Mostly because dead people don't talk back

2: Duplexity

Waking up the very next day brought nothing new. Gwaine would have thought that the scenes of assassination and easy killings would somehow make him different, the world different, or make some other significant change happen.

Nope. Merlin was being the exact same. Of course.

The jabbing words at your royal pratness continued to stay as snarky as before. He still fell and laughed and tumbled around like a clumsy fool. Merlin remained to stay the same throughout the next mornings, the repetitions of drills in the yard, the evenings, and even the next week before Gwaine finally settled that itch, the one against the grain (of perhaps his trust, but even thinking of Merlin being untrustworthy felt like that same itch) under his skin.

The time had been spent gathering up factors leading toward Merlin's true self. Only now noticing the stranger in his friend, Gwaine took note of the reddened dirt under his fingernails, the sharp glances and looks, and, additionally, how much Merlin actually disappeared.

But this was normal. He knew that now. He understood and was now on the other point of view of each situation with the recent case of events.

But the next instance (in which Gwaine was trapped in another moment of befuddlement), becoming even more off-course than usual, made Gwaine want to forget ale and gin, head into his home, and sink into his bed for the next two days.

Merlin— oh god.

Well, before he thought about the world-changing event, Gwaine really needed to gather his thoughts on one spare piece of information: Merlin was not only an assassin, the manservant of the king, and spy but, additionally, he was Emrys.

EMRYS. 

[really, how did no one think or know of what the name meant in Camelot or the rest of the kingdoms? Gwaine did know, however, and he rarely thought about what it had really implied until later on.]

Having an eye out for the man lead from one thing to another, meaning Gwaine felt the need to follow Merlin to see what he was up to, and suddenly druids were calling the younger "Emrys" and "Lord" at the displeasure written clear on his face.

He immediately left the vicinity and position, a spot behind a piling bush of twigs and leaves.

Gwaine couldn't let Merlin know that he knew. If he let him know, and he confirmed the uncertainty in his mind, then it was real. Merlin would be confirmed magic. He would be a confidant in illegal matters, a knight disobeying the direct order of command. He'd conform even less into the mold that people thought he had fit.

And you know what? Merlin has kept his past just as safe. Why the hell would he betray the one person that wanted him to stay? Why betray the one person that kept a promise to him?

With such a great position Gwaine found himself in, the torture carried into the next week— both in sparring practice and spying on Merlin whenever he was in his sights.

With a near half-hour of sparring and switching, shifting between the other knights and their different fighting styles, Merlin disappeared from the sidelines of the field. Gwaine saw only a flicker of his quick trodding legs between tents that lay behind him.

He just smiled slightly and continued to press his sword into the shield against him.

Gwaine's current sparring partner stilled; Lancelot noticed as well.

The other knight glanced back at Gwaine and followed his sight to where he'd just seen the servant. He followed his sight to where they'd both looked, and didn't question Merlin disappearance.