Title: Misunderstandings

Summary: Merlin thinks Arthur's in love with Gwen. Arthur thinks Merlin spends too much time with Lancelot. Lancelot thinks Gwen is over him. And Gwen thinks Lancelot wishes he were with Merlin. Honestly, there's just too much thinking going on in Camelot.

Warnings: Slash, meaning boyXboy.

Pairings: Arthur/Merlin (main), Lancelot/Gwen, Gwen/Arthur (beginning only).

Author's Note: This takes place sometime between the third and fourth seasons. Uther is alive and technically still king, but he's not going to have much of a presence. Lancelot is a knight with Arthur acting as King. Arthur is courting Gwen; however, she is still just as servant, and Merlin is, well, Merlin. This is 3 parts long at about 10,000 words long.

Disclaimer: I am writing this for fun and not profit. I do not own Merlin or any of the characters therein.

Part 1: The One Where Everyone Thinks They Know What They've Seen

Arthur was standing off to the side, a little less than a foot away from Guinevere, leaning forward in a way that Merlin was more than familiar with. He was sure Gwen could feel Arthur's breath, the heat of his body against her skin.

And while Merlin didn't know what it was to have Arthur look at him with desire in his eyes—would probably never know. He did know what it was like to stand so close to Arthur he could feel his breath on the back of his neck. He knew what it felt like to be the only one able to make Arthur smile. He knew what it felt like to be on the other side of the man's affection, and he knew what it was like to be pressed to the ground, wrestled down in a moment of boyish enthusiasm with Arthur stretched out on top of him and laughing all the while.

Merlin had to look away before he did something stupid—like go over there. It wasn't like it would do any good anyway. He could stomp over there all he wanted, push Gwen out of the way and lay claim to Arthur and proclaim his love, and it would end in nothing but him getting hurt, because Arthur was horribly, inevitably in love with Gwen. Not him.

He fiddled with the straps of Arthur's saddle, ducking his head to avoid the gaze of the passing knights. They were preparing to leave on a mission; something about a wayward monster that had been terrorizing villages. Gaius was convinced the monster was a Hydra, and they had searched all night in order to find the spell it would take Merlin to defeat it.

"Nervous?" Lancelot asked, brushing beside Merlin as he made his way to his own horse. He was carrying his saddle bag, staring down at Merlin with a concerned expression. Merlin felt slightly touched; of all the knights, Lancelot was the only one who knew of his magic. He was the only one who supported Merlin unconditionally, who knew of all the extra things he did for the kingdom, for Arthur.

He was also the only one who knew Merlin was horribly and desperately in love with Arthur. Arthur, who would never look at Merlin to save his life.

"Not hardly," Merlin answered, smiling widely at his friend. "You?"

"A little," Lancelot confessed, his voice low, distracted, and Merlin didn't miss the way his eyes flicked to Gwen and Arthur. He couldn't help but follow Lancelot's line of sight, though he regretted it immediately.

Arthur was now kissing Gwen, the gentlest touch of his lips against hers, his hand on her waist in the most respectable, gentlemanly way. Merlin felt the pain lace through him before he could even look away. It wasn't a new thing, Gwen and Arthur. They'd been courting for a while now. But that still didn't mean Merlin liked the reminder.

"We best be off," Lancelot shifted uncomfortably, wrenching his saddlebags higher up on his arm. Merlin smiled at him, but he could tell by the way Lancelot frowned that it wasn't convincing in the least.

But Arthur was walking over, leaving Gwen standing on the steps, staring after him, and they would be on their way soon, departing to fight another monster, and really, it was better to not think about these things. It wasn't as if he could change it.

"Yeah," he nodded at Lancelot as he walked away.

"What was that about?" Arthur asked, his voice sounding unusually sharp as he stopped beside Merlin, his eyes trailing after Lancelot as he spoke, hands tight on his saddle.

"Just asking about the journey," Merlin shrugged, blinking up at Arthur's scowl. It wasn't a new expression for Arthur. Some mix of annoyance and anger about some new thing that Merlin had no doubt done wrong.

"Right," Arthur answered, and Merlin had to resist the temptation to roll his eyes as he continued to pout.

"It's not going to bite you, you know," Merlin told him.

"I know that, Merlin," Arthur answered, rolling his eyes impossibly hard as he pulled himself up onto his horse. Merlin did the same on his own, his eyes never leaving Arthur's sturdy form. "You packed the food, didn't you?" Arthur asked, still eyeing Merlin warily.

"Why would we need food for half a day's journey?" Merlin answered, his quip quick and full of amusement, and Arthur was left blinking at him, which was really, the perfect opportunity to dig his heels into his horse and take off ignoring the startled call of his name behind him.

Arthur glanced behind him again, staring back at Merlin's horse. He was lagging behind, again, walking his horse back beside Lancelot's. Again. He was talking to Lancelot, whispering to Lancelot. Again.

Arthur would have said something. He would have, but if he did, it would have been about the 100th time the past couple of hours, and Merlin hadn't listened to him, yet. Most of the time it was charming—or something—when Merlin just did Merlin, smiling at Arthur and laughing and treating him like he was everyone else. But right now, it was just annoying.

He leaned back in his saddle, staring over his shoulder to look back at Merlin and Lancelot yet again. Usually, Merlin rode up front with him, and it wasn't that Merlin couldn't talk to anyone else, it was just that it was weird and wrong. And that was it. It had nothing to do with the fact that Arthur didn't like Merlin talking to anyone but him.

Merlin could talk to whoever he wanted. Even if it involved whispering and secrets that he apparently felt Arthur didn't need to know.

"Pining, Princess?" Gwaine asked, steering his horse up next to Arthur's—in Merlin's spot.

"What?" Arthur snapped, scowling at Gwaine before he could stop himself. It wasn't that he didn't like Gwaine. Well, sometimes. Most of the time, but Gwaine wasn't Merlin, and that was Merlin's spot.

Everyone knew that.

Everyone except apparently Merlin, who was riding beside Lancelot.

"That's like the 1,000th time you've looked back at Merlin and Lancelot," Gwaine said, pulling his water skin out for another sip, and Arthur could tell by the way Gwaine was swaying in his saddle, that it didn't have water in it.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Arthur answered, and Gwaine just laughed as if Arthur the one being an idiot.

"Sire," Merlin's voice echoed in the forest around them. Arthur stopped his horse, looking back as Merlin came trotting up behind him. "We can't be far now, can we?" Arthur stared at him for a long minute, before turning to look at the surrounding forest.

He knew the monster had been last seen in this part of the forest. And as he finally looked around, he noticed what Merlin was talking about. The signs were all around, in the snapped twigs and the shuffling tracks around their feet. Which he would have seen if Merlin hadn't been so distracting. Arthur threw his leg over the side of his horse, dismounting quickly, walking over to the first set of prints he saw.

He wasn't surprised when Merlin was right behind him, his breath ragged and comforting on Arthur's back as he held his own horse's reins tight. The tracks were clear in the direction they had gone. He waved his knights over, and they followed behind him as he and Merlin led the way into the woods.

The tracks led south, zig-zagging a little as it wound through the forest, heading into the bushes, through brambles. When Merlin stopped him with a hand on his shoulder, Arthur knew better than to argue.

He listened for a minute before he heard the loud hissing from the nearby clearing. Then they were tying up their horses and creeping forward as they drew their swords. Arthur glanced back, checking that Merlin was behind him, already knowing Merlin would never leave altogether before he stepped through the bush and into the clearing. After all, there was really no point in letting Merlin run off somewhere stupid or anything.

The monster was…

It had four large heads, all of which whipped around to stare at them as they broke through the bushes. They hissed simultaneously at him, and the heat coming in waves from their mouths hit him so hard he felt dizzy. He stepped forward, his knights fanning out around him as he waved his sword. He turned his head slightly and noticed with a sense of horror that Merlin was no longer behind him.

He snapped around as his knights advanced and spotted Merlin almost immediately. Talking to Lancelot. In the middle of a battle—as if their little romance couldn't wait until they weren't all about to die. He stepped toward them, feeling so angry he could see red on the edge of his vision, making him hot and his blood bubbling and-

Then something collided with his side, and he was suddenly flying, hitting a tree, letting out a painful grunt. The monster hissed over him. It had apparently followed him as its breath struck his face, hot and rancid in his nose, and he was choking on its scent, unable to breathe.

"Arthur!" Merlin's voice echoed around him, and he saw Merlin's dark hair and stupid red scarf—really, did he ever take the thing off—running toward him, and somehow that snapped Arthur out of his trance, because God forbid Merlin go and do something stupid like die.

He wrenched his Sword hand up and over, slicing clean through one of the monster's heads, which fell a little too easily in Arthur's opinion. It landed with a sickening smack. The creature snapped away from Arthur, wiggling around as if in pain. And Merlin was suddenly there, leaning over Arthur and staring at his face as if he'd never seen him before.

"Are you alright?" Merlin asked, low and worried and stuffy.

"Fine," Arthur groaned, but Merlin was already looking away. Looking at Lancelot—of course at Lancelot.

Merlin's hand was on his shoulder, his head turned away, his neck long and lithe and his ear sticking up in that horrible attractive way of his that Arthur refused to think about right now, because really, they were in the middle of combat and there was four—um, seven, there was a seven headed monster.

How had that happened again?

He was starting to get really dizzy now.

"Merlin-," he started, having no idea what he was going to say, but somehow knowing it was important.

"Stay here," Merlin answered, his hand putting pressure on Arthur's shoulder as if that would keep him down. And then Merlin was running off, heading toward Lancelot and toward the monster. And it wasn't that Merlin was leaving him. Arthur could handle being left.

It was just that Merlin was Merlin, and he couldn't expect Arthur to just sit and watch as he fought by himself. He should have known better.

Arthur struggled to his feet, watching as Merlin stood slightly behind Lancelot, his blue eyes on Lancelot as he battled the monster. He realized Merlin was saying something and tried to get closer to hear what it was. To hear a glimpse of what was going on between them that he was so obviously excluded from.

Though a second later, he realized he might not want to hear it. Well, too late, he was already moving toward them.

"…. Hydra…" Merlin yelled, and Arthur stumbled, face planting into the dirt.

"… cut the heads off…." So, he was telling Lancelot about the monster, was he? Well, that was nothing big or secret so why was-

"…Poisonous breath." Well, Arthur thought bitterly, his vision already darkening on the edges. Nice of him to share... With Lancelot.

"…stab it while I…" Arthur tried not to feel too betrayed that Merlin had trusted Lancelot with the information about the monster but not him.

Gwen watched the hunting party approach from the castle window, and there was no missing the fact that Arthur's horse wasn't at the front of the procession as it should have been. And it wasn't that she wasn't worried about him; she was. She was always worried about Arthur; she loved him—she did, but she couldn't stop herself from looking for Lancelot, from her eyes tightening when she saw how his horse was right next to Merlin's. Always right next to Merlin's.

And she knew she had no right to upset. Arthur was courting her, and Lancelot had chosen to walk away. And it was beyond obvious by the way he was attached to Merlin's hip that Lancelot wanted to be with him. And she loved Arthur; she did. Sometimes she just wondered if she loved him enough.

She sighed, leaning away from the window as she picked up her skirts and headed down to the courtyard. The knights were beginning to unpack their saddlebags by the time she arrived, pilling their supplies down and stroking their horses. What was really unsettling, however, was the way they looked at her out of the corner of their eyes. Pity quickly masked and covered up, and then they were turning away.

"My Lady," Leon said, his voice low as he stepped away from his horse, and Gwen stopped her search for Arthur, for Lancelot. She didn't even know which one anymore.

"Leon?" she answered. "What's happened? Where's Arthur?"

"He was injured in the attack, My Lady," Leon said, and he looked wary, his head bowing slightly, eyebrows drawn. "Merlin managed to pull him out of the way as Lancelot killed the beast."

"Oh," Gwen said, and she couldn't help the warmth that ran straight through her chest and into her stomach. Of course, it had been Lancelot that had saved the day. She was no stranger to how brave he could be, and she couldn't help but feel guilty for how she could possibly feel betrayed when he was out saving the man she was supposed—no, the man she did love.

"He's up with Gaius now," Leon told her, his eyes somewhere between pity and understanding, and she half-wondered if he knew.

"Thank you, Leon," she said, before lifting her shirts and turning toward the physician's quarters. She turned the corner, stopping in front of Gaius' chambers and taking a breath. She reached for the door, determined to be true to Arthur, to not cause trouble to Lancelot. She owed them both at least that.

Then the door was swinging open, and Lancelot was standing right there, his dark eyes wide, black hair falling into his face as he stared at her, and she almost couldn't help the way her cheeks flushed as she looked at him.

"Lancelot," she muttered, her breath coming out in a strangled puff.

"Guinevere." he blinked, his lips parting just a tiny amount, and she remembered what it had been like to kiss those lips. Warm and sweat and slow with the taste of milk along the edges.

"I-," she cleared her thoughts and forced herself to focus, to think of Arthur, to think of kissing Arthur, who tried so hard to go slow and to be a gentleman for her. She was courting Arthur, and Lancelot was courting Merlin, and it would never have worked between them anyway. "How is Arthur?"

Lancelot had to blink at the question, at the way Guinevere asked it, at the way she turned her head away and avoided his eyes. Just a second ago, she had been looking at him as if ... and now it was as if she couldn't stand the sight of him. He could never tell which was his imagination.

"Oh," he told her. "Merlin is tending to him now."

And he almost sighed at the idea of Merlin. He'd left Merlin somewhere between guilty and distraught, but nothing Lancelot had been able to say had been enough to alleviate the pressure Merlin seemed to put on himself. It wasn't just that Arthur was injured, it was that Merlin saw it as his fault. Everything about Arthur was Merlin's responsibly, right down to Merlin being impossibly in love with him. Though how Merlin could have controlled something like that, Lancelot had no idea.

Still, they'd had one too many late night drinks and conversations over love and Arthur and Guinevere for Lancelot to judge him.

"But he'll be alright?" Gwen asked, her eyes skirting Lancelot's as she spoke.

He couldn't understand her. While he knew they would never have a romantic relationship, he'd done everything he could think of to ensure they could at least remain friends. He'd spoken about their past relationship, assuring her that he bore neither her nor Arthur any ill will about what had happened. But it was clear from the way she spoke and acted toward him that she either didn't believe him or bore him ill will. It hurt to an extent he hadn't anticipated.

"Gaius says he should be fine in a few days," Lancelot said.

"That's good," Gwen murmured, her eyes focusing on the door to his right, and Lancelot knew when he wasn't wanted. He supposed if he was a good friend he would stay and make sure Merlin didn't do anything stupid, but he honestly didn't think he had it in him to watch Guinevere stand and tend to Arthur, her eyes that soft brown they got when she cared. That wrinkled between her brows when she was concerned.

As strong as he was, he was nowhere near as brave as Merlin when it came to facing the person he loved. Because truly, Lancelot had no idea how he stood by Arthur's side day in and day out knowing the Prince didn't return his feelings.

"I'll leave you," he bowed slightly, turning away and ducking his head as he left.

"Oh, right, of course," Gwen answered, her voice soft, and he could already picture her running her hand down Arthur's face, stroking his hair out of his face, the quiet adoration written across her face. The image painted across the backs of his eyelids.