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mysticsublimeperson · 3 months

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I have a Merthur AU idea!!! I have this Outlander-ish idea

Summary: What if Merlin crosses to another dimension, where the time runs differently and it’s left there, to fend for himself what to him it’s like 15 years but to the knights are just a couple of days. When the knights finally cross to rescue him they find a really hot, 30 ish Merlin that is a dragon rider and a badass and has been constructing the circle of rocks and designing spells and runes to come back to them..

Snippet of sorts:

They were investigating a new wave of new and different monsters they, (Arthur, Merlin and the knights) find themselves in front of a huge megalithic monument, it’s so big that to surround it would take a bit too much effort, just because they are all tired of riding and not finding ANYTHING even if the reports all point to this specific forest.

So they all are in front of this huge rocks and Merlin says that they should go around and NOT across because it doesn’t feel right to cross it, inside the circle the grass is tall and the flora grows freely, weird because it means no one have entered, no animal, no person… even the horses seem to be uneasy there. But the stones are clean, no moss.

Merlín feels a disturbance in the balance, the magic is exited but in tension, like waiting for something to happen. A drop to fall.

“I just… this doesn’t feel right Arthur” Merlin said growing desperate, the tension was starting to get to him. “This seems old, and unbothered, we should not be the ones to cross it, it may be a trap” he had come down of his horse because it wouldn’t get close willingly. That felt like a limit, a border, a huge sing that said DO NOT CROSS.

“You know what Merlin?” Merlin prepared to be mocked, but he honestly didn’t care if it got them out of there. He crouched, and took a little branch from the floor. Surrounding the stones he could see something, he moved the dirt to find runes. They were old. Unbothered. He could not recognize much. Some were familiar but not the same. Until…

Respect.

Eternal.

Rest.

Shit. This could be a grave. A grave of someone powerful. And this someone was asking for respect in his rest. And even dead, everything alive was still afraid of retribution.

“You are right, we will not be the first crossing this huge stupid thing…” Merlin could have cried in relief. He jumped to his feet and turned around, almost clashing with Arthur, who had got off his horse and walked up to him when he was distracted, and this huge mischievous grin in his face “You are” Just a tiny push in his shoulder, it’s all it took, it was almost comical.

“Arth…”

Merlín got up with a spring and his expression was relieved and free, and transformed into one of fear so quickly, it made him want to reach and stop his fall, to ask for forgiveness. To say that it was only dumb a joke.

Arthur could feel his blood freeze, and the time seemed to slow down. And between a heartbeat and the next Merlin was gone.

The laughter stopped abruptly.

He wanted to believe this a joke. But it couldn’t be, he seen it with his own eyes.

“MERLIN!” He shouted surprised of how desperate his own voice could sound, before he could give another step his knights stoped him. “MERLIN!” He screamed again while Percival pushed him out of the way, far from the circle.

Gwaine stepped up to the point where Merlin had been, he hadn’t left anything. The only thing that could ever hint that he had been there were his footprints in the soil.

“Sire, Arthur you need to breathe” Leon tried to get his attention.

Gwaine had his sword out, and pushed it into the circle, and nothing happened, his sword was there, not like Merlin.

He could feel the pressure in his chest, and the burning in his eyes. The anxiety felt suffocating, and suddenly Leon and Elyan were blocking his view.

“Breathe Arthur” instructed Leon, while Elyan tried to get him to imitate him.

It took be a lot more to calm down, and by the time Arthur and Gwaine were calm enough to talk the sun was already setting.

They decided to camp in silence and tension. Elyan had scouted the circle but had not found much. Like Merlin had said nothing came close to the circle, all the animal footprints stopped almost ten steps from the circle.

“But…” Elyan keep going “there’s four points where the earth has been disturbed” he tried to explain.

“What do you mean?” asked Arthur voice rough from shouting.

“There’s nothing entering the circle” he continues “I didn’t think those were footprints, because they were really big, and…” he shook his head and focused “I think the monsters have been coming from somewhere in the circle, they come out” he self finally, eyes set in the fire and voice tense.

A clash was heard and Gwaine was tackled to the ground.

“Get off me” he shouted, “if something is coming from there then I can get in” he growled.

“It’s just an idea” defended Elyan, “I know nothing of magic, there’s runes surrounding the stones! That’s what Merlin was looking before” he pointed to the circle “I don’t know if someone was summing the monsters, maybe what step inside turn into the monsters, maybe they are the sacrifice, maybe this has nothing to do w the monsters at all, and even if this is some kind of passage way, how do we know that place it's not worse” Elyan looked at Gwaine “Merlin is the one that knew most of this stuff” and Arthur’s eyes started to burn.

“I might as well killed him” he said in low voice, rough a guilty.

That made Gwaine stop.

“We” said in grave tone. “We all agreed, If you hadn’t done it yourself, I would have, it was a joke, we were stressed, and when that happen we tend to tease him, none of us took it seriously, none of us took him seriously” Gwaine let out an angry sob “that's why we need to to get him back, we need to apologize"

They start planning.

They notice that while it’s true that none animals entered willingly, when escaping from a hunter they had no problem entering.

They also find that like Elyan had said, that only happened through one of the four paths.

Birds were different, the crossed the circle all the time, they also disappeared.

They find that they can throw anything that it’s not alive and nothing would happen, sticks, rocks… but the moment it was alive it disappeared, even if that its a flower.

“This is stupid” Gwaine insisted “Let me try”

“How can we know if you are fine? How do we know if you are alive?” Arthur asked seriously.

How do we know if Merlin is alive? Everyone could hear the actual question.

“It’s useless if we lose you too” with every moment that passes his mood worsened. He felt guilty and humiliated because of his outburst, and the guilty again and sad.

“This is useless” when said and sprung to the circle.

“Gwaine!”

Before anyone could stop him, he stuck his hand into the circle, up to the elbow, and all of the could see how it vanished. Leon pushed him out of the circle and as he got out of the circle his hand came back to its rightful place.

“Oh thank gods” murmured Gwaine.

“You risked your sword arm, you idiot” Leon scolded.

Gwaine was way too happy to care.

“How does it feel?” Arthur asked checking his arm.

“It feels normal, like always, but it was really fast” Gwaine said flexing his hand and arm “Can I try again or will you freak out?”

No one said anything, no one stopped him, when he approached the circle again. He introduced his hand again slowly.

“What it is Gwaine?”

“It’s warm” he said slowly, making the knights confused.It was deep Autumn, and even if some days were warm, most days like this one were just bright and cold, and usually wet, luckily it didn’t feel like it was gonna rain any time soon “Let me see” and pushed further.

“Gwaine! Are you sure it’s safe?” Percival asked grabbing him by the other arm.

“Just don’t let me go, yeah? I still feel my arm, I can move it, It looks like only the part of me that trespasses the circle vanishes, maybe… I don’t know maybe it’s like a door, a portal? like Elyan said”

“To where?” Asked Leon.

“There’s only one way to find out” Gwaine said before pushing himself into the circle up until the waist, while Percival still held him by the other arm.

Gwaine finds that the place it’s similar, almost the same, but the circle it’s not there, there are a few rocks in place and some others around in the ground like someone was constructing this same place, the trees also looked different and like he said it was warm because it looked like a spring day. He came out and told the knights, buthere was no sing of Merlin.

“It’s been three days”

“He might have needed food”

“And water”

“Merlin is smart”

“He is resourceful"

"Check again" said Arthur, carefully "Look for specific hints, footprints, sings of a camp, struggle, something. It's been three days and if you said the weather looks tranquil then there's should be a trace of him" He was nervous, excited, he wanted to believe but he also was terribly afraid.

Gwaine nodded and went back. But something happened, Gwaine whole body tensed, so they pulled him out.

"What happened? Are you ok?"

"It changed!" Gwaine had a alerted gaze focused and confused.

"What changed?"

"Everything!" he tried to calm himself down "Th..I think the place was the same, but it was, suddenly it was night, and there was a hole like someone had been digging, probably for the rocks but... I don't understand, we didn't take long but it looked like days have happened, let me see again" before they could process anything Gwaine went back.

"What do you see Gwaine?" Arthur asked, worry forming a lump in his stomach.

"Gwaine?" Elyan asked too.

"Gwaine!" Percival took that a as a signal and pulled him out.

"What?"

"Didn't you hear us?" Scolded Arthur.

"I didn't hear anything" Gwaine answered genuine "I felt your hand, but I did not hear anything" explained " When I went back, the sun was rising, there were sings of a camp, the fire was recently put out" he kept going "I thought I heard someone but you pulled me out" accused Gwaine.

"How much time did you spend there Gwaine?" Leon asked.

"I don't know, a couple minutes, enough to see the sun rise fully"

"You were there only a few seconds"

They all processed that information in silence for a moment.

"You mean to tell me, that time runs different there"

"It appears to, sire"

"We need to get Merlin out"

"We need rope"

#merthur #au #fanfiction #fanfic #merlin #bbc merlin #merlin emrys #arthur pendragon #gWAINE #diferent dimensions #bamf merlin #worried knights #protective arthur #idea #merlin x arthur

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regulusrules · 1 year

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You know what's so special about this scene aside from its destructive irony?

It's that Arthur is addressing Merlin as if he was his knight for real, acknowledging all the times Merlin stood by his side so fearlessly (something we rarely got: thanks bbc writers). At this point, Arthur began to see Merlin as his 𝘬𝘪𝘯 not just his servant, and for a prince who grew up never knowing how to express admiration, he could only voice it in terms of honour.

Which takes us to another point actually; why did Arthur never really knight him? In 3×12? Or when he became king?

At first I shrugged it as the writers' fault (as with everything) because they were always so inconsistent specifically with Arthur's characterization. But while writing to you I swear my solemn oaths, a different lense just popped in front of my eyes and nested in my soul and brain.

Arthur wanted to protect Merlin from himself.

Let's be real; these two had zero point zero self-saving instincts. They blatantly expressed how they would live and die for each other. They fought on who to do it literally every episode when Arthur was not robbed of making that choice. But elevating Merlin's status would've strained their relationship. How?

Because it labels their unwavering loyalty to each other. It solidifies that they were merely just master-servant, not the earthshaking combination they were. It threatens to erase how Arthur always viewed Merlin as his pillar of strength, because if he knights Merlin he could no longer favour him and his companionship over the rest.

Also, knighting Merlin would have required for Arthur to first accept the fact that it's Merlin's duty to be there with Arthur, not because Merlin wants that any longer. Being given everything on a silver platter from the start only for Merlin to be the only one who denied him this narrative and was real with him, this is something Arthur could never let go of.

Lastly, knighting Merlin would have involved Arthur making peace with the fact that Merlin is OBLIGATED to die for him, and I don't think he could've ever accepted that. Even if he always took Merlin with him everywhere, he did it because he always believed he had Merlin's back and that he'll be there to protect him. This reciprocation of loyalty is so important to Arthur that if he ever knighted Merlin it would completely overthrow their little status quo they created for the two of them only.

So there is no denying the fact that Arthur really always saw strength and bravery in Merlin that surpasses any knight, but he never acted on knighting Merlin because he never wanted to put him in that position.

#merlin #they were in love my lord #they just didn't know how to say it #arthur pendragon #bbc merlin #merlin thoughts #merlin x arthur #merlin bbc #need a knight merlin au fic rec rn #merlinbbc #arthur and merlin #protective arthur #to you i swear my solemn oaths #merlin fic #bbc arthur #the adventures of merlin #merlin emrys #LJ metas #regulusrules metas

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uniasus · 6 months

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Whumptober 23 - Day 15 - BBC Merlin

“You’re favoring your wrist,” Arthur points out as he watches Merlin prepare the hearth.

Merlin hums. “Fell earlier on the stairs. Used it to catch myself.”

Arthur shakes his head, only Merlin. He is injured regularly, clumsily doing daily tasks. It is a true miracle he hasn’t cut himself caring for Arthur’s sword. It is a mite alarming how often the man hurt himself, but Arthur has seen his clumsliness in action – dropping pieces of armor on the pitch, watching goblets slip between his hands, misjudging a corner and hitting his shoulder on the stone.

But for all that Merlin is constantly injured, it doesn’t seem to hamper his ability to do his work so Arthur doesn't press.

He watches from his desk as Merlin works, using his right hand to sweep the old ashes into a sheet. He keeps his left on his lap, out of the way. It's obviously a protective posture, but it is a bit odd that Merlin caught himself with his left hand. The man is right-handed. Maybe he’d been carrying something.

Ashes in the sheet, Merlin sets about tying the bundle for easy carrying. Prior to getting a good grip, Merlin pushes back his sleeves and Arthur’s pen freezes.

Just below Merlin’s wrist is a very obvious handprint.

There is no way he got that catching himself on the stairs.

Merlin hoists the sheet up into his arms, carrying the bundle in front of him. His sleeves fell, covering the bruise, but Arthur still sees the four purple imprints of fingers. For it to be that bruised, it couldn’t have happened in the past few hours. Last night maybe?

“I’ll be back soon with supper,” Merlin chirps. Then he is gone, out the door, leaving Arthur reevaluating every nursed hurt Merlin displayed in the past month.

----

A week later, there is a bruise on Merlin’s cheekbone. Not in itself an unusual thing, he has seen Merlin smacked in the face by everything from flying gloves to loose chickens. This one is caused by rolling out of bed and not catching himself.

“Woke Gaius up with my swearing,” Merlin chuckles and Arthur shakes his head.

“Only you.”

But he’s suspicious. Of course, he is. So he asks Gaius.

“Oh, that’s my fault, Sire. I opened his door this morning while he was preparing to do so himself. Caught him right in the face.”

All of which leads Arthur to decide that Merlin has been punched in the face.

-----

Arthur watches Merlin sweep his chambers. There are no visible bruises, no hand he’s using less or limp, but there is still something off about the way he moves. He’s twisting less to get into the corners, turning his head to look somewhere without his shoulders moving.

It takes Arthur a moment to recognize it. He’s seen that behavior on knights, who he then quickly gives a break to so they don’t overwork themselves.

Rib injuries.

Arthur marches up to Merlin and steals the broom.

“You’re injured.”

“I’m not.”

“You’re lying.”

Merlin snags the broom back, and there’s nothing on his face that hints at pain. No wince around the eyes or lines around his face. He's even standing straight. He’s good at hiding pain from his face, Arthur realizes, and that alarms him for so many reasons.

“You are. And this is not the first time. Someone is hurting you. Who is it, Merlin? I’ll see them punished.”

“There’s nothing to help with.”

Arthur grabs the broom again. “There is.”

Merlin tries to yank the broom back, but Arthur tightens his grip. If Merlin really wants it, he can’t rely on arm strength. He’ll have to put his torso to use, add a bit of shoulder strength. Maybe his abs. Merlin grimaces, tightens his grip, but he doesn’t pull.

It’s as good as an admittance.

“Your ribs. Someone hit you. Or kicked you? Who, Merlin?”

Merlin lets go of the broom and moves on to other chores. Arthur catches his jacket and Merlin freezes. Quickly, before his servant can brush Arthur off, he pushes Merlin’s jacket out of the way and lifts his shirt.

Bandages circle Merlin’s chest. Not Gaius's clean linen, but something with ragged edges as if they’d been ripped. And that’s what exactly they are – ripped sheets.

“Sit,” he barks, forcing Merlin to sit at the table.

Merlin bounces up as soon as Arthur releases him. “I don’t need you to help me. I can handle things myself.”

“What things, Merlin?”

Merlin presses his lips together. “Secret things.”

“I gathered that if you didn’t even let Gaius help you wrap your ribs. Tell me anyway.”

“No.”

“No?”

“No.” Merlin stands straight, and Arthur remembers the handprint on his wrist. The bruise on his cheekbone.

“Someone is hurting you, Merlin. I won’t have them escalate to breaking your arm,” Arthur growled.

“No one is hurting me.” Merlin looks straight at Arthur as he says it. Two months ago, Arthur would have fell for it.

“I don’t believe you,” he whispers. “Is a lord blackmailing you or Gaius? Is that why you can’t say anything?”

“No.”

“Do you not know who they are?”

“No.”

Arthur glares. He can’t think of any other reason why Merlin wouldn’t ask for help, other than sheer stubbornness. But he’s never thought of Merlin as that independent a person. He and Gwen help each other with chores regularly. Pride?

“There’s no honor in suffering, you know.”

Merlin looks away. “I know.”

“So there’s no reason for you to work through pain other than wanting me to not know you were hurt.”

Merlin is quiet, which Arthur means he guessed right. Sighing, he pushes Merlin back into the chair. This time, Merlin stays put and Arthut sits in the chair across from him.

“Fine. If you won’t tell me who’s hurting you, at least let me know when you are hurt. I’ll lighten your workload.”

Merlin looks at him in disbelief. “You’ll let me handle this?”

“For now,” Arthur answers. “But if it gets worse, or doesn’t stop in the next few months, you’ll tell me.”

Merlin nods eagerly, and Arthur so, so wants to believe him. But the only thing Arthur believes in right now is Merlin's ability to lie.

“Since you were sweeping before, go back at it, but you can forget bringing up water for my bath. I’ll ask someone else.”

“Thanks, Arthur.”

Arthur gentles his voice. “Of course. And don't forget to get those ribs wrapped correctly before you finish sweeping the floor.”

He leaves Merlin in his chambers with free access to the broom and goes searching for Lancelot to ask him to follow Merlin around. Lancelot is too loyal and honest to hide what he finds.

#whumptober 2023 #n 15 #lyric #suppressed suffering #makeshift bandages #bbc merlin #fic #protective arthur #whump #hurt/comfort #my fanfiction #arthur pendragon #merlin emrys

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stressed-and-queer · 7 months

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You cannot convince me that Arthur would not go to war over Merlin. This man would find a way. A visiting noble hurts Merlin? Merlin is a servant of Camelot and therefore hurting Merlin shows evil intents on Camelot. Arthur would find some diplomatic solution to go to war over this man no matter how thin and frail his excuse might be. It's good enough for the king so it should be good enough for everyone else. Eventually it gets passed around to the other kingdoms that if you're visiting Camelot, you do not fuck with the kings servant.

#merlin #arthur pendragon #bbc merlin #bbc arthur #headcanons #protective Arthur

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theroundbartable · 2 years

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Arthur: so.... Let me get this straight.. you came to Camelot, from Caerlon on the border opposite to this kingdom, entered the lands, knowing fully well you'd be executed for using, performing or simply supporting magic, on sight, I might add.....

Just to receive an autograph from my manservant?

Traveler A: I mean.... If you put it like that....

Traveler B: I told you guys this was too dangerous!

Traveler C: yes, precisely. We would also like an audience with him, Sire. If it is alright with you.

Arthur: Can any of the guards send for Merlin, I'd like an explanation.

Later.....

Merlin stumbles into the room, full of dung, almost falling over the nearest pitcher or chair, just to give the guests a very weak : hello?

Traveler A: that's him?

Traveler B: I believe so?

Traveler C: he is so majestic!!!!!

Traveler A & B: *awkward side glance at C

Arthur: .....

Arthur: none of you get any ideas. He's mine

#bbc merlin #merthur #prompt #visiors #merlin #arthur #protective arthur

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cinnabon-sweetroll-tiramisu · 2 years

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"Who did this? Merlin, tell me!"

"Arthur leave it, it doesn't matter."

"It matters to me who hurts you!" – Manservant Merlin and Prince Arthur

[Arthur sees a hand shaped mark around Merlin's neck and is furious at whoever dared to put their hands on Merlin]

#merthur #merlin #arthur pendragon #bbc merlin #arthur x merlin #merlin x arthur #bbc arthur #cinnabon sweetroll tiramisu #otp incorrect quotes #merthur incorrect quotes #incorrect merlin quotes #merlin incorrect quotes #prince arthur #merlin emrys #merlin prompts #merthur prompts #medieval husbands arthur and merlin #medieval husbands #protective arthur

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cynthia39100 · 4 months

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Favorite protective Arthur

It has to be the scene in s2e7 The Witchfinder, where Arthur carried Merlin out of the throne room like carrying a Labrador.

It's the decisiveness, acting without a trace of hesitancy. It was never a choice if he should protect Merlin or not. And in front of the whole court!

It’s also the way he held himself. He was so in control and concentrated on the situation. Right before Merlin stepped forward to the center of the room his eyes were already on him. His whole body was prepared so the second Merlin lost control, he could step in immediately, leaving no room for others to intervene. Love it when Arthur showed competency. I’m in love with the way Bradley used his body too. His movement was fast and strong and precise, making such a contrast with Merlin.

#arthur pendragon #bbc merlin #favorite merlin scenes #happy new year everyone #protective arthur

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kayzthespaze · 7 months

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*new guy arrives in town to try to become a knight*

Merlin: I dunno, his vibe is kinda off

Arthur, to the new guy: ADMIT TO YOUR TREASON OR YOU WILL BE BURNED AT THE STAKE

Merlin: okay first, kinda hot that you’d kill a guy for me, second, his vibes aren’t that off

#merlin #bbc merlin #protective Arthur #incorrect merlin quotes #incorrect quotes #idek this sort of just happened

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yellow-roseee · 6 months

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Okkkk

So back with another lost fic-

Im pretty sure that this fic was on A03

so in this fic Merlin and Arthur go to some lords house for some kind of celebration or competition. Many lords and their own servants go there too. While they are there at the house, Arthur has to act like Merlin is just a normal servant and everything and Merlin has to try to be extra respectful and stuff.

merlin has to help out the lords other servants with preparing things so he gets like a supervisor of some sort. I think it was a girl.

I remember during the end of it and Arthur or someone else falls into a cold river so Merlin ends up going in and saving them, which ends up leading to him getting washed away. Which also ultimately leads to Arthur going crazy and stoping at nothing to look for him as he should.

also I think there was also a chapter from the supervisor's point of view. Please if anvone knows this please let me knowwwww!

#please #merlin deserves a nap #bbc merlin #merlin #Merlin needs help #rude nobles #arthur pendragon #king arthur #fanfic #lost fanfiction #please help #fanfic finder #merlin fanfic #arthur x merlin #protective arthur #servant Merlin

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totallynotqueer · 1 year

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Give me Merthur fics that made you cry. Like Arthur finding out he has magic, Merlin almost drying, protective Arthur, secret dating plots where uther finds out. All of it. Gimme. ESPECIALLY multi chapters.

#Merlin #merthur #merlin bbc #Merlin fics #merthur fics #merthur angst #protective Arthur

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bitsandbobsofwriting · 2 years

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A Harrowing Childhood

The King, his knights, and his Warlock, are gathered together like they usually are, and a normal, reminiscent conversation turns horrifying.

TW: Severe child abuse, child death/murder. Drowning, burning, animal cruelty, emotional/physical neglect and abuse. This is VERY graphic, especially in the animal cruelty and nightmare department, but also just in everything else. Bad Hunith :(

Merlin had joined in plenty when they, they being himself, The King, and Sirs Lancelot, Elyan, Leon, Gwaine, Percival, and Mordred, had settled around the campfire, but as the night had gone on and topics had changed, he’d retreated in on himself a little. He doesn’t seem sad, he’s still invested, chuckling along to silly anecdotes and gently laughing at embarrassing stories, but he doesn’t contribute, barely having said a word in the hour that they’d been speaking about their childhoods.

Instead, he absent-mindedly plays with his magic. It’s still a novelty to the Warlock, to not have to hide his golden eyes, to be able to wave his hand just above his lap and feel the ripples of magic rushing through his sedentary fingers, as if he’s dipping his hand in the water whilst riding a fast moving boat. The others, if they look, will probably assume he’s just messing with the colours occasionally swirling in the campfire, or the leaves rustling at their feet in the intermittent breeze; he is doing those things, though it’s more of an involuntary shiver as he gently encourages his magic to encompass his charges whilst they converse. He focuses on their heartbeats, the blood rushing through their veins, their pulses, the tapping of their feet, the ever so slight creaking of bones and stretching of skin, muscles, tendons, as they move.

Normally, Merlin does this in high stress situations: during a fight, during important meetings, during planning sessions before a dangerous excursion. He’s so very unused to hearing their heartbeats, one at the tip of almost every finger, so calm and slow and relaxed. He doesn’t wonder, at least not beyond the initial thought and almost immediate onslaught of rather unwelcome memories, why he’s decided now of all times to check in with them. It would seem that talk of childhoods and parents and trouble and punishments needles away at his skin until he knows for certain that each and every one of his friends is happy and serene.

He thought he’d been paying attention, but apparently not, because it takes Arthur—sat next to him with barely an inch of space between them—bumping their shoulders together for him to realise that Gwaine had asked him a question:

“...Merlin?”

The Warlock slams his hand back down to his lap as his mind is shot back into his skull, like the rope pulling his thoughts away had given way under the stress and, instead of slowly fraying, had snapped all in one go; his lips twitch upwards slightly when he hears Arthur huffing an amused laugh from besides him:

“Uh... what, sorry?”

Gwaine snorts and everyone else rolls their eyes and lets out gentle laughs as Merlin’s cheeks pinken. Gwaine repeats his question, his voice extra teasing:

“What about you? How was your childhood?”

Merlin blinks a couple of times as his blush deepens, but at yet another nudge from Arthur, he clears his throat and shakes his head, looking away:

“Oh, nothing worth reporting. I was a rural commoner, so it’s all a bit of... a bit of a downer, really.”

He knows he didn’t have it that bad, knows everything that happened was probably slightly rarer than normal, but Merlin himself is far rarer than is considered normal so... hmm. The way he behaved with his magic as a child... he should probably be grateful for the lessons and warnings he received, others would not have been so lucky. Still, he’s not entirely sure he wants to bring the mood down.

Elyan pipes in next:

“Come on, surely your mum told you what you were like as a toddler at least? Those are the most fun years!”

Merlin’s shoulders tense at the mention of his mother, but they’re... they’re doing good, recently. They write to each other regularly, she’s stopped hugging him so tight he can’t breath, she trusts him to take care of himself, for the most part. He forces himself to relax, and when he notices Arthur’s sudden, almost worried attentiveness at his hesitation, he counts his inhales and exhales in his head, to make sure they’re steady and regular:

“Uh... not really. I was kind of a naughty kid I guess, got punished a lot. Didn’t get out much when I was young because I was sick all the time.”

Merlin has ideas in his head, bumping about in the miniscule cracks and holes and gaps in his skull, about how kids, even hungry peasant kids, shouldn’t be so sick that often, that constantly. The more often those ideas escape their confines and settle in the forefront of his mind, the more he thinks about the fact that he was so sickly he couldn’t leave the house until he, coincidentally, could control his magic better. He thinks about how mum started cooking whatever meat they could get their hands on for longer, when he was that little bit older.

A part of him knows that he deserved all that he got, the food and worse, but he also knows that there’s no way of explaining that thoroughly without painting himself as a victim of his mother. His friends... they like his mum. He likes his mum! It wouldn’t be fair to accidentally trick them into thinking it was all way worse than it really was.

The Warlock keeps the cheeky grin on his face, coy enough that he hopes they get the hint and leave it be. Fat chance, especially with the paranoid natures of Arthur, and Gwaine, and Leon, and Lancelot, and... all of them, really. Gwaine, in the end, is the one to chime in. His tone is playful, but there’s a lining of worry hidden just below the surface; Merlin wonders what he’s so worried about when he pushes his question:

“Fine then, what.... what was the worst thing you did, and the worst punishment you got?”

Leon doesn’t scowl disapprovingly at the other knight, and Arthur doesn’t smirk in the hopes that he’s about to hear something potentially embarrassing that he can hold against Merlin later. The Warlock just rolls his eyes as memories once again flood his mind:

“Uh... I guess that would be when I was... nine? Maybe? I was a small kid so I might’ve been a bit older, I can’t really remember. I was using my magic too much, Will had already seen, and even though he promised not to tell it made my mum... panicky. She’d been trying for years to... discourage me, to get me to learn how to control it. I was finally getting there, the punishments she was giving me were pretty... persuasive, but instead of pushing it down, I used it more. She got real angry one evening, but I think she was more scared than angry, really. There had been sightings of Camelot knights coming further and further over the border, they were barely a mile away from the village the night before, and she saw me making colours in the hearth.-”

The group of knights around him are staring at him raptly, tensely, as if they're awaiting some sort of disaster to strike within the story. They are, Merlin supposes, but they asked for his worst punishment, so they’re going to get it; if it weirds them out then that’s on them for pushing. Merlin smirks a little internally, but only in a subconscious effort to forget how cold and on edge he feels:

“-She tied my hands together with rope, so I couldn’t wave them about anymore, and when it was darker she took me down to the river. It took us hours to get there, because she wanted to get further downstream. I thought it was just... I thought it was her way of apologising, for being so angry. We’d been stargazing before, so I thought... She started crying when I asked her if that was what we were doing, I guess I should’ve known it wasn’t that.-”

He chuckles a little and shakes his head, before shrugging his mouth and continuing, entirely unaware of the ice cold horror making its way through through his companions’ veins; they all hope to God they don’t know where this is going:

“-Anyway. Once we’d gotten far enough, she uh... she dropped the bag she’d been carrying. It was late Autumn, and I, like I said, I was a small kid, so I was freezing, and I asked her how long we were going to be, and she just... I don’t know. She cried more, and she couldn’t look at me. She told me to close my eyes, that we were going to play a a game and everything would be fine and finished soon enough. She... uh-”

Everyone’s focus is on what was in the bag, on why Hunith had wanted to go so far downstream, on the reason for her crying, her avoidance of eye contact, her promise of a coming end. Merlin’s voice is low and slow, and he knows he’s being a little silly, there’s no need to be all dramatic after all, this sort of thing happens all the time in Essetir. He’s the outlier here:

“-I could feel her tying my ankles, and, uh, I could hear her crying still, but then she picked me up with one arm. I thought it was part of the game, and she swung me around and I laughed and wriggled, she just... I don’t know, it felt like she was struggling to walk, like I was too heavy for her, but I know I was a small kid. She laughed too, but I could also feel her crying at the same time. She sang to me for a bit, and then she told me to... she told me to keep breathing no matter what, to not hold it in, to just keep breathing.-”

Merlin’s gaze is stuck solidly to the fire, and he doesn’t notice the sudden silence in the forest around him. No owls hoot, no foxes dig, no beetles rustle, no wind rushes through the trees; likely a reaction to the emotions swirling in his chest and leaking out through his fingertips, a painful mix of fear and love that anyone else would be horrified by. He also doesn’t notice the way Arthur mutters his name, rough and painful, as he gathers the Warlock’s cloak in his hands. It’s been a sort of comfort blanket, over the years, where Arthur hasn’t been able to hold Merlin’s hand or ask for a hug, he’s always been able to angle himself just right so he can run his hands through the soft fabric he’d gifted his servant after a year’s service:

“-Then she dropped me in. It was... there was an overhang, so I fell for a second or two before I hit the water, but it was deep, really deep. Or at least it felt deep to me, I... I was small. I... it hurt,-”

Arthur abandons his grip on the cloak in favour of just taking one of Merlin’s hands as the other absent-mindedly rubs at his chest. The King says his name again, and the contact and sound put together jolts the Warlock out of what was obviously a very deep memory:

“Merlin...-”

He looks up at his King with a raised eyebrow and a slight smile; Arthur’s face crumples even further at the thought that Merlin doesn’t... doesn’t see a problem with this. His own father had been... strict, distant, heavy handed even, on occasions, but Arthur was never hurt outside of training, and the previous King had always come running when his son had a nightmare, at least before he had hit his tenth year. Arthur clears his throat, and without a glance to his equally as distraught knights, he nods for Merlin to continue:

“-Go... go on. How did you... what happened next, Merlin?”

Merlin’s eyebrow raises further at the lack of insult or teasing, but shrugs his shoulder and carries on:

“I... don’t really know. I just remember waking up filthy. I’d... dug myself out, I didn’t know where I was, just that I was still wet and cold, but also covered in mud. I wondered home. Took me a few days, because I got hopelessly lost, but I made it eventually. The whole village celebrated, mum had had them all out looking for me apparently, except in the woods to the East, instead of the River to the South West, which is where she’d taken me. She... it was odd. It was like part of her was overjoyed to see me, she cried so much, she wouldn’t let me out of her sight for weeks, wouldn’t let me near the water for months, but at the same time... she could barely look at me, like she was scared, terrified. A few years later I fell out the roof of the barn and went... uh, well, I went splat. Scared the shit out of Will, I’ll tell you. But yeah, we figure out then that I was some sort of immortal, but that didn’t matter really, I... I never let on that I’d remembered what she’d done, told everyone I just woke up in the woods, that my chest hurt a bit and I was starving but was otherwise ok. No one ever asked again, and I guess mum was... eager, to accept it. We...-”

His previously focused gaze fades into the middle distance, not noticing the tears falling slowly down each and every one of his friends’ cheeks:

“-We’re on better terms now that I can control my magic, she... she doesn’t get as scared or angry as she used to. I’d... like her to not know I remember, we... she’s proud of me now, proud of my magic and the way I use it.”

Merlin’s voice quietens on those last few words until there’s no sound coming from him at all, and Arthur, in the scratchy voice he uses only when he wakes from nightmares or witnesses a massacre of innocents, quietly murmurs to the man pressed close to his side:

“Merlin... your mum, she... she killed you. She drowned you, and... and then she buried you.”

Merlin nods absent-mindedly and hums, so caught up in his own thoughts that he’s completely oblivious to how horrified his friends are. Leon’s father had been strict and unloving, Gwaine’s step-father had a whip-sharp tongue, always available to crack out some cruel judgement or other, but even then, they’d never... no one else’s parents had tried to kill them, and certainly none of them had succeeded:

“Hmm. Yeah, I know. I try not to think about it really,-”

He looks up with a slight chuckle; it’s weak, but genuine, and confusion over whether perhaps they’d... misunderstood, based on Merlin’s reactions, crosses everyone’s minds:

“-but I don’t blame her, not really. It’s not like she hated me, she was just scared.”

Leon can’t help himself here, speaking up angrily, furiously, but still with tears on his cheeks:

“Scared?! Merlin, you were a child, and you were her child, what the hell was there to be scared of?”

Merlin just rolls his eyes, unaware of Gwaine taking Leon’s wrist and squeezing—a normally sure fire way to get the First Knight to calm down— as he continues with a smile:

“She wasn’t scared of me, come on, I was tiny and young and my magic wasn’t really that powerful back then. No, she was scared for me. Like I said, Uther’s knights were creeping closer and closer, probably trying to suss out whether they could steal some of Cenred’s land out from under his nose, or still looking for my father maybe. But being caught by Camelot knights meant death by pyre, even as a child, and the alternative? People were starting to get... curious, about the kid that had randomly appeared about a year previously, if any of them reported me to the guard... I told you want happens to sorcerers in Essetir. My mum... she just wanted to spare me, I guess. However painful drowning was, however much it hurt to swallow dirt from my own grave, anything is better than the pyre, anything is better that what Cenred would have done to me. She did the best she could.”

The silence rings out, louder than anything anyone could’ve said; everyone mentally reminds themselves of the painful conversation that had been had when Arthur demanded to know why Merlin would move to Camelot of all places, when everyone had first found out about his magic: “I’d have been enslaved, Arthur. Enslaved and tortured and brainwashed and forced into becoming a weapon. I’d rather burn, I’d rather drown.”. His words make more sense now than they had back then, in a gut churning way. It’s Elyan who replies first, perhaps thirty seconds after Merlin’s heartbreakingly truthful admission:

“No, Merlin. The best thing she could’ve done for you is left. It may have been difficult but... there are other Kingdoms out there that accept magic. Nemeth even takes refugees from Essetir, and formally Camelot as well, it’s why they’ve butted heads in the past. She... there were other options Merlin. She didn’t have to... to do that.”

No one is surprised that it’s Elyan—who’d always had a greater understanding of the world outside of Camelot, who’d always understood the ease, and sometimes necessity, of travel, who makes the blindingly obvious connection. Merlin just shrugs his shoulder again and sighs:

“She’d spent her entire life in Ealdor, you can’t blame her for not knowing that. She was frightened and desperate, I... I really don’t blame her.”

Leon, ever the most protective, has another retort on his lips, Gwaine’s grip on his wrist and Percival’s hand on his back having stopped working almost seconds after they’d appeared, but Mordred, the youngest, the only other there with magic of his own, beats him to it, asking in a quiet, teary voice:

“What did you mean when you said... when you said that you’d only appeared a year previously. I thought you’d lived in Ealdor your whole life?”

The others appear impressed, no one else had noticed Merlin’s odd choice of words, but the Warlock just smiles and nods his head, answering before anyone else can interrupt:

“Hmm. I had, but my mum... I was a sick kid, so I didn’t really... go out. At all, until I was... eight? Maybe? I don’t know, she didn’t want me to get sick by going outside, but I know she really just didn’t want anyone to find out about my magic, back when it was random and uncontrollable.”

The explanation is... terrifying, frankly, no one around the circle can imagine what it would’ve been like to be confined to one room for their first eight summers, with a woman whose only solution when fearing for the safety of her child... was to murder said child, and cover it up. Hunith had always seemed so... bright, loving, optimistic, wonderful. Perhaps she still scolds Merlin like he was a child, sometimes, perhaps... perhaps she hugs too tight, and sends letters that occasionally have Merlin’s shoulders tensing, and watches him like a hawk whenever they’re together, and waves whatever is in her hand towards him whenever he uses magic. Perhaps she... she isn’t as wonderful as they’d all thought. Perhaps none of them had noticed how... on edge, Merlin always seems around her. He claims not to blame her, claims not to be frightened of her, but... some things are unavoidable.

Arthur clears his throat and shuffles in his seat, aware that Merlin would become horribly confused and maybe even aggressively defensive if he started raving on about how horrific everything he just said is:

“Merlin... will you... will you tell us what else your mother did? To protect you, or to stop you from using your magic?”

Merlin is confused regardless, and looks to Arthur without hiding it:

“Does it... matter? I got off pretty light, in the grand scheme of things, and... and I��m here now, so does it really matter what happened when I was younger?”

Arthur gives him a tight smile, stroking a thumb over the back of Merlin’s still held hand as he responds:

“You... you’re right, you’re here now, and you’ll always be safe and free to use your magic with us, within Camelot.-”

Merlin squeezes his hand, as if it’s The King that needs comforting:

“-But will you just... humour us? What else did Hu... did your mother do to you?”

Merlin still seems confused, especially about the way Arthur stumbles over his mum’s name, but he smiles and nods hesitatingly through it:

“Yeah, I... sure, I guess. As long as you lot don’t take a page out of her book.”

He bumps shoulders with Arthur as he says, it, smiling even as the nerves creep into his words. Arthur shakes his head, quickly and determinedly, as he clenches his jaw, but it’s Lancelot, normally so composed, that responds almost argumentatively:

“Never. Merlin, we would never.”

The Warlock still seems confused, but he nods once more:

“... Ok... I mean it really wasn’t that... ok. She, uh... she yelled a lot at first, when I was really young, but that never really worked. My magic was wonderful, you know? I could help the fire burn hotter in winter, I could help the livestock and harvests, I could grow flowers already in the vase on the table. And sometimes I just really couldn’t help it, you know? I just... didn’t understand. So she would... uh, she would burn me, when she saw me using magic.-”

He rolls up his sleeves, muttering under his breath as his eyes flash a muted gold; a faded white ripple flows over his skin, revealing a patchwork of small, raised scars. They’re rectangular in shape, ranging from silvery to dark pink, and they cover the entire expanse of his forearm, going even further up under his sleeve, and down, with a few small ones on the back of his hand and fingers. He flexes his hand, and the others realise he likely hasn’t undone that spell in front of anyone in years.

Arthur, who’d had to release Merlin’s fingers when he’d reached for his own arm, extends a shaking but gentle hand to pull the scarred arm towards him. Merlin goes with him easily, tensing at first, but relaxing and slumping into Arthur’s side as The King runs soft fingertips over the marred skin; he sighs, long and slow, likely in an effort to stop himself from crying in his despair (or screaming in rage). He slowly pulls the sleeve down again, under the careful watch of the knights and Merlin himself, before tucking the Warlock’s hand back between his own as the other man continues:

“-It got to the point where the poker was permanently in the fire. She cried for the first couple of weeks, whenever I made her do it,-”

The flinch at Merlin’s words could be seen going around the group as if a gale force wind had struck them, but he continues despite their grimaces:

“-but it’s like... like she got used to it, after a while, like it didn’t seem to bother her. She’d just get annoyed, worried. Though I suppose I got used to it too, really. Uh... she also... hmm. Oh! She also made me watch her decapitate all the chickens. We were poor, so we only had a few a year, the rest were kept for eggs or breeding, but... well, she always made me watch, and said that’s what would happen if I was caught. She once... uh...-”

He shuffles in his seat, and other than his earlier quietness, it’s the first sign of discomfort or distress he’s displayed since the beginning of the conversation. Arthur, with Merlin’s sweaty hand trapped between his own two palms, wonders what on earth, after everything, could Merlin be nervous about sharing, and Merlin, oblivious still to everyone’s horror, wonders if he should tell this bit, wonders if this might give the wrong impression of his mum to his friends:

“-she burnt one alive, put the metal guard up in front of the hearth and lit it whilst the chicken was in there. She... that only happened once, and I... I got real sick after, because I tried to hold my magic in.-”

Arthur really hadn’t thought anything else would surprise him, but he has to fight the instinct to scream and yell and hurl his sword at the closest tree as Merlin continues:

“-It was meant to be the same sort of lesson, that that would happen to me if I couldn’t learn to control my magic. There were also the bedtime stories,-”

He moves on from the topic as if he were regaling people with Gaius’ shopping list, and the others wipe their face clean of tears and clench their jaws to stop themselves form interrupting. They get the distinct feeling that... the more they let on about how angry and upset and horrified they are, the less Merlin will speak; he’s always hated upsetting them, after all:

“-they were pretty tame compared to the other stuff, to be honest, but they terrified me almost more than the poker, I think. They were always about monsters coming to steal me away in the night, to take advantage of me and my magic. Sometimes they were about being beheaded or burnt, but she dealt with that easily enough with the chickens. The stories were always about Cenred, about being cuffed and cut, over and over, about having my eyes plucked out so I couldn’t see and my fingers burnt so I couldn’t feel and my nose broken so I couldn’t smell and my tongue cut out so I couldn’t taste. She’d say that they’d leave my ears alone, so I could hear them telling me what to do, and if I didn’t, they’d hurt me more, until there was nothing left of me but a monster, just like them. They... I still have nightmares about them, every once in a while, amongst the other nightmares. I know I could beat anyone in Essetir’s army with my eyes closed, maybe even all at once on one of my best days, but Essetir’s colours... they still make me feel a little sick.”

His story is punctuated by the occasional little chuckle, a smirk on his face as though he were telling stories of childhood troublemaking—sweets before dinner, staying out after dark, saying a bad word—and none of his friends can understand just how he can describe what his mother did to him with such a loving and fond expression. Especially considering they know how explosively he’d react if anyone else around the campfire, or anyone else period, had been treated with such unending cruelty.

Once again, the silence is cutting, and when Merlin finally looks up from the fire to see pale and teary faces, his smile falls away to a concerned frown:

“Sorry, I know my childhood is a bit of a mood killer; it’s why I don’t bring it up much. I don’t get why you’re all that upset though? Other kids definitely had it worse.”

Arthur lets out a deep breath at his words, but gulps his outburst down as he tugs on Merlin’s hand, ever so gently, until the Warlock turns to look at him. When he sees The King’s tears his back straightens and his eyes become worried but sharp, ready to pounce on whatever or whoever had caused Arthur so much distress. Arthur just gives him a small, pained smile; it’s part true, at the fact that Merlin is so affected by Arthur being upset, but it’s mostly just so Merlin calms down and listens. Arthur has a feeling that it will take a lot of effort to convince Merlin that what happened to him, what his mother did, is not ok, magic or no:

“Merlin... that... none of that was ok. That was... that was horrific. You... you understand that? Don’t you? Your mother... she tried to kill you, when there were other options, and she hurt you, instead of taught you. Merlin... she...”

His mouth hesitates on the words and then gives up on them entirely, only managing a small shake of the head as Merlin’s jaw clenches. He tries to pull his hand away, but Arthur won’t let him go, and that just serves to make him more... frustrated:

“My mother loves me, and she did her best, Arthur. Who are you to decide otherwise? You don’t know what it was like growing up with magic, Essetir on one side and Camelot on the other. None of you do.”

No one can help but flinch back at the harshness in his eyes when he turns to look over them all, but it doesn’t deter Arthur as he pulls Merlin’s attention back to him:

“I know, Merlin. We could never understand, not really, but... but I know what abuse is, when I hear it.-”

Merlin looks taken aback at the A word, he knows what it is, and as a Physician he’s seen his fair share of it, but its introduction within this conversation, within this context, his context, causes him more confusion than anger. Arthur interrupts him before he can even begin to think of a retort:

“-and I also know that, if any one of us had said our parents treated us even half as... severely-”

He obviously has to hold himself back from saying badly, or cruelly, or abusively; Arthur knows he has to toe the line here, between making Merlin understand, and angering him:

“-you’d be furious. Merlin... you have magic, and your mother was scared, but she didn’t... she didn’t have to hurt you. That was... a choice, that she made.”

At first, anger fills Merlin’s eyes again, but Arthur can tell that it’s at the thought of any of his friends being treated the way he was treated. But then... then his eyes crinkle—and not as though he were smiling—and his mouth hangs open as he tries to speak. It takes him a few moments, but everyone stays silent, waiting for him as his face twitches between emotions:

“I... she didn’t... she didn’t want to, you... she didn’t want to hurt me, Arthur. She didn’t. She didn’t.”

Arthur frowns but nods, delicate, he thinks, this is delicate:

“I know, Merlin, I know, but it’s like... you know when I try to train you? I’m not... trying to hurt you, and you know that, you know that I never hurt you deliberately, it is always a genuine accident, if you get a bruise or something. The training happens because... well, because I care about you, and I want you to be safe, and I want you to be able to protect yourself. But in the course of your training, you shouldn’t be hurt. Training would be pointless if I just... spent the morning beating you to a pulp and then called it a day. You wouldn’t have learnt anything, see? You’d have just come out the other end... confused, and in pain. But you’d feel indebted to me because I’d tell you I’m helping you, but really, I’m not. You see?”

Merlin takes a moment, but it’s then that the tears begin to fall, slowly at first, as his breath begins to hitch. His words coming out in a raspy whisper, and Arthur has to take yet another of many deep, calming breaths as the Warlock eventually replies:

“She... had other options,-”

Arthur nods, just once:

“-besides hurting me...-”

Arthur nods again, gulping and blinking tears away as he does so:

“-But she... she didn’t mean it. It... it wasn’t deliberate.”

Arthur takes another breath, and bites his lip almost bloody for a moment as he reaches, ever so slowly, for Merlin’s sleeve. He pulls it up, and nods for Merlin to look down at the still free-from-magic scars:

“Look at your arm. And that’s not even the worst thing she did to you. Look at your arm, Merlin.”

It takes Merlin another moment, but he does look down, as the rest of the knights stare on. The first tear heavy enough to fall from his chin lands on one of the biggest scars, a deep red, raised, roughly shaped square on his inner wrist, and he mutters, barely loud enough for Arthur to hear:

“I don’t understand.-”

Arthur pulls the sleeve down again before using his free hand to lift Merlin’s chin:

“-I... she’s my mum.”

The King nods solemnly, but gives a weak smile nonetheless as Merlin sags even further into his hold:

“I know, and you... you don’t have to understand, not right now. We’ll... we can understand for you, we can take care of you, gently.”

Merlin’s response, a mouthed “ok” with no sound, with barely a breath of air, is the last thing said before he slowly rests his forehead on Arthur shoulder and cries. It’s quiet, soundless in a way that says he’s desperate to not attract attention, but Arthur holds him through it anyway; the other knights understand their cue and silently prepare the campsite for sleeping, erecting tents, gathering extra firewood for the night watches, and checking on the horses. They get it finished quickly, despite the massive effort to stay quiet, but by the time bed rolls are being pulled out of bags and stuffed into tents, Merlin has finally nodded off. He sleeps fitfully against Arthur’s chest, a furrow in his brow as he wordlessly murmurs to himself. With only one more glance to the still distraught patrol, Arthur scoops Merlin up bridal style, giving a nod of thanks to Percival when he holds their normal tent’s flap open for them.

It’s several months later when Hunith’s door swings open unexpectedly in the evening. She turns around with a jump, not sure whether to expect an unwanted intruder or simply a neighbour, but what she finds, is neither. King Arthur doesn’t even look at her before he turns his back, shutting the door behind him quietly.

She lets out a gentle but confused laugh as she drops the chopping knife she’d been holding onto the counter:

“My, Arthur, you scared the daylights out of me. Is Merlin with you??-”

It’s been a year since Merlin has visited, two since he’s visited with Arthur, but the only answer The King gives is in the tightening of his shoulders when she says her son’s name. Her son, he thinks, as fucking if.

“-My Lord?”

Arthur lets out a deep breath and turns around, Hunith only becoming more concerned at his severe face:

“No, actually, it’s just me this time, I’d hoped we might... clear some things up.”

She seems confused, but less panicked when Arthur hadn’t mentioned Merlin being hurt in anyway. Arthur has to fight away the urge to rage at her for daring to be grateful that he isn’t here with bad news:

“Where is he, then?”

The smile he gives her is tight and menacing as he takes a step forward, and though she resists, Hunith feels the need to take her own step back:

“With Elyan and Gwen. They requested his company whilst they visit their parents’ graves, and I thought it was a wonderful idea, encouraged them to go sightseeing as well, to the North, so they’ll be away from the city for a few days.”

The words he says have an innocent enough meaning, but Hunith catches something more in his tone of voice, and simply furrows her brows in confusion as Arthur takes another step forward:

“Is... is everything alright, Arthur? What’s wrong?”

It’s the motherly tone, the way she genuinely cares so deeply about Arthur’s well-being, Merlin’s well-being, that makes his skin crawl. He thinks he could deal with it more easily if she weren’t so genuine about it all, if she were faking it. He wanders casually over to the lit hearth, moving an already hot poker further into the roaring flames as he quietly, accusingly speaks:

“Merlin told me what you did,-”

She goes to respond, the confused “what?” on the tip of her tongue, but Arthur turns around and continues before she can say anything:

“-when he was eight. When you tied him down and drowned him. When you dug his grave and buried him in it and had the whole village looking for him in the wrong place.-”

Hunith freezes, her eyes wide and manic and her hands shaking:

“-He told me about the chickens, and the nightmares, and the bedtime stories. He told me about you making him think he was going to become a monster, he showed me the scars on his arms from the poker, and a few weeks later, when he was more comfortable and ready to talk about it more, he showed me the bigger ones on his back, from the belt, from the rope, from the stones. He even showed me the scars along one side of his tongue, from the gravel in his grave that cut up the inside of his mouth. And I’m sure that he’s got plenty more to tell me, to show me, that he’s trying desperately not to remember.”

Hunith can’t resist this time, and takes a stumbled step back as her breathing becomes ragged and her fluttering eyes begin to leak tears:

“No... I... it was for his own good, he needed to learn, anything was better than... better than...”

Arthur turning his back on her interrupts her words, but he can hear her getting half way through the first word of plenty of different excuses as he nudges the poker once again:

“You should know that he still loves you, somehow, and that he didn’t want you to know that he... that he knows, that he remembers. But here I am, telling you that he does remember, in quite vivid detail, because I think you should know. And I also think you should know that you will never, ever, lay a hand on him again. You will never be alone with him again, you will never scold him again, you will never so much as even show displeasure on your face in his presence. That’s if I can’t persuade him to never want to see you again.-”

He turns around once more, quickly this time, the poker in his hand. The red hot end is waving dangerously close to Hunith’s face as she gasps and falls back again, bracing herself against the counter:

“-You should be grateful that I am a far better person than you, and you should be even more grateful that I’m not the revenge type, otherwise you would be in a world of pain right now. Even then, the only reason I’m not making an exception, the only reason I’m not breaking all my rules and landing even a fraction of the pain you caused Merlin upon you, is that it would break Merlin’s heart to know that you’d suffered.-”

He drops the poker onto the table with a clang, the hot end hanging off the edge precariously and sizzling loudly as a leak from the roof drips onto it. Hunith jumps at the noise, but Arthur stays stock still, his glare boring holes into the woman’s own eyes:

“-Despite everything you have done to him, he is still the kindest person I know, and he still loves you. But you will never touch him again, and I will be by his side every second he is even vaguely near you to make sure that he’s safe. Am I understood?”

Hunith takes another shaky breath, but doesn’t say anything, and Arthur darts forward, slamming his hand on to the table as he roars:

“Am I understood?!”

The poker bounces and balances even more precariously on the edge of the table, but just about manages to stop from toppling onto the hay covered floor as Hunith whimpers and nods. Arthur, satisfied, stands up and straightens his clothes before making his way to the door. His tone is jarringly friendly and jovial as he lets himself out:

“Well, now that we’ve got that cleared up, I really must be going. This is only a flying visit. And Hunith?-”

He turns back to her with a dark smile:

“-This stays between us, yes?”

She nods once more, and The King drops his smile, staring at her with dead eyes and a blank expression for barely a second more before walking out into the night and shutting the door behind him.

Sir Leon hands him the reins to his horse as Sir Gwaine whistles lowly, appreciatively:

“Sounded like quite the... conversation.”

There’s a question in there somewhere, but Arthur is too exhausted and angry to bother uncovering it. His only reply is a deep hum as he mounts his horse before leading the way from the village, back towards Camelot, back towards where Merlin should be three days from now, curled up in front of Arthur’s hearth with a blanket round his shoulders and a hot drink in his hands as he happily regales The King with his last week’s worth of adventures.

THE END!!!!

Phew, that was a heavy one, difficult to write, but I’m glad I did it!! I really hope you guys are as horrified as I want you to be, and I hope you enjoyed it. Up next should be some Happy Hunith Fluff in the form of Control Part 6, so keep an eye out for that!!!

Let me know what you think gang, I could really do with some feedback on this :D

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ctmerlinfanfic · 1 year

Text

The One Where Arthur Finds Out Exactly Why Merlin is Such a Bad Manservant

Summary: When Arthur questions Merlin about why he is repairing his old boots rather than replacing them, he gets the shock of a lifetime. OR Where Arthur finds out exactly why Merlin is such a bad manservant.

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The One Where Arthur Finds Out Exactly Why Merlin is Such a Bad Manservant

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The evening saw Merlin and Arthur quietly sitting in Arthur’s chambers. Merlin was sat by the fire, making glue, while Arthur was at his desk reading over several parchments work of paperwork that his father left for him.

Merlin lightly dipped his fingers into the pot, his fingers grazing the glue bubbling inside. He pressed his fingers together and pulled them apart, noting the resistance. It would have to do for now.

He pulled his fingers out and rubbed them along the leather of his shoe, completing the action several times until the edges were coated liberally in the sticky matter. With a sigh, he pressed the stiff leather back over the sole and picked up the needle and thread he had laid beside him on the stone floor in Arthur’s chambers.

Merlin leaned close to the fire to see the holes in the sole and began to resew his boot clumsily. He wished that it had broken earlier in the day when he could have gotten Gwen or one of the seamstresses to fix it for him properly. As it were, despite his best efforts, it was beginning to look like a blurry-eyed four-year-old had been sewing it.

“Merlin!”

Merlin jerked, stabbing himself with the needle in his hand. He threw the needle down as he sucked on his injured finger, glaring up at the back of the prince’s head. “Yes, Sire?”

“Go get water for a bath.” Arthur hadn’t bothered to turn around at his desk to look at Merlin. His eyes still focused on the parchment in front of him.

Merlin looked down at the boot that he was mending in his lap and sighed heavily before glaring up at the Prince. “Now?”

“Yes, Merlin, now.” Arthur scoffed.

“I need to finish this first.” He blindly felt around on the ground for the needle, wincing when he once again pricked himself. Gingerly holding the needle between two fingers, he continued to sew the leather to the sole, glowering when the thread had slipped from the needle. “Ugh!” He would give anything for some privacy so that he could use some magic. It would still turn out like crap, but at least he could make a quicker job of it.

“You’re my manservant–”

“As observant as ever, Sire,” Merlin said dryly, squinting as he struggled to put the thread through the eye of the needle. The fire and various candles did not give off as much light as Merlin would have liked, but he wasn’t in the mood to walk around the cold stone floor in just his socks.

“Just buy yourself a new pair tomorrow at the market. Borrow a pair of mine until then,” Arthur motioned towards his cabinet, where several boots sat at the bottom of it.

“Why hadn’t I thought of that?” Merlin asked sarcastically. “I can just go down to the market and buy a new pair, so simple!”

“That’s what I am saying!”

“I’ll just go down to the market with all the money I have. I might even be able to get a new shirt and pants while I am at it!” His tone was bright, but the sarcasm wasn’t lost on Arthur. “Shall I pick you up something while I am there, Sire? Don’t worry, it’s my treat. I just have so much money lying about!”

Arthur turned in his chair and studied the agitated man in front of the fire, eyebrows raised.

Merlin paid him no mind, focusing instead on retreading the needle. He had finally gotten the thread through the eye, only for it to fall out again a second later. “You have got to be kidding me,” he hissed, throwing his boot off his lap in frustration.

Merlin roughly ran his fingers through his curls, pulling on the ends in frustration. A flush of shame ran across his cheeks, down his neck, and to his ears. With the needle still in his hand, he shut his eyes tightly and closed his fist over it and the thread, waiting as the needle threaded itself. He let out a slow breath and opened his eyes, staring into the fire. Nothing was going right, and the Idiot Prince wanted to make believe that buying anything was in the realm of possibility for Merlin.

“Merlin.”

He looked up, shocked to see that Arthur had moved to sit beside him on the floor. He studied the prince’s face. Gone was the aggravated glare that typically adorned his face. In its stead was a look of unadulterated concern.

“What?”

“Have you been sending all of your pay home to your mother?” Merlin’s eyebrows knitted in confusion as Arthur continued. “If there is anything your mother needs…”

“What?” Merlin rolled his shoulders and shook his head, “Arthur, what are you–”

“As the lone male of the family, you certainly must help support her, but you need to keep enough to see to your needs.”

Merlin turned back to the boot in his lap and continued sewing as he tried to wrap his head around what Arthur was saying. Nothing made sense- not that it usually did, but now even less so. Merlin was beginning to suspect that Arthur had taken one too many hits to the head during his practice session with the Knights earlier that day.

He finished up the sewing and bit off the remaining thread before shoving his foot back into the boot and wiggling his toes. It was tighter than the right one, but he would be able to make do with it. Now that he has sewn the boot, he might be able to fix it better with magic once he gets back to his room. “I’m confused…” Merlin admitted after a minute of studying his boot.

“That is nothing new,” Arthur quipped.

Merlin rolled his eyes and stood up from the floor, brushing off his pants and bouncing on the balls of his feet. “Have you been hit in the head? How am I supposed to send anything to my mother?”

“From your salary, Merlin!” The prince drawled, jumping up to his feet as well. “Honestly, I am beginning to suspect an actual mental infliction.”

“What salary?” Merlin scoffed, folding his arms over his chest. “It’s such an honor to serve the great Prince Arthur that there is no need for payment.” He didn’t mean for his tone to sound as bitter as it did and immediately felt guilty at the look of hurt that flashed across Arthur’s face. “Arthur, I–”

Arthur shook his head, “Merlin, I need you to be serious for a minute. Have you been getting paid, yes or no?”

Merlin shook his head, “No.” He crossed his arms over his chest as he studied Arthur’s face as it got angrier and angrier. “Wait… am I supposed to get paid!?”

Arthur shook his head, “This makes no sense. All the servants get paid,” he huffed out a breath of annoyance and ran a hand through his hair. “I’m sorry, Merlin.”

“Are you sick?” Merlin asked with a raise of an eyebrow.

“I’m serious, Merlin! I didn’t know that you haven’t been getting paid, you should be, and it is only because of my neglect that you haven’t been.” Arthur groaned, “You’ve never asked Gwen?”

“I did,” Merlin admitted. “I knew she got paid, but I just assumed that was because she was employed here longer and that Morgana actually liked her. I assumed my payment was me being allowed to live in the castle and under the protection of Camelot.”

“No– and I like you!” Arthur growled.

“Why, Sire, I’m flattered,” Merlin batted his eyes, ducking when a goblet went flying towards his head.

Arthur closed his eyes and breathed heavily through his nose. “You are afforded the protection of Camelot and a place to stay, but you also have more privileges than that. The least being that you are actually paid to work.” Arthur shot him a smirk, “Even if you are the worst manservant ever.”

Merlin, who had walked over to Arthur’s bed to fluff the pillows, threw one at the prince, slapping him directly in the face. “Sorry, Sire. My hand slipped.” He stared, wide-eyed, as Arthur picked up the pillow and began to slowly walk towards him, eyes menacing.

Merlin held up his hands placatingly and moved, only to trip on some of Arthur’s nightclothes and fell onto the bed.

Arthur, seeing an opening, jumped onto the bed and started slapping Merlin in the face with the pillow, stopping only when Merlin was able to get a foot on his thigh and shove him off the bed and unceremoniously onto the floor.

Warily, Merlin peeked over the edge of the bed and stared down at his disheveled prince. “You okay there, Sire?”

Arthur breathed heavily and jumped back onto his feet before throwing himself on the bed beside Merlin’s head. “What are your official duties?”

“I’m your manservant. Are you quite sure you weren’t hit on the head?”

Arthur shoved at Merlin’s shoulder, “Tell me a rundown of your duties.”

Merlin shoved off his boots and pushed himself more onto the bed, wiggling until he was comfortable. “I wake you in the morning, pick out your clothes, dress you, clean your bedding and clothes once a week, bring you breakfast, lunch, and dinner, take down notes, help you write and edit your speeches, clean your room, do your shopping, accompanying you on hunts, muck out the stables, walk your dogs, bring you your bathwater, deal with you in general...”

Arthur gave a huff of disbelief.

“What?”

“I think I just solved the puzzle as to why you are such a crap servant.”

“Hey!”

“Merlin, you should have the other servants do many of those things. That is literally their job. It’s what they are in the castle for!”

“...I don’t understand.” Merlin raised on an elbow so that he could look at Arthur better. “Isn’t that what I’ve been doing?”

“Your job, your actual one, is for you to serve me. You can’t do that if you have all of those chores. When I tell you I need them done, I mean that I need you to tell the other servants to do them!”

“Oh…” Merlin’s eyes widened, and he shot up excitedly. “You mean, I don’t have to clean your dirty socks? Why has no one ever told me!?”

Arthur chuckled, “I honestly thought you did the laundry because you got off on it.”

“On what?”

“Washing my dirty socks.”

“You’re such a clotpole,” Merlin puffed through a laugh.

Arthur sighed and got to his feet, “Come on. Get your boots on. We have to go deal with something.”

“Now?” Merlin whined as he sat up and slipped on his boots. “It’s late.” He sighed heavily and followed Arthur out of his chambers and up the nearest stairwell. “Where are we going?”

“The Steward.”

Merlin stopped in his tracks and shook his head, “Can we not? He hates me almost as much as Cook!”

“Why? What did you do to Amos?”

“Nothing!” Merlin protested, wincing as his voice echoed through the stairwell. “He hates me because I serve you. From what Gwen says, I was ‘expedited’ past his son or something.”

Arthur snorted, “Don’t get me wrong, George is a much better manservant than you, but I wouldn’t survive more than a week with him as my manservant. The man makes jokes about brass for god-sakes.”

“Now, that’s a guy that gets off on your dirty socks,” Merlin muttered darkly, causing Arthur to cough back a laugh.

They stepped onto the landing of the tower of the steward’s office and quickly walked through the corridors, stopping to allow the guard to open the door before Arthur walked into Amos’ office.

“You’re here pretty late, Merlin.” Linus grinned down at him. “Bad night at the Tavern?”

Merlin snickered and shook his head. Linus knew as well as the other Knights and guard that Merlin was rarely, if ever, at the tavern. It had become an inside joke between Merlin and them that started because Gaius wasn’t as quick on his feet as he claimed to be.

Merlin leaned against the wall and smiled up at the guard. “Doing okay?”

Linus snorted, “You and the Prince are the only people I’ve seen all day.”

“Miss the drama?” Merlin teased.

“Invariably,” he said dryly.

“Merlin!” Arthur called from the office.

Merlin pushed off the wall and indicated at the office, “Well, listen in. I’m sure you’ll get some entertainment from what is about to happen.” He strolled into the office, hands in his pockets. “You called, Sire?”

“I’m not in here for my health, Merlin.”

“Of course not, Sire,” Merlin said, blinking at him. “You don’t do anything for your health. The extra notch in your belt tells us that much.”

Linus hid his laugh behind a cough, his shoulders shaking with barely contained laughter.

“Amos,” Arthur turned to the steward after throwing Merlin a dramatic roll of his eyes. Official duty or not, Merlin would be mucking out the stables tomorrow for that comment.

“My Lord,” Amos bowed slightly to Arthur, glaring past the Prince’s shoulder to Merlin, who merely stared at him blankly, biting back a smile.

“When did Merlin start under our employ?”

“I-I’d have to check the ledger, Sire.”

“Merlin?”

“Twenty-eight and a half moons, give or take a week or so.” Merlin rubbed the back of his neck. “Gaius would have more accurate records. I’m not the best at keeping track of that stuff.”

“Twenty-eight moons, Amos.” Arthur ground out, his eyes flashing dangerously.

“Sire?”

“Would you care to explain to me why Merlin has been under my service for over two years and today was the first time that he heard about any of his privileges, the fact that he has a salary, and what his job entails?”

“S-s-sire…” Amos seemed frozen in his spot, his eyes wide with disbelief. Whether it was because he got caught or because Arthur was coming at him with much more anger than one would typically warrant, given the situation involves a servant, no one could say.

“Get the employee accounts. I want to look at his account, and I’m sure Merlin would like to see how much he has to withdraw.”

Amos bit his lip as he turned away from them to the bookcase behind his desk. He brushed his fingertips across several spines before stopping at a bright red book and pulling it out. He took a deep breath and went to the index before flipping to the middle of the book, where Amos had written Merlin’s name at the top of the page.

The steward turned the book around, and Arthur and Merlin leaned over the desk to study the book. Merlin couldn’t hold back the gasp of shock that left his mouth at what he saw.

Under his name, across pale yellow were three columns, all with dates and the continuing addition of amounts. There had to be over a hundred entries on just that page, and it continued onto the next one.

“I’ve never seen so much money before,” Merlin muttered to himself, his eyes continuing to scan across the page.

Arthur studied him, a frown crossing his face. “Add a half-pound raise to his salary every month, and make a separate expenditure account for clothes and everything else he might need to serve me- add five pounds to that account to start, and an extra pound every six months.”

“Sire!” Amos objected. “He will make more than I do!”

Arthur raised an eyebrow, “Your point?”

“Arthur, that is way too much!” Merlin said, holding out his hands. “What I have on that page is already more than enough.”

Arthur studied him for a moment before turning back to Amos. “Also, make sure you give him back-pay for being Gaius’ apprentice. I don’t see his pay listed here for that.”

“We don’t pay apprentices!”

“So, if I look at George’s payroll, he will not have been paid for any of the apprentice work he did last summer?”

Amos sputtered, his eyes bulging.

“Two pounds a year is his salary for being an apprentice. While you are doing that, make sure that Gaius’ expenditure account is refilled. Merlin said that they have been having difficulty buying the ingredients they need to best care for everyone. That is completely unacceptable.”

“Of course, my lord.”

“Arthur, that really is too much. I can help Gaius buy ingredients with my pay.”

Arthur shook his head, “That money is yours. I’ll worry about what Gaius needs to help Camelot.”

Arthur fell silent and watched, arms crossed over his chest, as Amos corrected the accounts to Arthur’s instructions. Once the man finished, Arthur nodded his head. “Thank you, Amos.”

“Of course, Sire.”

“One more thing before you may retire for the evening. Merlin will report to you tomorrow for orientation to the customs and routines of his job. That includes, but is not limited to, his salary, expense account, and privileges and responsibilities, as well as what he may or may not give to the other servants to do. I also want you to make a schedule for him. It should list the times and days he works for me, the times and days he works for Gaius, and, at least, a day off once a week.”

“Yes, Sire. I will have him at noon tomorrow with all of that prepared.”

Arthur gave him a stiff nod before shoving Merlin out the door in front of him. He stopped and glared at him once more. “Oh, and, Amos?”

“Yes, Sire?”

“I will be going through all of the records, and if in the future there is any neglect on your part, there will be dire consequences.”

“Yes, Sire.”

Merlin and Linus smirked at each other as he gently closed the door behind him before heading back with Arthur to his chambers. They were silent, both of them thinking about what occurred with Amos.

When the door to Arthur’s chambers closed, Merlin let out a breath, “Arthur, thank you.” Merlin rubbed the back of his hand on his neck. “You’ve no idea how much this’ll help.”

“Think nothing of it,” Arthur said dismissively. Keeping his back to Merlin as he walked over to the window and watched Camelot go about its daily life. “At least now I’ll have a halfway decent servant.”

“You are such a Clotpole.”

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#merlin #friends #merlin fanfic #chandluretrainez #king arthur #arthur pendragon #merlin and arthur #protective arthur #banter #frienship #canon compliant #one-shot #bbc merlin #merthur

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