Merlin Headcanons

Quaking in Their Boots

One did not simply tell the Lady Morgana "no". She was one of those witchy types, and even a simple bandit like Gareth knew better than to set one of those witchy types off. Uther could say what he liked about magic. Gareth didn't care. He was a practical man, and practical men didn't philosophize about the nature of magic, they did the practical thing, which was to pay lip service to the king's laws when a knight was about and do what it took to survive the rest of the time.

And what it took to survive the Lady Morgana when she came to you about a job was to ask when, where, and who, and take what money she gave you and call it generous.

Gareth wiped the sweat off his face and counted himself lucky to be alive.

Then he started sweating again as he remembered what he'd just agreed to do.

It wasn't leading his men against a patrol of knights that bothered him. It wasn't going up against the prince regent.

It was that manservant.

Bandits weren't stupid, contrary to common belief. The few that had survived previous attacks had brought back word about a sorcerer. That, in and of itself was odd, but not frightening.

What was frightening were the details.

What was frightening were the rumors that drifted in from others in the circles the bandits traveled in. Alvarr and his gang. Druids desperate for supplies. Slavers who used to work for Jarl.

Emrys, they whispered. Powerful enough to raze Camelot. Powerful enough to sink the Five Kingdoms like Atlantis.

And very, very, protective of his king, never mind that he hadn't been crowned yet. Very, very vindictive against those who dared lay a hand on him.

Gareth groaned. They were doomed.

Unless . . .

. . . . .

The bandits had rushed from the woods.

That was normal.

The bandits had swung their weapons in their first blows.

That was normal.

They had defended themselves and swung back.

That was normal.

The bandits had immediately dropped their weapons, put their hands in the air, and surrendered.

That was not normal.

. . . And they kept shooting nervous glances at his manservant.

That was definitely not normal.

Somehow, when Arthur was tying one of them up, he managed to scratch himself on the man's bracelet, which had a number of impractical spikes on it. A bit of blood had been drawn, but Arthur was more annoyed than anything.

The man had immediately started babbling out frantic apologies and begging someone named "Emrys" not to kill him.

Arthur was wondering if the whole world had gone mad or if it was just him.

His sole consolation, that Merlin looked just as baffled as he did, vanished as soon as the man said "Emrys". Instead, Merlin looked . . . Afraid?

Not for the first time, Arthur wished he had been born the crown prince of, say, Nemeth. Or Mercia.

He heard things were a lot saner there.

. . . . .

Arthur was reluctant to charge the men with banditry if only because they were so pathetically bad about it. He mentioned such in the trial.

Gareth, their leader, claimed they had only attacked under duress, and they really hadn't wanted to, and could they please, please, please, have this discussion without his manservant standing there glaring at them.

The next time Arthur called Merlin a girl, Merlin pointed out he'd had a whole tribe of bandits quaking in their boots. Arthur pointed out that the bandits had been pathetic and hadn't even required a single tree acting oddly to be defeated.

Merlin, rather nervously, had asked what he thought made the trees act oddly if not random chance.

"I don't know, Merlin, but you have to admit it's odd. Whenever someone's about to stab me from behind, a tree always trips them or drops a branch on them or something. I asked Gaius, and he said something about dryads."

"Dryads?"
"Apparently they're spirits of the forest or something."

"Why would they want to help you?"

Arthur threw his hands up in the air. "I don't know, maybe they fancy me! I can't figure out regular women, much less magical tree women, Merlin!"

"Magic. Saving a Pendragon's life."

Arthur's mouth dropped open, but he closed it again with a valiant effort. Apparently he hadn't thought this through. " . . . Stranger thing have happened."

To be fair, this was Camelot. Stranger things had. "Okay, maybe. And you told me about the light in the cave, so someone with magic clearly wishes you well, just . . . Arthur?"

Merlin had a rather strained expression on his face.

"What?" he growled.

"If you ever figure out who it is . . . Look, just trust me. They're not doing this because they fancy you."

"You make it sound as if you know something."

Merlin froze.

" . . . You know something. What is it? Merlin? Merlin, come back here! MERLIN!"

. . . . .

A/N: So, this started out as something funny about bandits, and then it was . . . Well, I'm not sure what this is, only what it's not: as Merlin pointed out, it's not slash. Other than that, it can be a reveal, a partial reveal, a tantalizingly close but infuriatingly not quite a reveal . . . There are so many fics about a bandit attack revealing Merlin's magic, it would be funny if it were a reveal, and Arthur found out, not because Merlin used magic to save him, but because the bandits were so terrified of him, magic wasn't necessary, and the lack of it caused comment. Hmm.