Chapter Text
Merlin learned very quickly that in Camelot, you couldn’t always rely on magic to help you out of a fight.
When the young, cocky, ridiculously hot royal idiot swung a mace at Merlin, he knew that a little spell could trip him up. Humble him a bit. And it did—Merlin saw a flash of shock in the prince’s eyes—but it rode that fine line of getting caught. Though the young warlock knew he could take the prince apart with less than a blow (or a full one, Merlin wasn’t picky), he couldn’t perform magic. So he accepted a night in the dungeon instead of a place on that chopping block he’d seen.
And then that stupid, pouting Adonis just had to be the victim of some weird operatic assassin, and Merlin’s pesky secret was proving to be a bad stroke of fate. He saved the gorgeous bastard of course, choosing to tackle him to the ground. Graceful as ever. But suddenly, a brief chance to rescue his obnoxious damsel turned into serving said princess for the rest of the foreseeable future.
Of course, this ended up being the best thing that had ever happened to Merlin. The prat was more than just privileged eye candy, he turned out to be noble and generous, even if he was emotionally constipated and drove Merlin crazy. Part of that craziness was having to rescue said prat’s life on a regular basis. For some odd reason, everyone wanted to kill the hot prince and not his troll of a father! Merlin would never understand.
While Merlin’s magic could rid the kingdom of threats in the shadows and under the cover of night, this wasn’t always possible. It was easy enough to use his magic with no one around, free to commit treason to combat treason. But Merlin learned early on in his time in Camelot that unforeseen challenges could make it difficult, sometimes even impossible to fall back on his godly powers.
He first learned this lesson after being Arthur’s manservant for about two months.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Merlin had been on a few patrols with the prince by now, and he’d learned two things. One: Camelot had a serious bandit problem; and two: no one seemed to question tree branches raining from the sky. So Merlin usually dove behind a bush and took out half of their enemies, and spent the in-between time watching Prince Arthur in his sweatiest, sexiest form as he slashed down bandit after bandit.
But then came a patrol and subsequent bandit attack with a shocking twist—the bandits attacked the knights’ camp in a large clearing. Usually it was no problem to help thin out a pack of ten to fifteen bandits down to a knightly manageable number of five to seven. But there was a huge problem.
There. Were. No. Trees.
The prince and his knights would certainly question raining tree branches if they fell from the clear summer sky. Merlin couldn’t even really hide because there were no tents brought along. Instead, all he could do was scramble to the treeline and watch helplessly as Arthur and his men fought for their lives.
Everyone was alright, but it was a more exhaustive fight than they’d had in the last two months, and there were far more cuts, bruises, and close calls for Merlin to bandage. The party had to head back to Camelot, for while Merlin and the knights could do basic first aid, Sir Galahad received a blow to his sword arm that needed immediate attention. The knight’s horse was tied to Merlin’s, and they returned to the citadel.
Arthur and the other knights went directly to King Uther to inform him, yet again, of the bandit problem. Merlin escorted Sir Galahad to Gaius’ chambers, and helped the physician by mixing a salve for Galahad’s cut while Gaius stitched it up. Gaius mumbled something about needing to run to the castle storeroom to get another roll of bandages, and so left Merlin alone to apply the salve to the knight’s arm in the meantime.
It was then that Galahad finally spoke, startling Merlin out of his thoughts. “Are you alright?”
Merlin was surprised to be asked. This was the first time that any of the knights had spoken to him, aside from “pass me that sword” or “could you fetch your master?” He realized he’d been staring owlishly at Galahad for too long as he saw the look of amusement on the older man’s face.
“I’m fine,” he answered awkwardly. “My lord,” he added quickly.
Galahad let out a laugh. “How old are you, spring chicken?”
Merlin felt his cheeks heat up. “Eight and ten, my lord.”
Sir Galahad continued to smile at Merlin, in a soft, fatherly sort of way that eased some of the young warlock’s tension. “I’d have guessed three and ten, at the eldest.” Merlin barked out a very unprofessional laugh, but this seemed to be what Galahad was waiting for, as the old knight beamed. “Will you tell me what troubles such a young man as yourself?”
The warlock considered his response. Arthur was always telling him to address knights, especially elder knights with nothing but the utmost respect and curtesy. This meant never detailing private thoughts and feelings, but Galahad seemed friendly and kind and genuinely curious, so Merlin decided to indulge. “I feel that I’m rather useless,” he admitted. “At least when it comes to battle. I know I’m not a knight, but there must be something I can do to help from the sidelines.”
Galahad nodded sagely, as though carefully considering what the young servant had said. But he offered no advice, and in fact remained silent until Gaius returned. Merlin felt awkward about the whole affair—but Galahad gave him a smile and a wave, so the servant hoped he hadn’t broken yet another class rule. There were far too many to keep track of, anyway.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Merlin was polishing Arthur’s armor while watching the man prance around the training field with extra attention. The warlock was starting to get used to his master’s moods, and he was also getting better at translating the language of prat. So when the prince said that morning that “my men are growing lazy,” what he really meant was, “it’s been a while since we were that caught off guard, and I want to ensure my men don’t get hurt next time.” He could be rather sweet, for such a spoiled brat.
A finger tapped his shoulder, and Merlin looked up, squinting in the sunlight to see Galahad.
“My lord,” he greeted politely, dipping his head. “I had thought Gaius told you that you were to sit out training for the next week.”
The man smiled serenely. “He did tell me that, and I’m not here for training. I’m here for you.”
Merlin’s eyes widened. “Me? I mean, of course, my lord! What can I do for you?”
“Follow me,” said Galahad, turning and marching toward the castle.
Merlin cast a look at Arthur, but it was clear the prince was too absorbed in today’s session to mind if his wayward manservant skived off for a little while. So he stood from the bench, making sure to carefully place the armor down as to not be shouted at later for scuffing it, and followed after Sir Galahad.
Merlin was only a step behind the man when they finally stopped in the armory. Galahad went over to the wall lined with crossbows and searched until he found whichever one he had been looking for, his face lighting up with glee. Carefully, the knight took it off the wall and turned back to Merlin with a grin.
“This one is my old bow,” he said with pride. “I know because of its small size you must assume it is a hunting bow, but it packs too mean a punch. I tried using it on a pheasant and well . . . let’s just say it wasn’t pretty. Much better to be used in a real fight, against a bigger target.” Merlin nodded along, waiting for Galahad to tell him that he wanted Merlin to fix the locking mechanism, or sand the handle, or whatever else. But the knight held it out to Merlin and instead said, “here. It’s yours now.”
Merlin nearly dropped it the moment it was in his hands, surprised as he was to hear Sir Galahad say that. “Mine? But . . .”
“I know, you don’t know how to use it. But that’s no matter—it seems I have a week’s worth of training lessons to miss, so what better use of my time than to teach you?”
The warlock stroked a finger from the foregrip down to the stock. “This is too fine,” Merlin remembered to refuse the gift, extending it back to the knight. What if this was all some test, after all, and Galahad would tell Arthur that his manservant was breaking the rules?
But Galahad didn’t take it, instead pushing the crossbow still in the warlock’s grip back against his chest. “It’s nothing like the prince or the king’s crossbows, but it does the trick. And it is yours, Merlin.” The knight sat down on a nearby bench, looking proud of himself in the wake of Merlin’s red, flustered face. “I thought about what you said last night, about feeling useless. While I doubt the prince would be happy to see you charge into the fray, I see no reason why you cannot help us from a distance. Of course, I’ll have to ensure that you won’t kill the wrong person before you can start taking it out on patrols, but I thought this way, you can help. And I immediately thought of this crossbow, because it made me think of you.”
“How so?” Merlin asked curiously, awash with gratitude for the older knight.
“That crossbow reminds me that sometimes, small things can be deceptively strong. I get the feeling that applies to you.”
Merlin blinked, feeling unexpectedly emotional at the man’s consideration. “I– thank you, Sir Galahad.”
“Of course,” the man said, pleased, as he dipped his head. “Though, perhaps we should keep the crossbow and the lessons a secret from His Royal Highness. I don’t imagine he'd be very happy to know that I’m giving you a sharp object.”
Merlin laughed. “It’ll be our secret.”
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Galahad did as he promised, and each training session during his healing he took Merlin to the other side of the castle to practice with the crossbow at the old archery range. Few people crossed by that way, so they didn’t have to worry about word of their private lessons getting back to the prince.
The first day, Merlin was atrocious. He nearly took off Galahad’s only good arm, and he only hit the target once. But he turned out to be a quick study, and the week flew by with Merlin improving each and every day.
When Sir Galahad had to return to training, cleared by Gaius, Merlin made sure to wink at him after walking with the prince to the training field. The knight and him shared a private smile as Merlin snuck off to practice on his own.
It was another two months before Merlin was bold enough to bring it along on a patrol. His magic made the hairs on his neck stick up, so he figured there would be trouble. And there was, naturally, as a horde of mercenaries poured from the trees.
Merlin multitasked during that fight, sending branches down and occasionally striking an opponent with his new weapon, all from the safety of the trees. By the end of the skirmish, Arthur called Merlin out of the trees, teasing him for his usual hiding. It never stung, because Merlin knew Arthur would be angry had the servant not hidden away, but there was something to be said about the look of pride that flashed in Galahad’s eye as he looked up at Merlin while fetching loosened arrows and crossbow bolts from the dead.
That evening, Gaius knocked on Merlin’s chamber door to offer a package that had been left outside, addressed to the warlock. Merlin opened it cautiously, only to beam at the contents.
Four crossbow bolts—four that he had loosed, each spattered with dried blood. And a note, that read: I only managed three. Perhaps you should be giving me the lessons. ~ Galahad