Finding him

Arriving at Camelot

Gwaine stepped into Camelot, the small bag on his back swaying , the breeze soft in his hair. He picked up an apple from a market trader's stall, biting into it. She glared at him, and he winked, blowing a kiss, and walked away, chewing. He heard shouting across the marketplace, and saw a man being knocked down, beaten with a broom handle. He winced on the man's behalf, watching him clamber to his feet and run away. Gwaine shook it off, heading towards the palace.

He ducked through a side door, spotting a tall man in a red shirt, following him along the hallway. He turned around, stopping Gwaine. “Fetch me a wash basin,” the man demanded. “And bring it to my quarters.”
“Oh, sorry, I don't-"
“You would refuse your King?” The man looked down at him, squinting.
“I might.” Gwaine stood as tall as he could.
“I could have you beaten for that,” the King informed him, somewhat proud of himself.
“Where would I find a wash basin?” Gwaine smiled charmingly, backing away.
“The kitchens. Hurry along now.”

After a fair bit of getting lost, and getting yelled at by guards, Gwaine found a wash basin, and made his way to the King's quarters. He knocked on the door, trying to avoid the steely gaze of the guard by the door. “Enter,” a voice called, and Gwaine pushed the door open, finding the King sat at his lunch table, a man sat opposite him. “Yes?”
“I brought that wash basin you asked for,” Gwaine announced.
“Ah, good,” the other man said, standing up.
“Merlin, I'd like you scrubbed down and clean shaven by the time I get back. You, help him, would you?” The King looked at Gwaine expectantly.
“I tried to tell you, I don't-"
“What's your name?” The King  looked at him, in a challenging sort of way, stepping into his space.
“It's Gwaine.”
“Well, Gwaine. Do as I say, and you won't get into any trouble. Got it?”
Gwaine huffed. “I was just trying to say, I don't work here.”
“You do now. I'll be back by third bells.” He directed this more at Merlin, who nodded, smiling as Arthur left the room.

“Sorry about him,” Merlin apologised. “Arthur's perfectly reasonable, most of the time, but he does have a temper sometimes.”
“So it seems.”
“So, you don't work here?”
“No. I arrived in Camelot today.” Gwaine swung his arms, bouncing on his toes. “Seeking work.”
“I'd offer you the position of my manservant, but I don't have a vacancy.” Merlin got up, walking over the bowl of water, lathering soap in this hands.
“So where's your servant today?”
“Mother's sick,” Merlin articulated, rubbing soap on his face. “Sorry, could you grab me a towel from over there?” Merlin nodded towards an elegant wooden cabinet, sitting down in front of the mirror and taking out a razor blade.
“Do you want me to do it?” Merlin nodded, carefully handing Gwaine the blade. “So, do you know where I could get work?” Gwaine splashed more water onto Merlin's face, setting to work with the blade.
“I think the kitchen staff is full. And there's no shortage of- oh I'll tell you what.” Merlin stopped talking so Gwaine could shave close to his mouth.
“What?” Gwaine took the blade away.
“I believe Sir Percival is in need of a manservant.”
“Who?”

Gwaine finished shaving Merlin, rinsing his face off and drying it carefully. “So. Sir Percival?”
“Ah yes. One of the King's knights. And a good friend, of course. But relatively new, and in search of someone trustworthy.” Merlin cocked an eyebrow, measuring up Gwaine.
“Oh, absolutely. You can trust me.”
“He'll be coming back from patrol just now. But I'll introduce you later. What brought you to Camelot?”
Gwaine sniffed. “It's as good a place as any. I'm a wanderer.”
“I see. Where are you from?”
“I'm not sure, exactly. Somewhere west.” Gwaine shrugged. “And you?”
“I was born in a small village in Cenred's kingdom. Came to Camelot, gods, twelve years ago. When I was nineteen.” Merlin nodded, sitting down on the bed. “Have you eaten today?”
“I had an apple,” Gwaine told him, Merlin gesturing to the lunch table. “No, I can't possibly.”
“Help yourself. They always send far too much.” Gwaine picked up a hunk of bread, spreading it with soft butter. “Right. Percy should be ready by now. Shall we?”