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If there's one thing Gwaine knows something about, it's taverns. Having been thrown out of nearly every tavern in the five kingdoms at one point or another, he considers himself a bit of an expert. Camelot has a lot of good taverns. The Rising Sun is the closest one to the castle and, in Gwaine's opinion, the best. Being within staggering distance of his bed helps. As does the landlady's willingness to put up with a good deal of noise and general rowdy behaviour from anyone dressed in a red cloak. Being a knight of Camelot has its perks, after all. It also helps that he (almost) always has enough coin to pay for his mead, these days, and brother knights to stand him the difference if he finds himself short.
Gwaine knows taverns, that's the thing. And one thing he knows about taverns is that the two people currently walking beside him do not frequent them regularly. Arthur has an excuse, of course. Being king, he must have all sorts of state business to attend to, and any good leader knows when to let his men carouse without him looking over their shoulders and when to join them. It's a boost for the men's morale when he does, precisely because it doesn't happen too often.
Merlin on the other hand has no such excuse. Arthur keeps him busy doing the jobs of at least five different people – manservant, stable boy, physician's apprentice, speech writer, advisor. All the more reason to want to unwind at the end of a long day, in Gwaine's opinion. But nearly every time he's tried to get Merlin to come along, he's been refused. And Gwaine's tried a variety of methods – persuasion, threats, enlisting Percival to carry him bodily to the tavern door – all to no avail.
Which is why Gwaine thinks it odd when he hears Arthur say to his manservant,
“It’s not like you aren’t at the tavern every other day of the week…”
It's a puzzle. And if there's one thing Gwaine can't resist, it's a... well, a tavern, to be truthful. Or a fight. But puzzles can be pretty fascinating too.
Arthur has to all but drag Merlin in through the door, Gwaine giving his friend a friendly shove to help him on his way. Gwaine knows taverns, and he knows that often enough the answer to a puzzle is to be found the bottom of a bottle.
It only takes two tankards of mead for a faint flush to appear on Merlin's cheeks. Three, and there's a decided animation in his hand gestures and a slight slur to his speech. It's still not enough, Gwaine thinks. Merlin is loquacious but still remarkably slippery when it comes to direct questioning – even if Gwaine could think of the exact questions to ask.
"Another pint for my friend here!" he calls as the barmaid passes by to collect the empty tankards on a platter.
"Oh, no, Gwaine, I've had enough," Merlin protests.
"Honestly, Merlin, you've got the constitution of a wilting maiden," Gwaine teases. "Afraid you can't hold your own against the rest of us?"
"I'm not sure how you can still be such a lightweight considering you spend all your time in the tavern," Arthur puts in, and Merlin sighs.
"Fine, fine, I'll show you, give me another!"
And so a fourth tankard is placed in front of him which he quaffs messily, at least a third of it going down his chin instead of down his throat.
Gwaine watches and he ponders. Just what reasons might a man have for pretending to be in the tavern when he was really somewhere else? The most obvious: if he didn't want his wife to find out he'd been in a brothel instead. But Merlin doesn't have a wife, and there's certainly none among the knights who'd judge him if he'd been partaking in the feminine delights of Madam Elaine's. Let he who is without sin, and all that. Even Arthur, for all he's a little straight-laced, never begrudges his knights a tumble or two; so long as the wench is clean and willing, where's the harm?
In fact, it hasn't gone unremarked by the knights that Merlin has never shown any interest in any woman for as long as they've known him. The incident with that Lamia creature had brought that particular topic into the light. They'd got a pool going (shortly after their shamefaced apologies for their treatment of Merlin and Guinevere). Likely the others have forgotten by now, but Gwaine never forgets a bet. Elyan's theory is a long lost love, a girl who died and Merlin staying faithful to her memory. Leon's is an unrequited passion for a lady above his station. Percival's staked his silver on Merlin preferring lads to lasses – which would, Gwaine has to concede, be something that might necessitate a lie about frequenting the tavern. But Merlin's not the whoring type, either way, and he's got his own pet theory which is a little of Leon's and a little of Percival's. After all there's only one person he knows of to whom Merlin is stupidly, unfailingly loyal to the point of self-denial...
"You're quiet tonight, Gwaine," Arthur calls across the table. "Sickening for something?"
"Just plotting a way to relieve you of some of your silver, my lord," Gwaine retorts with a flash of teeth.
"Maybe later, I've got plans to relieve Merlin of a little of his, first."
Arthur always begins to loosen up after a pint or four, in a way that generally manifests itself in being more than usually obnoxious. He's teasing Merlin again, insulting his ability to hold his mead and pulling on the reddening tips of his ears. This time Merlin's provoked enough to call for more himself, draining the lot while the knights around the table chant and bang their tankards on the table, Gwaine among them.
Merlin staggers to his feet and bows as they all cheer. He's swaying a little where he stands and Arthur reaches to steady him, slinging an arm around his shoulder in an overly-friendly manner. The king's cheeks are flushed as he manhandles Merlin over to the gaming table.
"Arthur, I'm not sure –" Merlin protests, but Arthur cuts him off.
"Well if you don't think you're up to it..."
"Of course I am," Merlin snorts and Arthur grins at him, delighted, as he rolls the dice.
It's good sport just watching the two of them trading insults and trying to call one another's bluff, and more than their own company soon crowd around to watch. Arthur's on a winning streak but Gwaine's got ten pieces of silver against Percival that Merlin will best him before they're done. Arthur's getting cocky, and pride often comes before a fall at the gaming table, Gwaine knows that all too well.
Before long Merlin's stack of coin has dwindled to next to nothing, and Percival's shooting Gwaine smug looks from across the room. Well, that will never do, Gwaine decides, with a frown, wondering whether he should lend Merlin a few pieces of silver. Merlin looks about ready to flounce off in frustration when Arthur starts taunting him again,
“Oh, what’s the matter, Merlin, you great girl’s petticoat! Can’t take the fact that you are as useless at dice as you are as my manservant? Or are you just afraid of me?”
The tavern goes quiet, almost as if anticipating a brawl. Behind him Gwaine hears a muted mutter, I wonder the boy's stuck the job for so long. But they don't know Arthur and Merlin like he does, don't realise that bullying is the only way Arthur really has of showing his affection. His insults are a sign of the regard in which he holds him.
Merlin spins around, somewhat less gracefully than he probably intends, and pins Arthur with a glare that has Gwaine wondering whether Merlin's forgotten that himself.
“Afraid of you? Never.” Merlin throws down the last of his silver. Gwaine counts ten coins. "Ante up."
Arthur tries to protest, but Merlin is resolute. Gwaine is struck by the dark determination in his eyes.
And here I thought we were only in for a fun night out at the tavern, Gwaine thinks to himself.
If he hadn't been so struck with the expression in Merlin's eyes just then, Gwaine might have missed it. But as Merlin closes his eyes and blows on the dice for luck, there's a flash of... something. Gwaine can't place it at first, shaking off the thought as Merlin's dice lands two fives up and he joins in with the general whooping and shouting at this sudden turn of luck.
But as Merlin's numbers come up again and again, Gwaine's vague suspicion of something amiss solidifies into a certainty. That's a glimmer of gold beneath those dark eyelashes. Merlin is using magic to cheat at dice. Merlin is using magic.
It's less the shock of a sudden discovery, more the feeling of the final piece in a puzzle sliding into place. A lot of things make sense, now, where they didn't before. Strength and magic for one.
Gwaine gets closer to the table under the pretext of coming over to pat Merlin on the back in encouragement. His eyes don't leave Merlin's face as he calls nine and blows on the dice once more. Only now that Gwaine's looking for it, it's clear that he's not blowing at all, he's whispering a word. A magic word. Gwaine laughs aloud for the sheer amazement at understanding it all, at last. Percival glowers at him, thinking Gwaine is celebrating being about to win their bet – and he's not wrong there, but he'd have given more than the twenty pieces of silver at stake to have this answer to his puzzle at last.
"Had enough, my Lord?" Merlin demands, satisfaction in his smile. Arthur's smug look has slipped off entirely as he attempts to bluster.
"Going to try for four in a row, Merlin? Not even you are that stupid…”
“Care to put your money where your mouth is, Sire?”
Merlin's got the art of saying 'Sire' like what he really means to say is 'cabbage head' down to perfection. Gwaine's almost envious of their ability to rile each other. It comes from the two of them knowing one another so well, he supposes.
Only Arthur doesn't know Merlin at all, does he? Not really. There's no doubt in Gwaine's mind that this is a secret Arthur is not privy to. It could hardly stay a secret if he was. And it explains so much: the look in Merlin's eyes, sometimes, when he looks at his king. The way Merlin always knows which way to go, never has so much as a scratch on him when he hasn't a scrap of chain mail to protect him.
And most of all, why he isn't in the tavern when Arthur thinks he is.
Arthur protests some more, his own stack of coins less impressive now.
"I don't even have eighty silver left!"
“That’s all right, Sire," Merlin taunts him. "You can owe me the rest. After all, I do know where you live…”
Gwaine throws his head back and laughs and laughs as the two of them stare at each other as they often do, as though they're the only two people in Camelot, neither willing to back down. The tables turned, Merlin teases Arthur about being afraid. Of course the princess won't stand for that, and slams the rest of his coins onto the platter. Merlin picks up the dice and it's so obvious, now he knows what to look for, that Gwaine can't imagine why nobody else sees it. A sorcerer, hiding in plain sight. Magic at the heart of Camelot.
It takes Gwaine less than the time it takes the final roll of dice to land to make up his mind that this changes nothing. Merlin is his friend and he's got no wish to cause trouble for him. He's known since he first met him that Merlin is special and this – well, this just confirms it, doesn't it? Gwaine's not from Camelot and doesn't have the same instinctive fear of sorcery as some others. It's a source of wonder as much as anything else. Merlin is a source of wonder.
The dice land, snake eyes, and Merlin shouts with triumph. Gwaine surges forward and grabs him by the knees, hoisting him up into the air. Merlin's won his game, Gwaine's won his bet, he's found out Merlin's secret – and they're all in the tavern, what could be better than that?
"Good on you mate," he chuckles, almost toppling over. Merlin quirks an eyebrow at him as if unable to understand his exuberance, but there's no need to tell him what he knows, it would only worry him.
"Put me down you big lug, before we both go over," Merlin says and Gwaine complies, ruffling his hair as he does so. Merlin smoothes it flat again, and flops into a nearby chair, flushed with alcohol and success.
Gwaine goes over to collect his own winnings from a reluctant Percival.
"No hard feelings, eh?" he grins, thumping him hard on the arm.
"I don't understand what happened," Percival says, shaking his head and looking mournfully at his lean purse.
"Never mind, Perce, I'll stand you a pint to make up for it," Gwaine says, always generous with his winnings. With the audible chink of coin in his hand he walks round to Arthur and slings an arm around his shoulders, teasing, “Seeing as you’re out of coin, Princess, let me buy you a pity drink as well!”
Arthur shrugs him off with a scowl and Gwaine laughs as he summons the barmaid once more. But there's a truth in his words for all they're said in jest. He does pity Arthur, for not knowing what he knows. For not being able to see all that Merlin is, all that power and devotion right under his nose.
Although he wouldn't mind being there to see the look on Arthur's face when he realises his manservant hasn't been at the tavern all this time, after all.