting, knowing that Gwen could competently handle making excuse for him and for Sir Leon. He had more urgent matters to attend to.

The Knight and the Not-Quite Lady, part 3, Merlin fanfiction

Disclaimer: I do not own Merlin or its characters.

Alas, that was not to be for Wynne. She didn’t even make it to the main course before she was in trouble once more. The servants had brought in trays of fruits and vegetables, platters of freshly-baked breads and tureens of soup. Everything was delicious, but Wynne, being more tired than hungry, only picked at the offerings. This seemed to please Lady Magdalen, who tried to impress upon her charges that a proper lady had a dainty appetite and ate little in the presence of others, especially eligible gentlemen. Although she didn’t say so aloud, Wynne thought that was silly, and she always ate her fill, much to Lady Magdalen’s displeasure.

After sampling a few strawberries and a handful of grapes and spooning up a few bites of her soup, Wynne sat half-heartedly listening to the conversations of the other young ladies around her. She wasn’t seated near Anora, her one friend among the ladies, so she had no one to talk to. As usual, Lavinia and Bronwyn, who sat closest to Wynne, discussed  the dresses the various ladies were wearing this evening, and Lady Magdalen sat at the head of the table chatting with Lady Gertrude, who was visiting her daughter Caitlyn at Camelot.

After listening to Lavinia and Bronwyn go on for twenty minutes about the queen’s newest gown, Wynne rolled her eyes and turned her attention across the room to the knights’ tables. As always, they seemed to be enjoying themselves immensely. Gwaine was in his usual form, having recovered from his surprise at seeing Wynne dressed so beautifully with her hair in an attractive feminine style. He was animatedly telling a story while the squires listened with rapt expressions. Percival and Elyan exchanged occasional smirks behind Gwaine’s back, and Wynne fervently wished she were there listening to him instead of at the ladies’ table. Unable to hide her boredom, Wynne entertained herself by watching Gwaine’s lips and trying to make out what he said.

The Great Hall was quite warm, and Wynne soon found her eyelids growing heavier and heavier. Glancing over quickly to be sure Lady Magdalen was still engrossed in conversation, she laid her napkin aside, leaned her elbow on the table, and propped her chin on her hand to close her eyes for just a moment before the main course came in. Before Wynne knew it, she was lulled to sleep by the pleasant sounds around her. She slumped forward heavily on her arm, and her long hair toppled off her shoulder and landed with a plop into her unfinished soup. Her mouth drooped open slightly, and soft snores could be heard.

Anora, at the other end of the table, noticed Wynne’s predicament, but was too far away to do anything without calling unwanted attention to her friend. To Wynne’s misfortune, Bronwyn’s sister Bernice noticed the direction of Anora’s gaze and saw what had happened. She began giggling and nudged Rosalynde. Rosalynde looked and then clapped her hand over her mouth to keep from laughing out loud and leaned over to whisper to Caitlyn, “Look at Wynifrog.”

Caitlyn’s eyes drifted across the table to Wynne, and she quickly covered her mouth with her napkin. After making sure her mother wasn’t looking, she motioned to Lavinia and Bronwyn, who also began laughing at Wynne’s predicament. Lavinia began stuffing blueberries in Wynne’s mouth to see how many would fit. Soon all the young ladies, save Anora, were either giggling at Wynne or urging Lavinia to balance another blueberry in Wynne’s mouth.

Suddenly, Lady Gertrude noticed Wynne asleep with her hair in her soup and blueberries drooling out of her mouth. She gasped aloud, a scandalized expression on her face, and Lady Magdalen followed her gaze across the table to Wynne. Her jaw dropped, and her eyes bugged at the scene just a few seats away. Of course, all the other ladies feigned innocence, acting as though they hadn’t noticed. Lady Magdalen brought her hand down hard on the table, rattling all the dishes, and snapped, “Wynifred!”

Startled awake, Wynne jumped, and her arm came down on the table, upending her soup bowl and knocking over her goblet. She spat countless blueberries out of her mouth, wondering how they got there, since she despised them. Lavinia and Priscilla, on either side of Wynne, squealed and tried, too late, to shove their chairs out of the way; the three of them ended up covered in wine and soup.

“Oh dear!” Lady Gertrude exclaimed, getting up quickly and motioning to a servant. As she and Lady Magdalen began dabbing at the spills with their napkins, she asked, “My goodness, Magdalen, are feasts at Camelot always so…eventful?”

“When young Wynifred is present,” Lady Magdalen said icily, “anything is….oh my!” Lady Magdalen’s comment was interrupted as she looked across at the knights’ table and saw Gwaine and Percival scuffling angrily. Lucky for Wynne, at that moment every eye in the Great Hall was on the two knights who seemed to be engaged in a fight to the death.

Suddenly, Arthur crossed the room and with the help of Leon and Elyan forcibly separated them. “Enough!” he shouted, causing silence to descend on the hall. “Both of you into the Council Chamber, now!”

As Gwaine and Percival left the Great Hall, still glaring at each other, Wynne stood holding a sopping wet napkin, her mouth agape as she watched the two knights leave the room, followed by a furious Arthur.

“Wynifred!” Lady Magdalen snapped for the second time. “Attend to your mishap and stop gawking at those ruffians!” A servant gave her an apologetic smile as she took the wet napkin from her and handed her a dry cloth. Wynne and the servant wiped up the rest of the spill as Lavinia and Priscilla stood by looking devastated at the stains on their favorite gowns. As Lady Gertrude dabbed and fussed a over their gowns, Lady Magdalen gave them a look of sympathy before turning to Wynne again. “Wynifred, you are the most exasperating, disaster-prone young lady I have ever had under my tutelage. I won’t even ask what you thought you were doing.” Wynne was glad of that, because she had no idea what had happened. “Before you go to bed tonight, you will launder not only your gown, but also the tablecloths and Lavinia and Priscilla’s gowns as well. Now go to your chamber and wait till I send for you.”

By the devious look Lavinia and Priscilla exchanged, she knew they were behind whatever had just occurred. She said nothing, but glowered at them, wishing she could slap their faces. At that moment thought the satisfaction she would feel from doing so would almost be worth the extra trouble she would be in, but she restrained herself.

Meanwhile, in the Council Chamber, Gwaine and Percival stood at attention, casting angry sidelong glances at one another, as Arthur paced back and forth in front of them trying to reel in his temper before he addressed them. Finally he stopped and turned to face them. Two defiant splotches of red high on Gwaine’s cheeks and the bemused hurt on Percival’s face told Arthur that Gwaine was likely the one who had started the scuffle, but being a fair ruler, he would not pass judgment till he heard what each had to say. Holding his voice steady with some difficulty, he asked, “Would you two care to tell me what that display was all about?”

“Gwaine started it,” Percival blamed sulkily, turning to glare at his friend.

Gwaine shot him a guilt-laden scowl, and Arthur looked pointedly at him and asked, “Would you care to respond to that?”

Pursing his lips and looking down at the floor for a moment, Gwaine glanced apologetically at Percival. He hated apologizing, even when he was wrong, as he knew he was now. “Percival is correct. I started it. I…apologize, Percival.”

Percival gave the smaller knight an irritated shove that Gwaine knew was an acceptance of his apology. Still, he wanted an explanation. “What were you thinking, you clot-pole?”

Gwaine raised his chin proudly, although the deepening red patches on his cheeks told the other two men that he was embarrassed at his reason. Trying to smirk unabashedly, he replied, “I was protecting a lady’s honor.”

Arthur crossed his arms in front of him, and his lips twitched with amusement as he glanced at Percival, who had recovered from his hurt and was also trying not to laugh. “Were you protecting her from Percival?” Arthur joked. That was too much; he and Percival burst out laughing.

The smirk disappeared from Gwaine’s face, and he clenched and unclenched his fists. He didn’t want to tell them what he had witnessed at the ladies’ table, although he was certain all of Camelot would hear of it by morning. The muscle in his jaw tightened, and he ground out simply, “No.”

Some of Arthur’s amusement faded; he wanted an answer. “Then would you mind telling us…” Understanding dawned on his face, and he looked at Percival and chuckled, “What did Wynifred do this time? It must have been quite the mishap for you to create a diversion to draw attention away from her.”

Percival laughed good-naturedly and joked, “You can dress her up, but you can’t take her out.” He wasn’t saying that to be mean. He was fond of her, as were all the knights, but he couldn’t help being amused by her misadventures and by the way Gwaine always seemed to be the one who came to her rescue. Gwaine raised a fist and made a lunge at Percival, who stepped back and held up his hands in surrender. “I’m only kidding, Gwaine! Take it easy.”

Arthur took a step towards Gwaine and laid a hand on his shoulder to calm him. Looking at Percival, he said softly, “Percival, you are dismissed. You may return to the feast.” Percival gave Arthur a hasty bow before he clapped Gwaine on the back and headed towards the Great Hall, still chuckling. Despite Percival’s obvious amusement, Gwaine knew that he would say nothing about Wynne’s predicament to the others. Arthur watched the other knight leave before turning to Gwaine and joking, “Gwaine, Gwaine, Gwaine. What am I going to do with you?” When Gwaine’s eyes met his, he continued, “You don’t have to tell me what happened with Wynne, but you do know I cannot have one of my most trusted knights starting a rumble during a feast, especially when we have guests present. Couldn’t you have broken out in song instead?”

Gwaine’s mouth twitched; at least he knew Arthur wasn’t angry. Still, he knew he would face consequences for his actions. He swallowed hard and apologized for the second time that evening. “Forgive me, Sire. It was the first thing that came to mind, and I knew I didn’t have much time to react before everyone’s attention was drawn to her. Again.”

Arthur chuckled at the hot-headed impulsiveness that often got his friend in as much trouble as Wynne’s clumsy impulsiveness did her. “As much as I admire your chivalry, Gwaine, your judgment leaves something to be desired. You can help Merlin polish boots and armor after the feast tonight.”

Gwaine’s lip curled distastefully. This wasn’t the first time he had been relegated to that task. Still, he knew he was getting off easy, so he bowed curtly and replied, “Yes, Sire. Thank you.”

“You may return to the feast if you choose. I’m sure the main course has arrived by now,” Arthur said, starting back towards the Great Hall.

Returning to the feast was the last thing Gwaine felt like doing, but he wanted to see if Wynne was still there and if she was all right. He turned on his heel and followed Arthur out of the Council Chamber, putting on his typical carefree, self-assured expression just before they went through the door. However, he didn’t wear that expression for long when he noticed that the rest of the young ladies were seated at their table as though nothing had happened, but Wynne was nowhere to be seen.

Late that night, the rest of the castle was quiet, but Wynne was in the kitchen hunched over a tub of hot water and strong soap, scrubbing the stains out of the gowns and tablecoths. In what Wynne felt was an act of pure unfairness, Lady Magdalen had decided that because Wynne had made her look bad in front of Lady Gertrude, she would launder not only the cloth from the ladies’ table, but all the tablecloths from the feast. She had at least heard from Anora what had happened, and loyal Anora had stood at Wynne’s side to protest the unfairness of her punishment, until Lady Magdalen had warned her of the consequences for insolence. Not wanting her friend to suffer too, Wynne had meekly accepted her punishment. Now, as her arms and back ached not only from her afternoon sword fight but also from scrubbing and her hands burned from the harsh soap, the memory of her friend’s loyalty was all that kept her from crying.

It was past midnight when she finished scrubbing the last tablecloth and hung it to dry. The last task she had to do was to get the heavy washtub out the back door and empty the dirty water. Knowing she wouldn’t be able to carry it out the door, she went to one side, grabbed the handle and tried to drag the tub across the floor. Even though she was strong for her size, she could barely budge it. Just as she decided to begin the task of emptying the tub bucket by bucket, she heard footsteps coming down the passageway towards the kitchen. Thinking it might be Lady Magdalen coming to check on her progress, she squared her shoulders and prepared for whatever she might have to say. When she heard Merlin’s cheerful voice, she relaxed. He wasn’t likely to be walking the halls with Lady Magdalen.

The door to the kitchen swung open, and there in the lamplight, three sets of eyes exchanged surprised looks as Merlin entered the kitchen followed by Gwaine. Wynne’s mouth formed an “O,” and her face reddened as she realized what a sight she was in her oldest, shabbiest dress which was all but soaked down the front, her straggling hair tied back with a kerchief, and her hands wrinkly and red from being in the water for the past couple hours.

Gwaine’s sharp eyes took in the scene, and his eyebrows came together severely as he asked, “What are you doing? Why aren’t you in bed?”

Ashamed to tell him what had happened, Wynne bit her lip for a moment before countering, “I might ask you the same thing.”

Merlin laughed out loud and glanced sideways at Gwaine, saying jovially, “Yes, Gwaine. Tell Wynne why you aren’t in bed.”

Gwaine tried to glare at his friend, but ended up laughing too. With a gleam in his eye, he replied, “The princess sentenced me to polishing duty for livening up a boring feast.”

He and Merlin laughed merrily, but Wynne didn’t find it funny. To her,  it had looked as though he and Percival had really wanted to hurt each other. Tired and upset that what had promised to be a wonderful day had ended so badly, Wynne stamped her foot and snapped, “It’s not funny, Gwaine! Obviously you deserved your punishment, not like…” She stopped suddenly, realizing she had said more than she intended.

Both men ceased laughing abruptly and stared at her. “Oh, Wynne. This was a punishment?” Merlin asked in his soft, sweet voice. The kindness and sympathy she saw in his eyes brought tears to hers, and she hung her head so they wouldn’t see them fall. First Merlin and then Gwaine crossed the room; Merlin gathered her into his arms and looked helplessly at Gwaine, whose expression suggested he’d like to go upstairs, haul Lady Magdalen down to the kitchen, and soak her head in Wynne’s wash water.

Gwaine laid a hand on Wynne’s back, and she drew back from Merlin to look up at the knight. His dark eyes softened, and he smiled sweetly at her as he joked, “And here I thought my plan had succeeded.”

Wynne sniffled and looked up at him curiously. “What plan?”

He laughed and replied, “I noticed you were about to be the center of unwanted attention again, so I…” He glanced at Merlin, and his face broke into a wide grin. “…I created a diversion.”

Wynne simultaneously felt a rush of gratitude at Gwaine’s actions and a flood of mortification that he had seen her sitting with her blueberry-filled mouth hanging open and her hair floating in her soup. “Oh…” she muttered, lowering her head in shame.

Gwaine laughed indulgently and gathered her into a warm hug. He laid his head against hers and planted a brief, brotherly kiss into her hair before teasing, “You’re the only lass I know who can get into trouble while you’re fast asleep.”

Merlin crossed his arms and watched the two friends, laughing both at Wynne’s penchant for getting herself into trouble and at Gwaine’s easygoing acceptance of Wynne’s unladylike behavior. When Wynne drew back and gazed up at Gwaine, Merlin raised an eyebrow, noticing for the first time the way her eyes sparkled and her cheeks blushed pink when she looked at him. Wynne was smitten with Gwaine, if not more. He raised his eyes to Gwaine’s to see if his friend felt the same way about her. There was certainly fondness in his eyes, although all the knights felt so about Wynne. Gwaine’s eyes didn’t betray anything resembling blossoming love, but his actions tonight certainly suggested the possibility.

Gwaine suddenly noticed Merlin staring at him with that strange expression that he often got. Thinking he was still concerned over Wynne’s punishment, he said, “Well, I think this young lady has been punished more than enough, don’t you?” When Merlin started and then nodded his agreement, Gwaine looked down at Wynne and said, “You go on up to bed, lass. Merlin and I will take care of this heavy tub.” He smiled and winked, before bending down to pick up the tub with a grunt.

Wynne gazed after him as he stumbled to the back door with the heavy washtub. A small sigh involuntarily escaped her, and she heard Merlin chuckle. Her head snapped over to look at him, and she saw in his eyes that he knew her secret. Her eyes glassed over with panic as she tried to think of something to say. Merlin glanced up at Gwaine before he whispered, “How long have you felt this way about Gwaine?”

Wynne’s eyes looked at her feet. She knew it was no use denying it. “Since I first laid eyes on him,” she admitted in a whisper. Glancing up at him desperately, she whispered urgently, “You won’t tell him, will you? Please, Merlin, say you won’t tell him.”

Merlin looked down at her kindly and replied, “Your secret is safe with me, Wynne. Besides, I know how Lady Magdalen disapproves of him, so I don’t want to cause either of you any trouble.”

Hearing Gwaine dumping the tub out just outside the door, Wynne hurriedly asked, “Do you think…is there even a chance that he’ll ever…see me as a lady and maybe…feel the same?”

Merlin sighed and considered. He was certain she knew Gwaine’s reputation with the ladies, so it was possible that someday he would see her as more than a clumsy young girl. Still, he didn’t want to give her false hopes that he might fall in love with her as he knew she desired. He just laughed and replied, “He is definitely fond of you, Wynne, but who knows with him? I think any woman would come third to ale and apple pie.”

Wynne just giggled. She knew what Gwaine was like, but she was certain, as all young girls are, that if he would just look her way and see how she loved him, then he would change. She just hoped another young lady didn’t come along and capture his heart before she had her chance.