Not Bad
Prompts: Hihi, i have a Merlin prompt if you're interested. Merlin thinks he's a bad person bec he was taught that magic is bad, but also Bec of all the stuff he did/does to keep Arthur safe and ig throw in some touch starved!Merlin too for fun. But the knights compliment/hug/etc all the time and Merlin just doesn't understand what he's supposed to do with this, so the solution is to breakdown crying and try to convince the knights he's the bad person he sees himself as and the knights are just like "but you're wrong and he's 25 reasons why you're wrong" Plz, thx, love your writing - anon
im a fuckin sucker for soft knights & arthur w merlin so, if ur still takings reqs, i would love to see when the knights realize merlin still views himself as a "monster" like is hinted in first ep (? i thinkk, im rusty on my merlin trivia)- is it a passing comment he makes and they realize all together? knight cuddle pile? just give the poor boy some love - anon
if you'd want to write it i'd love to see the collective moment that the knights realize that merlin is self-harming in some way (in my brain this is probably in like a denial-of-things type thing that he probably doesn't even see as self-harm bc he's an idiot, could even be something like healing everyone else w magic but refusing to heal himself... idk feel free to do whatever you see fit!). i can only imagine they'd be frustrated with him and themselves but theyre just loving large idiots (': - anon
ahh yes all the prompts
Read on Ao3 Part 2
Warnings: implied/referenced self-harm in the form of intentionally depriving oneself of physical contact because THAT COUNTS
Pairings: merthur, can be platonic or romantic I don't care
Word Count: 3462
Arthur is confused, very upset, and nothing is alright anymore, thank you very much.
Because you see, despite the image that he tries to present—emphasis on the word ‘try’, there, according to his knights—he does care an awful lot about his people, especially his one particular person that happens to be able to say an awful lot without saying anything.
Merlin. He’s talking about Merlin, in case you hadn’t noticed.
The problem is that for all the man can ramble on about seemingly anything, at any time, he’s remarkably good at saying absolutely nothing about himself. He claims he’s an open book, but he’s certainly in a language that Arthur doesn’t know how to read.
He does know how to read, just to clarify. That isn’t the issue here.
No, no, the issue is that after months, years, almost a decade of Merlin by his side, watching his back, taking care of him, he’s discovered that there’s a secret that Merlin’s keeping from him. One he never intended to tell Arthur.
And before you panic, no, he’s not talking about Merlin’s magic.
Come on, it’s not like it’s not obvious, the man isn’t exactly good at hiding it. Does he seriously believe Arthur can’t see the tree branches that miraculously pick themselves up and fly at the nearest bandit or the spears that fling themselves at the foe about to behind Gwaine? Or the chores that mysteriously get done too fast for Merlin and far too efficiently? Or the way certain magical ailments seem to vanish mysteriously along with his idiot of a servant only to be greeted with a soft shrug when he pokes?
Merlin’s eyes also turn gold, that’s pretty neat.
So Merlin has magic.
Yes, we know, we had a small tantrum over the fact that he told Lancelot first, but it’s fine. Quite frankly, a lot of things make more sense now.
Except for this. Not this.
Merlin is hiding the secret that he believes he’s a bad person.
Now, Arthur’s not sure if you’ve met Merlin, but the man isn’t exactly the image of the evildoer that springs to mind when someone says ‘bad person.’
The Witch Finder, now there’s a bad person. Storming into Camelot, preying on the fear of the people, bribing and threatening and drugging people, torturing them, and condemning them to death just for the sake of a few coins.
Merlin did storm into Camelot, that is true, but he decided to pick a fight with the crown prince and then save his life. He’s not here for coin—if he were, they wouldn’t have had that small, er, issue about the steward not paying him anything for his work for the past eight years, honestly—and he’s certainly not preying on anyone’s fears. Except perhaps Arthur’s fear of losing his dignity.
The look on his father’s face when Merlin dodged the pillow…
Speaking of his father…there’s another one.
His father did not prey as openly on the people’s fear—or as obviously as Aredian, but prey on them he did. He was a strong king, sometimes too strong. He was a blind king, saw the people as nothing more than subjects, not the living breathing humans they are. He remembers Morgana’s voice, saying that authority should derive from the consent of the governed, not from the threat of force.
He always wanted to see Uther’s face when his ward—when his daughter said that to him.
And what he’s done to Morgana…
Arthur grimaces and shakes his head. Perhaps the very truth that he resents the idea of thinking about what Uther did to Morgana, to him…perhaps that is enough.
Those are bad people. At least to Arthur.
Merlin, on the other hand…
Merlin came into Camelot, knowing that if it was discovered that he has magic, he would be burnt at the stake. He came, not with any aspirations of glory, simply because he trusted his mother when she told him to come to Gaius. He came and he was given a job he never asked for, one he had no idea how to do, and stayed.
Merlin learned. Slowly, perhaps, but he learned. Now he has enough knowledge on what a servant should do to break the rules in the most spectacular fashion. Arthur smiles, biting back the chuckle at seeing George dressed up like Merlin and acting perfectly proper and the urge Arthur had to throw him out of the room.
And that’s not even mentioning what he does when he’s not following Arthur around.
Merlin learned. Merlin stayed.
Not just for Gaius, but for Arthur.
Arthur leans onto his desk, staring out into the courtyard where Merlin is tending to the knights’ horses as they mount up for patrol. He watches Leon step a little closer, lowering his head to mutter something to him, watching Gwaine clap Merlin on the shoulder.
Watches Merlin flinch a little too hard.
Watches Leon’s brow furrow and Gwaine take a step back.
This. This is the problem.
Merlin believes he’s a bad person. Which is wrong, but for some reason, he does.
And because Merlin believes he’s a bad person, he believes that anytime one of the knights touches him—or anyone touches him—it will be to hurt him.
How did they come to this conclusion, you may ask?
Arthur bites back a snarl as he turns away from the window.
It had started with the complements.
Gwaine, to no one’s surprise, was quite fond of flirting with anyone and everyone that would let him, Merlin no exception. Talking about Merlin’s looks, his personality, his work ethic, anything, and everything. Merlin would flush, bright red, ears and all, mumbling to himself.
But then Percival had said something and Merlin pushed him away—well, prodded his arm, no one really moves Percival without Percival letting them—and shook his head. Percival had shrugged but the rest of them had noticed the tension in Merlin’s shoulders.
Then Elyan complemented Merlin’s tracking abilities and Merlin hadn’t even acknowledged it, instead insisting that they keep moving before it got too dark to see and they’d be forced to make camp in the woods. They’d agreed, pressing on, but noting the way that Merlin refused to say so much as thank you.
Leon’s perceptiveness should be considered magical. Seriously, Arthur’s not entirely convinced the man can’t see into people’s heads, what with the information he’s able to produce out of nothing more than the twitch of a finger or the slightest huff of breath. But he sees the way Merlin shies away from any display of affection, even as he gently repeats it, watching Merlin turn his back and get back to work.
Arthur never saw what happened with Lancelot. All he knows is that one night, out in the woods, the two of them had gone off to collect firewood and Merlin had been hiding red-rimmed eyes when he returned, a few paces ahead of Lancelot, not ten minutes later. Arthur had glared but the forlorn confusion on Lancelot’s face had given him pause.
Then it was the touching.
One would expect Merlin to be a quite tactile person, and he is. He’s all shoulder nudges and pokes and prods and gentle shoves to get people to move where he wants them to go. And it’s not like the man has much concept of personal space.
No, some of that is not Arthur’s fault, how dare you?
But when someone else tries it, Merlin tenses reflexively, already moving before their hands make contact. He gives everyone he can a wide berth, scuttling around the outside of rooms until one of them breaks and tells him to come here, Merlin, it’s alright, we won’t hurt you. His face never quite believes them.
The strangest thing is how much of it Merlin makes small adjustments for.
He always wears those god-awful tunics, that he won’t let Arthur replace with fabric that doesn’t feel like it’s a burlap sack, with the sleeves pulled all the way down and those kerchiefs tied around his neck. Arthur’s seen his sleeves rolled up before, but only when Merlin’s working and he hasn’t realized Arthur’s there yet. It’s not like Arthur doesn’t know Merlin has forearms, but Merlin will always jump and guiltily roll his sleeves down.
He doesn’t notice why until he accidentally brushes Merlin’s bare skin once and Merlin all but tears away like he’s been burned.
He doesn’t know why.
Merlin has a secret. The secret is that he believes he’s a bad person. That means he can’t accept compliments and he can’t let them touch him.
This is a problem, because Arthur would very much like for Merlin to believe that he isn’t a bad person.
This is also a problem because Arthur has no idea how to do that.
He looks up when there’s a knock on the door.
“Enter.”
“Sire?” Leon steps through. “May we come in?”
Arthur nods, his eyebrows raising as all of his knights spill into the room.
“Shall I assume you’re on the warpath again?”
“Nah,” Gwaine grumbles, throwing himself into a chair, “know this isn’t your fault.”
Leon shakes his head. “It’s Merlin, sire, we’re…concerned.”
Arthur just sighs and tells them what’s been buzzing around his head for the past…however long it’s been. The knights nod.
“He doesn’t like to be touched when he doesn’t expect it,” Lancelot offers, “but when I ask…he doesn’t seem to want to agree either.”
“But he does,” Gwaine argues, “you’ve seen the way he stares at us when we hug each other, he looks like a poor child that’s never had a hug in his life!”
“Which isn’t true.” Elyan folds his arms. “Gwen’s hugged him.”
“We’ve all hugged him.”
“But he still thinks we’re going to hurt him.”
“Well,” Arthur mutters, “we can’t exactly blame him for being paranoid, can we?”
“If you lot are going to talk about me behind my back like it’s a war council, then yeah, I reserve the right to be paranoid.”
“Merlin!”
“Thank god, where’ve you been?”
“I thought we were meeting by the stables.”
“Did you get hurt?”
Merlin raises his hands and takes a step back. “Whoa, can I get through the door first before the interrogation starts?”
“This isn’t an interrogation,” Arthur says, glaring at the knights, “we’re concerned.”
“Uh-huh,” Merlin mutters, weaving through them to the table so he can set down the thing hooked over his arm, “yes, I’m all too familiar with your concern.”
Arthur frowns. “What does that mean?”
Merlin waves a hand. “Oh, just that it’s a prelude to more chores and things to do.”
Is that…true?
“Yes.”
Did he say that out loud?
“Also yes.”
Arthur shakes his head. “Merlin, we’re not coming up with lists and lists for chores for you to do.”
“Really? With how many you all constantly give me, here I finally thought I’d cracked the code as to why.”
Leon steps forward. “We’re not coming up with things to give you, Merlin, nor are we intending to gossip behind your back.”
“So what are you doing?”
“We’re worried,” Lancelot repeats, “about you.”
“Well, I’m right as rain, no need to worry.”
“Lie.”
Merlin’s eyes go wide and he stares at Leon. The knight smiles ruefully and takes another little step forward.
“Lie,” he repeats gently, “you don’t have to lie to us, Merlin.”
Merlin’s mouth thins. “Maybe I don’t want to tell you, then.”
“Why not—“
“No,” Arthur breaks in, causing Merlin to swing his head around again, “no, if Merlin doesn’t want to tell us he doesn’t have to.”
Gwaine looks on the verge of protest, but another look from Lancelot is enough to quell him. He sinks into the chair and tosses an apple to Merlin.
“At least eat something,” he says by way of explanation, “you’ve not eaten anything since lunch.”
Merlin looks very confused—good, now he’s just like the rest of them—but bites into the apple nonetheless. His gaze travels around the room before coming to rest on Leon.
“Why are you all concerned?”
“Because you won’t let us complement you, Merlin,” Leon says softly, “you believe that every time we touch you we intend to hurt you, and you believe that this is deserved because you are a bad person.”
The flabbergasted look on Merlin’s face is almost enough to make Arthur laugh. Almost.
“How…”
“We notice things, Merlin,” Leon says patiently, “we notice you.”
Lancelot snorts. “Good going, mate, you’ll freak him out.”
“Um—there’s nothing worth noticing about me—“
“Not we all know that’s not true,” Gwaine says, and if it had been any other time it would’ve sounded like the next pick-up line at the tavern, “you’re worth noticing, Merlin.”
Merlin’s gaze darts back and forth, finding no disagreement in any faces.
“What—what were you concerned about?”
“Aside from what we just told you?”
“But I don’t—why is that a problem?”
Arthur swallows a curse. “Are you asking why we’re upset that you believe you’re a bad person and you deserve to be treated badly?”
“…yes?”
“Because you’re not a bad person,” Elyan says, “and you don’t deserve to feel like everyone’s about to hurt you.”
Gods, the look of disbelief on Merlin’s face hurts.
“You don’t know that,” he says lowly, setting the apple down, “you don’t know that.”
“Sure we do.” Elyan uncrosses his arms. “We know you, Merlin.”
“I don’t think you do.”
A look passes around the group of knights. Elyan smiles.
“I know that Gwen came home and told me she’d made a friend the first week you arrived in Camelot. I know that you’ve reminded us what family means. I know that you care, Merlin, about your friends, because they’re important to you.”
Merlin blinks in confusion.
“I know you’re a strong man,” Percival says, “and not just because you can lift the packs for the horses without complaining. But you work hard, because you know you can, and so that people don’t have to. You provide what you can because you know what it’s like to have nothing.”
“I—I—“
“I know you’re brave,” Lancelot says softly, standing, “I know you feel the same fear that we all do and you stare it straight in the face.”
He pauses, takes one step closer.
“I know you don’t chase the glory of being brave, but the feeling of being brave and using it.”
“Guys, I—“
“I know what you’ve done.”
Merlin’s face goes pale at Leon’s words.
The knight tilts his head to the side and smiles.
“I’ve been around the longest,” he says in a near whisper, “and I have seen the changes from when you arrived in Camelot until now. I’ve seen the differences, not just in the other men in this room but in Camelot.”
He lays a hand on his chest.
“I know that you’ve made me prouder to serve this kingdom than many others that have tried.”
Poor Merlin is shaking right now, his fingers trembling on the edge of the table. He looks around in confusion, terribly frightened, sending more aches through Arthur’s chest.
“You wouldn’t say that—“ he gasps— “you wouldn’t say that if you knew the truth.”
“And what truth is that?”
“That—that I—“ Merlin’s breaths start to ring in the chamber— “I—I—“
“That you have magic?”
Merlin’s head jerks around to stare at Arthur. Arthur raises his hands and takes a step closer. Merlin flinches.
“It’s alright, Merlin,” Arthur says softly, “I’m not angry. I’m not going to hurt you. You have magic, though, right?”
“Yes—yes, I—but I’ve only ever used it for—for you Arthur, I—“
“Easy,” he soothes, fighting the urge to reach out and pull him close, “I know. It’s alright.”
“No, it’s not,” Merlin all but whimpers, “it’s not okay, it’s bad, it’s bad and I’m bad, I’m bad—“
“You’re not.”
“I am!”
Merlin yanks his arms to his sides, curling them tightly around himself, much to the protest of the knights. His fingers whiten as he clutches the sides of his tunic.
“I’m bad, bad people get hurt, you don’t—you don’t touch bad people.”
“Merlin,” Arthur breaks in softly, “Merlin, sweetheart, I’m going to come over to you.”
He can hear the quickly stifled gasps and Gwaine’s ‘oh shit’ as he inches towards Merlin. The poor man doesn’t move, but the tremors get worse and worse the closer Arthur gets.
“I’m right here,” he murmurs, “I won’t hurt you, sweetheart, do you believe me? That I won’t hurt you?”
“I—I—“
“Because I won’t,” he promises, still fighting the urge to swoop the poor thing into a hug, “I’ll never hurt you, sweetheart.”
“Why not?”
“Because you’re not bad, Merlin, and you certainly don’t deserve to be hurt.”
“You don’t know that,” comes the strangled whisper, “you don’t know what I’ve done.”
“But I know you, Merlin,” Arthur murmurs, “and that’s enough.”
He can’t stop the concerned noise at Merlin’s huff of disbelief.
“It’s enough, sweetheart, it’s—hey! Easy, easy,” he soothes as Merlin’s knees buckle and he catches him before he can hit the ground, “I’ve got you, shh, shh, you’re alright.”
“Oh,” Lancelot murmurs as Merlin starts to shiver terribly, “oh, Merlin, you’re touch starved.”
“Touch starved?”
“He’s not been touched for a very long time,” Lancelot murmurs, hustling to join them on the floor, scooping Merlin’s legs into his lap, “and so he’s not used to it, but he needs it.”
“We all need touch?”
“Yes, otherwise our bodies get…unhappy.” Lancelot shakes his head. “I’m sure Gaius could explain it more. The short version is humans aren’t built to hold each other at arm’s length.”
Arthur tightens his grip on the lapful of shaking Merlin he has. There’s a cold nose buried in the crook of his neck, arms looping awkwardly around his shoulders. Distantly, he hears the scufflings of the other knights as they move closer.
“We’ve got you, sweetheart,” he fins himself whispering, “we’ve got you, we won’t hurt you, you’re safe, you’re good, we have you, it’s alright, now…”
Poor Merlin is still shuddering terribly.
“Shh, shh, easy, just try and relax, we have you…”
Since when has Merlin been this cold?
“Oh, I’m definitely hugging you every day,” Gwaine mutters, helping to prop Merlin up away from the table.
“Why—“ Merlin swallows— “why are you all so warm?”
“You’re cold,” Arthur says, “we’re helping.”
“I’m—I’m—what is it? Touch—touch—“
“Touch starved,” Lancelot offers gently, “yes, Merlin.”
“You’re helping?”
Gwaine shifts behind him. “We’re helping.”
“You’re not…mad?”
“No, Merlin, we’re not mad.”
“I’m not bad?”
Arthur tightens his grip. “Never, Merlin.”
“You—I can—I can stay?”
“Yes, Merlin,” comes the chorus of knights, “for as long as you like.”
Arthur is still upset, very confused, and more than a little overprotective right now.
But so is Merlin.
And they’re…they’re starting to figure it out.
One thing’s for sure: Arthur’s definitely pulling Merlin into bed to cuddle with him instead of getting up in the morning.
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