Merthur One-shots

Let There Be Damage Ensued

Summary: “There are several rules one must adhere to, when entering and staying in Camelot, that are seen as rather odd. Rule number one: when in the presence of His Majesty and his Court Sorcerer, you are never to mention unripe blackberries. Rule number two: none are allowed to speak ill of magic, on penalty of being turned into a toad. Rule number three, and arguably the most important: when being escorted by the Knight Gwaine and the Court Sorcerer, you are to ensure they leave you in separate directions.”

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“There are several rules one must adhere to, when entering and staying in Camelot, that are seen as rather odd . Rule number one: when in the presence of His Majesty and his Court Sorcerer, you are never to mention unripe blackberries. Rule number two: none are allowed to speak ill of magic, on penalty of being turned into a toad. Rule number three, and arguably the most important: when being escorted by the Knight Gwaine and the Court Sorcerer, you are to ensure they leave you in separate directions.”

Merlin pouts as he reads the gossip rag aloud, eyebrows crinkling together as he reaches the bottom. It’s adorable, and Arthur’s really meant to be drafting a statement on lowering grain prices, but Merlin’s turning big doe eyes on him, and suddenly the statement can wait. He sighs and stands, crossing the room to bend down and put his chin on Merlin’s head.

“Bit unfair of them to mention the blackberries,” Arthur says, and shudders; on one of his rare days off, when he and Merlin had just gotten together, they’d decided to spend the day in Camelot’s fruit fields. The blackberries had been severely unripe, but Arthur had convinced Merlin to ripen them with magic. They’d stuffed themselves silly on sun-warmed berries, feeding each other with grandiose exclamations of no, allow me , your majesty. Well, as Gaius told them later, some fruits don’t take kindly to being hastened into ripening. Arthur and Merlin had felt the wrath of the unripe fruit for a full three days after.

“Blackberries, yeah, toads, okay, but what about Gwaine and I? We’re responsible adults, and shouldn’t be ordered around by visitors.”

Arthur sighs again. He loves Merlin, deeply, and he loves Gwaine, too, though in a different way. On their own, they are, for the most part, responsible adults, performing their duties and going about their business with minimal incident. When they get together, however, it’s like their brains fly out a window. Gwaine’s love for external chaos (bar fights and gambling and setting things on fire) meets Merlin’s love for internal chaos (riddles and quiet spells and tying others’ shoelaces together) and creates a veritable bomb of insanity.

“Merlin, you and Gwaine are jointly banned from eight separate counties . I think you know full well why you can’t be trusted together outside this castle.”

“It can’t be eight-”

“Barfight, arson, barfight, cow tipping, arson again, barfight again, stealing pies, and, most recently, bludgeoning a woman’s suitors.”

Arthur counts off on Merlin’s outstretched fingers, tapping one for every instance of banning.

“Oh, come on, you can’t seriously count the last one! They were actively kidnapping her, Arthur.”

“I know, it was very brave, my love, but you are still technically banned from Gwenllych because of it.”

Merlin mutters something akin to bullshit as Arthur straightens, smoothing the dark curls that were disturbed by his chin. He trusts Merlin, implicitly, and of course he trusts Gwaine, but together...well. The second instance of arson is the closest he’s seen Leon get to a genuine breakdown. And he’s known Leon for longer than he cares to admit, at this point. Merlin stands and stretches just as Arthur settles back behind his desk, doing his best to pretend that he’s not still miffed about the gossip article. Arthur grins as he watches Merlin throw his shirt back on, make an attempt at looking half-presentable as he leaves their room.