Disclaimer: If I owned Merlin, Merthur would have been a thing by the third episode. Seriously, I would have had those little shits fucking by episode three—if I even waited that long. Merlin would also probably be a slut, 'cause, let's be real, everyone wants that magical D, but, ahm, I digress.

Not In The Least

Fic:

There was always something about Merlin that Gwaine couldn't quite put his finger on. Something mysterious and alluring and a bit off-putting. He was loyal and noble and friendly and seemed willing to die a thousand deaths for him, for Arthur—for anyone, really. He did not seem like a servant by any means. If anything, he was knight-worthy, but he wouldn't accept such a title, anyway, even if Arthur's thick-head would ever let such a thought through.

But he served Arthur dutifully anyway. He endured the jokes and teasings and sent it all back in good nature.

Merlin was something else entirely. Such a rare being. He didn't deserve the treatment he received from Arthur.

So, when Gwaine walked into Merlin's room one afternoon without knocking—who knocked, anyway—and saw Merlin's eyes a bright golden color, saw all his chores being done without any physical interaction...

He wasn't surprised in the least.

~!~!~!~

Percival learned things about Merlin slower than the other knights seemed to.

He wasn't quite sure why Merlin was hesitant about getting too close to him at first, but in time came to discover that, since Percival had come to their aide at Lancelot's side the first time they met, it must have been because it brought up old memories of his fellow knight. And Lancelot, it seemed, had been a good friend to Merlin long before he had been knighted, so Percival had no qualms about waiting it out, about letting Merlin come around to him in his own time.

And he did.

And eventually, Percival was proud to say that he was as good a friend to Merlin as Leon or Elyan were.

They laughed and joked together as all the knights did and Percival almost forgot he was Arthur's servant until Arthur barked an order at him, and then he almost forgot why he was merely a servant and not something more. Merlin was a great man, after all. Brave and wise and just different from most of the other servants in the palace. And he knew everyone else thought the same as well.

Most of the other servants, after all, wouldn't dare call Arthur an arrogant prat or a dollophead—whatever that was.

They wouldn't dare call a knight an idiot or hide their bedroll from them, intentionally burn their food or tease them about jumping when the wind howled on particularly dreadful nights, or anything of the such.

It was almost as though Merlin knew that, whatever he did, all would be well, and if not, he would find a way to make it well.

So, when they were all out on patrol and had to make camp for the night and Merlin was left for first watch, and Percival awoke to the sight of the fire growing high against dying embers, Merlin's hand raised just in front of it, his eyes smoldering against the light of the fire itself...

He wasn't surprised in the least.

~!~!~!~

Leon had been Arthur's knight for many years. He had gone into battle with him, had served under him, competed against him, saved his life, been saved by him, joked about with him, he had grown up with him, really, and considered him one of his best friends, despite the fact that Arthur was the Prince, and then King, of Camelot.

And so he knew enough about Arthur Pendragon to see the change Merlin had brought about in him.

It was subtle at first, and then too obvious for anyone to dare deny. He was showing humility, was being put in his place, knocked down from his proverbial pedestal, as it was, he was showing more compassion, more thought for others, and other sorts of traits that few knew the he even possessed.

Merlin was good for him, and everyone knew it.

With time, Arthur came to trust Merlin more than anyone else—Leon included. They seemed to have a special sort of bond that no one would ever challenge or rival. The fact that Merlin happened to get on with everyone else—all the knights, other servants, members of the court, visiting royalty—made Arthur proud in a way he would never admit to.

But Leon could tell. Oh, he could tell. Arthur liked and trusted Merlin and wanted everyone else to like and trust him just as much as he did.

The fact that he remained merely a servant after so many years of working for Arthur was no coincidence; Leon knew he simply could not bear the thought of him serving someone else in the palace, of him being so close to anyone else other than Arthur, as selfish as it was.

For all Arthur's faults that Merlin challenged and repaired, he seemed to bring out just as many of his bad qualities, and vice versa. But it was all in good fun, always in good fun.

And Arthur never dared let anyone harm Merlin, never let the friendly teasings get too out of hand. Even though Merlin had an air about him that said no one would get away with fucking with him too seriously if he didn't want them to—though how just a servant might manage something like that, Leon didn't know—Arthur still made a point of stepping in if it looked like things were getting too rough for Merlin to handle.

And Leon didn't really question it, didn't wonder other than in passing thought what it was about Merlin that drew everyone in, that made people flock to him, go to him for help, want to be friends with him, and he never supposed he would get an answer anyway, even if he had thought much more about it.

One night, however, in a village away from Camelot that they were passing through on a quest, Merlin got separated from the others and Leon went off to search for him before any of the others could—it was always a competition to see who might find Merlin when things like that happened. They all liked having time with him alone, joking and talking about things they couldn't joke and talk about in front of the other knights—found him pressed against a wall, being accosted by a couple of bandits.

One held his sword to Merlin's throat, seemed to be threatening him, and Merlin, the bloody idiot, was taunting him, laughing almost bitterly as the other drew his sword, malice written in every movement he made.

Leon drew his own sword, started to approach them in hopes of interfering before Merlin could be, well, killed.

So, when the sword held to Merlin's throat began to move forward slightly and a thin line of blood dripped down the blade, it was dropped suddenly, as was the other, and both men were knocked back to the wall opposite, Merlin's eyes hardened with a color Leon had grown up equating with magic...

He wasn't surprised in the least.

~!~!~!~

Elyan's sister had told him many tales of Merlin when he arrived back in Camelot. Told him how smart and funny and clever he was, how he might have just been Arthur's manservant, but he was really so much more than that. He was a better person than most servants were. He deserved more than the lowly rank of servant, if anyone did.

Elyan, of course, had assumed her tales and praises were the result of nothing more than a crush she hadn't quite grown out of and didn't give it much stock at first. But, upon getting to know Merlin, after spending much time with him, joking around with him, becoming fast friends with him...

He would be damned if the words she spoke hadn't been true.

He was everything Gwen said he was and more. He was a good friend, wiser than his years would usually allow one to be, and, though he deserved a higher title than 'manservant', Elyan couldn't quite help but admit that he, and all the other knights, were glad that was his station in life. It meant they were allowed to be friends with him, meant they were allowed to spend a lot more time with him than they normally would have.

And, Elyan found, he was... Different.

Everyone always knew Merlin was different merely from the way he acted, from the way he carried himself and formed such friendships with nearly everyone he met, of course, but Elyan knew there was something else, something everyone just seemed to be missing. Like he wasn't showing them everything he was, everything he had in him. It was almost as though he was hiding something, almost like he was afraid to tell them something important about him and who he was.

So, when Elyan caught Merlin in the halls of the castle one night, obviously sleep-walking, his eyes open and golden as he mumbled about having to clean the floors before Arthur threw him in the stocks for a week...

He wasn't surprised in the least.

~!~!~!~

Arthur might have been a bit of a clot-pole from time-to-time, but he wasn't as stupid as Merlin accused him of being. He was actually rather observant, thank you very much, as a good king needed to be. So he noticed things, things that not everyone supposed he did.

Like the way Merlin grew nervous when the subject of magic was brought up, the way he sympathized with those accused and caught practicing magic. The way he was cagey about his past, his life growing up, why he seemed to hesitate when asked certain questions or when certain tales of heroism from over the years was brought up.

Everything about Merlin was different and strange and aloof and stressed and nervous all at once, and Arthur knew there was something he didn't feel he could tell him.

And sure, Arthur hinted at that fact, danced around it from time-to-time, fished for information, played the fool so Merlin might slip up...

But he never quite got anywhere like that, and he had all but given up on finding out just what Merlin was so intent on keeping from him—some people, he told himself with a sigh, just kept things to themselves, kept secrets to try to protect those they cared about. Resigned to that fact, Arthur kept their relationship to what it was: comfortable, teasing, curious, all the while wondering against himself what there was about Merlin that he couldn't quite place, what it was that made him Merlin.

So, when they were ambushed, coming back from a patrol, by some of Cenred's men and Arthur was struck protecting Merlin himself, the world falling into a dark cloak around him as the rest of the battle was fought—and won—around him by his knights, and Arthur later woke up to a soft incantation of some sort, his own eyes snapping up to find Merlin's soft, focused, golden ones...

He wasn't surprised in the least.

Fin.