This was originally a prompt from a friend, which took lots of strange turns in the writing. I haven't completed anything in far too long, so I'm trying to get back into the habit of writing.

It's Merlin/Gwaine in a very vague, mostly gen sense, unless you wanna read into it (which I do, but you don't have to). No other warnings.

It was a lazy, sunny afternoon, of the kind Merlin couldn't remember having in months. Maybe even years, for that matter. There were always chores to complete, enemies of the realm to vanquish, royal prats to pacify. Quiet time like this was hard to come by when you were the crown prince's personal manservant and clandestine protector.

There actually were things Merlin should have been doing right that minute, and Gaius would make him clean the leech tank for sure when he eventually found him. If Arthur didn't throw him in the stocks first.

But Gwaine had accosted Merlin while he was walking through the market, on his way to pick up supplies for Gaius's potions. Without a word, Gwaine had grabbed his hand and shot Merlin one of his dazzling, carefree smiles. Merlin had immediately abandoned all thoughts of duty or even token resistance, letting himself be swept along like a leaf on the lazy spring breeze.

Gwaine led the way through the winding streets of the lower town, in and out of shady alleyways and through noisy market squares, passing by all the sights and sounds and smells of Camelot with no discernible direction. That was typical of Gwaine, wandering wherever wind or whim may take him. Merlin didn't bother to ask where they were headed, merely letting himself be led by the hand, happy and compliant and carefree, enjoying being in someone else's care for a change.

Merlin fully expected to end up in some small tavern of questionable repute, whiling away the afternoon over a few pints of mead and Gwaine's slightly exaggerated tales of adventure. Instead he glanced up in surprise to see the city gates passing overhead as they meandered towards the fallow hills beyond.

The sun was even brighter outside the crowded city walls, the air more refreshing without the scents of crowded human life. It caught Merlin off guard, making him realize just how long it had been since he had left the gloomy castle corridors and felt the sun on his skin. The calm scene felt familiar, like the life he had left behind in Ealdor, in simpler times. Merlin took a deep breath and let the sun and the memories soothe him in equal measure.

Gwaine hunkered down in a carefully scouted patch of plush grass and pulled Merlin down beside him without warning. Merlin let out an involuntary giggle as he nearly tipped over, bumping against Gwaine's sturdy shoulder and lingering for just a moment in his comforting warmth. Gwaine smiled in his conspiratorial way, their faces close enough for Merlin to make out all of the soft laugh lines around his eyes, crinkled in warm amusement. Merlin allowed his gaze to linger as Gwaine glanced away, tipping his head back to watch the lazy clouds slide past. He let out a lofty sigh that Merlin took to be either contentment or wistfulness, or perhaps a bit of both.

Merlin plucked at the long blades of meadow grass, splitting the stalks apart and absentmindedly weaving them into plaited chains. It was something he and Will used to do as children, when they had finished their chores and spent hours laying in the open country fields, concocting stories of the adventures they would have once they were old enough to leave the village. Those afternoons were full of such promise and longing, the grand dreams of young boys with the whole world before them and so much to prove.

But this, here with Gwaine, was different. They stayed silent, though it wasn't oppressive or uncomfortable, like the silence enveloping the royal chambers and tightening like a noose over everyone within. For all Gwaine's usually bawdiness and easy laughter, his stillness was soothing, like a warm blanket stretched over the both of them. For just a while Merlin could ignore all the troubles of the kingdom, the strain they were all under every day; and Gwaine let him, pushing the unpleasant thoughts aside and holding them at bay simply by his presence.

Gwaine shifted, stretching his long limbs and arching his back like a waking feline. The unbidden image of Gwaine as a rough alley cat made Merlin chuckle, earning him a smirk that said Gwaine somehow knew exactly what he was thinking. Gwaine leaned back, stretching himself along the ground and resting his head in Merlin's lap, comfortably, possessively, as if it was where he belonged. The weight was warm and comfortable against Merlin's thigh, like an anchor, keeping his thoughts from wandering too far. Gwaine's eyes closed against the bright sun as he shifted and settled with a contented sigh.

Merlin watched Gwaine's features as he settled into a light doze, his brows smooth and mouth slack. His countenance was so calm and trusting, a look Merlin rarely saw on Arthur these days, even in the depths of sleep. Wavy locks of hair fell forward over Gwaine's brow, tickling against his dark lashes and swaying like the long grasses in the light spring breeze.

Without hesitation, Merlin reached down to smooth them away, tucking them back behind Gwaine's ear. The first touch was like a shock; Gwaine's hair was thick, like his own, but so much softer, like the silken threads of Morgana's finest gowns. It felt luxurious under Merlin's work-callused fingertips, warmed by the sun and soothing to touch.

Gwaine made a low hum in his throat and Merlin quickly pulled back his hand, certain he had been caught doing something he shouldn't. Arthur would already be haranguing him for overstepping the bounds of propriety for just that small indulgence. But Gwaine only cracked one eye open, glancing at Merlin with an arched brow and a small quirk of his lips. The look was amused, but inviting.

Tentatively, keeping his eyes fixed on Gwaine's expression, Merlin reached his fingers down once more and ran them through the soft hair, raking lightly over the scalp with blunt nails. Gwaine hummed and closed his eyes once more, the small smile lingering on his lips. The image of a cat sprang to Merlin's mind again, though perhaps he was more of a contented lap cat, after all.

Merlin took this as tacit permission to continue his exploration, running his fingers from roots to tips, from the crown down to the nape, over and over. He let the soft hair slide through his fingers, enjoying the sensation, like cool water slipping through his hands. Merlin lost track of all other thoughts, entranced by the way the hair curled and rippled, bouncing back into place each time he released it. Gwaine remained still and silent, except for the occasional purr of appreciation or a dopey, half-lidded smile that made Merlin's stomach twist in satisfaction.

Merlin leaned back on one arm, while the other continued its mindless ministrations. Tension he didn't even realize he'd been holding for weeks began to drain from his muscles with the repetitive motion, and he slowly eased himself back onto his elbows. The tall grasses enveloped the two of them until everything else disappeared but the softness beneath his fingers and the clouds overhead, and his own slow, even breathing.

Merlin didn't realize he had drifted off to sleep until he heard a soft voice calling him back from his quiet dreams.

"Merlin. Merlin, time to come back now," it whispered, close to his ear. Merlin recognized that voice, drawing him away from the field of Ealdor and his mother's soft smile and back to the present.

Gentle fingers threaded through his hair and Merlin turned into the touch, loathe to open his eyes just yet; opening them would mean letting go of this moment, this feeling, and going back to his life of secrets and hiding. It was too unbearable to face. Maybe if he willed it hard enough he could stay in this moment forever and block out the rest of the world.

"Merlin, love, it's time to go back. Before Arthur sends out a search party." Merlin couldn't help but smile at the wry amusement in Gwaine's voice; he probably wasn't that far off the mark; Arthur could get tetchy when there was no one there to shine his spotless armor. But he groaned, trying to hold onto this feeling just a moment longer.

Soft lips ghosted over his temple, so light he wasn't sure they were real or just a trick of the wind.

Merlin finally opened his eyes to find Gwaine grinning at him, gentle and sincere. The trust he saw there was reassuring; even if Arthur and the others would never know what he had done, even if Gwaine didn't really know the half of it, at least someone would be there, looking after him while he looked after Arthur.

"Alright," Merlin mumbled, reluctantly sitting up and shaking plaits of grass and flowers from his hair while Gwaine didn't bother to stifle his chuckle.

Gwaine offered him a hand up and pulled Merlin to his feet, then guided him back towards the castle gates, their hands comfortably entwined. They passed under the arching walls and back through the narrow streets, past vendors packing up their wares and people hurrying back to their families in the descending twilight. Gwaine led them on a meandering path, just as they had come, as though he sensed Merlin's desire to delay the inevitable just a little longer.

Gwaine led them to the steps of the castle, looming as dark and ominous as ever, though it no longer seemed as foreboding as it had just hours earlier. Gwaine's hand slipped from Merlin's as suddenly as it had earlier appeared, and with one last lingering smile he was gone, melting back into the bustling of guards and servants.

Merlin turned back to the castle, back to the duties and burdens awaiting him within.