Disclaimer: Everything you recognise from the BBC series Merlin, including but not limited to characters, places, spells and concepts, is the property of the respective copyright holder. I mean no offence to anyone and make no money with this.

Author's Note: First of all, apologies to anyone who followed an author alert and is now disappointed that this is not a Harry Potter fanfiction. What can I say, I wanted to try something new. I'm not sure how well it turned out, to be honest, or if I'm entirely happy with my characterisations, but I hope that at least some of you will enjoy it...

Warnings: This is set after "Lancelot du Lac" (Series 4, Episode 9), but before "A Herald of the New Age" (Series 4, Episode 10). As such there might be spoilers for anything that happened before. I also borrowed a few characters that only appear in Series 5, but as I changed the circumstances of their introduction there won't be (m)any spoilers.
Attempted rape, violence, pre-slash (if you want to see it that way).

1. Lest There Be Laughter

Merlin huffed out an annoyed breath as the feathery monstrosity atop his head once again came too close to his mouth before throwing a glare in Arthur's direction. Arthur, who was surrounded by the more or less gracious losers of the annual Jousting Tournament, drinking from the watered down wine in his cup and regaling his listeners with stories of his many triumphs and exploits, but still found the time to smirk at Merlin and motion for him to refill his cup.

"Having fun, Merlin?" Arthur mocked while Merlin topped off his cup and much to Merlin's annoyance managed not to spill any of the wine on the way to his mouth.

"Time of my life, Sire," Merlin muttered, making to draw back again and take his place among the shadows, but Arthur's next words stopped him.

"Since you're in such a good mood I think it's only fair that you share it with us." There was a gleam in Arthur's eyes that Merlin didn't care for, only a distant echo of the careless cruelty he had displayed during their first meeting, but which still sent a shiver down Merlin's back. "Entertain us, Merlin."

"Sire, I don't believe I have any skills that you would find entertaining," Merlin replied in a whisper because as long as no-one noticed their conversation Arthur might still forget his idea. "If that is all..."

"Always so modest, our Merlin," Gwaine's baritone erupted to Merlin's left and the young warlock couldn't help the small flinch. Gwaine was once again too deep into his cups and after the incident the knights couldn't remember and Merlin refused to acknowledge his usual jocular manner rubbed painfully over a barely healed wound. "I bet he sings like a little bird, like a merlin."

"Merlins are no singing birds, Sir Knight, and neither am I," he forced himself to answer, once more trying to retreat, but Gwaine's loud words had garnered the attention of more than just Camelot's knights and when Arthur's sword-calloused hand wrapped around his wrist he couldn't free himself without causing a scene.

"I should like to test that theory." The corners of Arthur's mouth twitched with amusement. "Go on then, let us hear, and if it's any good you may have the rest of the night off. We all know how much you like your sleep."

If Merlin had been in a better mood, if he hadn't spent the last three days and nights tending to Arthur and his many tournament-related needs, if he could still joke and laugh with the other knights without hearing their jeering words and feeling their physical strength pressed against him, if Agravaine wasn't constantly poisoning the king's mind with his bad advice, if Arthur had given him as much as nod in acknowledgement for having some of Gaius' muscle-relaxing salve at the ready after the final round and kneading his tense shoulders until his own fingers felt numb – if any of that had been the case, Merlin might have seen the peace offering in Arthur's words. As it was, however, he only felt tired, exhausted, and wildly thought if maybe he could use the song of the fake Lady Helen to put everyone to sleep and finally have some peace and quiet.

Gwaine started clapping loudly, whistling through his teeth, and soon the other knights joined in, laughing and staring at Merlin, just teasing him, happy and relaxed now that they had pointlessly expanded all their surplus energy by riding at each other with blunt sticks. Even Arthur looked relaxed, for once his good humour not snuffed out by the added burden of his new kingly duties, and something in Merlin clenched with the fierce need to protect this carefree side of Arthur. Making a fool of himself wouldn't be the worst thing he had ever done for his king.

He carefully placed the jug down on the table, which somehow gave the signal for everyone to quiet down and look at him expectantly. Merlin nervously cleared his throat and clenched his hands at his sides before he started to hum.

"Louder, we can't hear you!" One of the visiting knights shouted gleefully, a large fellow who had nearly unseated Percival in their joust.

Merlin broke off, irritated, then started again, gradually gaining confidence and volume at the old words his mother used to sing to him, about dark nights and bright stars, summer rains and winter suns, sowing and harvesting and the times in between. It wasn't a song suited for the ears of knights and noblewomen who had never known the toil of working the land, never realised the intimate connection between bad weather and hunger. And it wasn't a song suited to the festive occasion, but it was one of the only songs Merlin knew by heart. When he finished, Gwaine was once again the first to break the silence, hollering and whistling his approval until the hall was again full of noise.

Merlin felt a moment of gratitude for his old friend, resolving to work harder on getting back to the easy companionship they used to share.

"That wasn't half bad, Merlin," Arthur spoke up, but Merlin didn't look at him to find out if he really meant it. "Maybe I'll make you court jester after all."

There was laughter again and Merlin grimaced in distaste, wishing for the end of his humiliation. "In that case, I bid you goodnight, Sire."

He bowed lower than necessary just to avoid Arthur's gaze and then swiftly left the hall before Arthur or one of the knights could come up with another ridiculous request. He breathed a sigh of relief when the heavy doors closed behind him, pulled the stupid hat from his head and enjoyed the cool air around his ears. With the hard stone wall against his back he felt more stable, less like he would collapse or start spinning out of control, but he pushed off after only a few deep breaths and started towards Gaius' and his quarters.

They had meant no harm, Merlin knew that and more than that, he wanted to believe it. Arthur had lost so many people in such a short time and even if he had had any time or mind to notice that he wasn't the only one upset, would still assume that a punch to the shoulder would be as comforting as a drawn-out hug. For Gwaine copious amounts of alcohol were always the solution, no matter the problem, and with alcohol came a loose tongue and even looser thoughts. Elyan had been forced to see his sister banned from the kingdom and Percival, though he had quickly made friends with the other knights, had always remained closest to Lancelot. Leon, good, dependable Leon, had shouldered as many of Arthur's responsibilities as he could, taking over most of the knights' training and the organisation of the guards, and was probably just as run-down as Merlin. He wasn't the only one who missed his friends, who felt alone and spread too thin, he knew that, and he was used to being the butt of the joke, comic relief in dire situations, the useless servant with the goofy smile and the insult-proof skin. He wasn't going to blame them for it. But lately, in his darkest moments, he'd taken to wondering if he would ever change things for people like him or if he'd forever be condemned to choose Arthur's life over theirs. (Was it worth it?)

He sharply shook his head and thought instead of Arthur's room that still needed airing, his clothes that needed mending, the horse stalls that needed mucking. Having the evening off would have to wait until he had caught up with the day's chores.

He was just about to finish with the horses, thinking wistfully of his bed, but knowing that he had a stack of Arthur's rent clothing waiting for him instead, when he heard something other than the soft snorting of the horses or the rhythmic screeching of the door. Foot falls that almost disappeared under the sounds of stomping hooves.

"Hello?" he called, putting aside the cloth he had used to wipe his dirty hands and contemplating the usefulness of a pitchfork for something other than shovelling muck.

"No need for alarm, little bird." It was one of Queen Annis' knights, Unwin, whose horse had shied in his last joust, costing him entrance to the semi-finals. Merlin would have felt bad for him if he hadn't seen him jerking the poor animal back to the stalls, seething and red in the face, and shouting at the unfortunate stable boy who had come to assist him.

"Is there something I can help you with, my Lord?" Merlin asked because contrary to what Arthur believed he knew when to bite back on witty comebacks.

Unwin took several steps towards him and Merlin felt uneasy with the way his large body almost entirely blocked out the light from the only torch, something like foreboding crawling up his back and settling as cold sweat between his shoulder blades. He was close now, close enough that Merlin could smell the alcohol on his breath, and count the uneven stubble around his mouth and neck.

"I'd like an encore, little bird." Unwin leered at him and Merlin wondered if this day really had to get even worse. "I'm sure you'll be very entertaining."

Before Merlin could react, Unwin's meaty hand fisted in the thin fabric of his tunic, pushing, pushing until Merlin was pressed against the wall, one of the hoops for racking up the horses digging painfully into his back and Unwin so close that his every inhalation forced the air out of Merlin's chest. Merlin opened his mouth, whether to try to reason or to scream for help he wasn't quite sure, and felt the cool steel of a blade against his throat.

"Not a word now, little bird, it's not that kind of entertainment I seek." Unwin's free hand went to Merlin's waist, slipping under his shirt and scratching his fingernails over Merlin's skin, while he kept the younger man pinned with the weight of his body. "Wouldn't want to have to slit that throat of yours, would we?"

He traced the tip of the dagger over Merlin's jumping pulse before Merlin felt the bristling of stubble and the wet swipe of tongue following the same path. Merlin shuddered, fear and disgust rising in him alongside his magic. He knew that if he used his magic, Unwin would see and Arthur would know, forcing him to make a decision he wasn't ready for. But his instinct of self-preservation, suppressed for so long, was clamouring for his attention and panic was clawing up through his veins, erasing all rationale. Unwin had used his distraction to cut the cord that kept his breeches in place and now they slipped down his legs, pooling around his feet and exposing him to Unwin's greedy touch. The knight pressed the blade back against Merlin's throat when he jerked and suddenly the chafe of sturdy trousers against his skin was gone.

"Don't," Merlin said despite the threat of the knife, trying to push Unwin back with both his hands against his broad chest, trying to twist out from between his burly form and the hard wall, trying to find words to dissuade him. "You don't want to do this. I'm King Arthur's personal servant, under his protection. He's going to make you regret ever looking at me when he finds out." He only earned himself a laugh and the blade nicking his skin, Unwin grinding his erection between his bare thighs and fondling his backside possessively.

"He best not find out, then," Unwin whispered in his ear, biting at the lobe and making Merlin hiss in pain. "Or you'll regret it, little bird."

His chest heaving with the effort to draw enough air, his vision swimming in a sea of black, he bucked up his body in one last desperate attempt to get rid of Unwin the magic-free way, using every last trick Arthur had ever shown him. Then there was pain, a sudden light-headedness as blood gushed from the deep cut across his throat, down his neck. And lightning between his fingers, a scream that wasn't his own and straw against his cheek. He scrambled for the last vestiges of coherent thought, trying to stem the warm flow of blood – so much blood, too much blood - with shaking fingers. The blinding light permeated his closed eyelids and the searing pain stole what little was left of his breath, leaving him gasping and trembling on the straw-covered floor, blood seeping into his clothes and cold into his bones.

Unwin was dead. Merlin couldn't bring himself to get close enough to check for a pulse, but he could feel the absence of life, saw it in his broken gaze, and squashed the sense of relief that threatened to rise in his chest. His own breeches were half torn and the right side of his tunic was stiff with drying blood, rucked up in the back. He couldn't stop shaking and his arms wouldn't support him as he tried to sit up. So he lay there in the dark, straw pricking his naked skin, and looked anywhere but at Unwin.

When he finally found the strength to get up, his face and neck were crusted in blood. His own curious fingers questing over the newly healed tissue of the knife wound caused a rush of nausea, invoking the memory of another man's fingers and lips against his skin. He staggered over to one of the water troughs, glad that it was too dark to see his reflection in the water, and did his best to wash the blood from his face and neck, harsh scrubs and jerky movements as if what Unwin had done was only skin-deep, could be erased as easily as washing away the dirt and sweat from mucking out the horses.

Less bloody, but still feeling dirty and wrong, he did up his breeches and found a ratty blanket which he slung over his shoulders to hide his damaged clothing.

He caught sight of Unwin's large body, crumpled like a pile of Arthur's dirty clothing, as he inched slowly towards the door. Bile rose in his throat, his stomach churning as the full impact of the night's events hit him. His body folded in half, he heaved and retched, the taste of blood mixing with bile in his mouth, his muscles seizing and locking in contorted positions, his whole body protesting. As if any of this could be undone.

He couldn't look at Gaius, whose face was creased with worry, as the court physician carefully dressed the cut that had bisected Merlin's carotid and ended just above his collarbone in clean white bandages.

"Merlin, I need to know if you're hurt anywhere else." He only registered that Gaius was speaking when the old man gently rested his hand above his knee. He jerked back and would have tumbled from the stool if not for the sturdy table at his back, his eyes darting right and left, missing Gaius' comforting face entirely because there was Unwin, leering at him from the door, slumped underneath the worktable, sweaty against his back, sunk down on the steps to Merlin's room.

"What happened to you, my boy?" Gaius' words came to him through a fog, distorted and far away, and he wanted to answer, wanted to say something if only to ease Gaius' worry, but his heart was thumping painfully in his chest and his throat constricted as if there was still a blade lodged in it.

Gaius sat back on his chair and Merlin was glad for the additional space and for the softly spoken reassurances that tethered him to reality, stopped him from drifting off into the darkness of his mind. Gradually, the familiarity and warmth of the court physician's quarters wove a comforting blanket over his frayed nerves. But he still felt raw, unsettled, wrong. His magic was running havoc in his body, an alien force that he could no longer grasp and wield as he pleased, as if it was angry with him. Or maybe he was the one who was angry.

"Bed." He only belatedly became aware that he had spoken, interrupting Gaius mid-word.

"Of course, my boy." Gaius reached out a hand as if to help him to his feet, but Merlin couldn't bring himself to be touched and got up on his own, stabilising himself against the desk when he was overcome with vertigo.

Gaius hovered until Merlin had safely landed in his bed, huddling under the blankets but not bothering to take off his clothes. "Drink this, it'll help you sleep." Merlin would have protested against the small bottle that was pressed against his lips, but he didn't think that he'd be able to fall asleep without the aid of one of Gaius' potions and the thought of spending what little remained of the night replaying the events over and over in his mind was even more abhorrent than risking the defencelessness of medicine-induced sleep. So he drank without protest and closed his eyes, knowing that Gaius would take it as a sign to leave.

"I'll be outside should you need me," Gaius said softly, worry heavy in his tone. Again, Merlin wanted to say something, to reassure his mentor, but the words were stuck in his throat and the door to his room closed with a soft snick. He opened his eyes and stared out of the window, not seeing the bright stars nor the waning moon.

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