Pairing/s: none
Character/s: Merlin, Arthur
Summary: Merlin had had enough of being scorned, of being ignored, of endless chores and never a word of thanks. He'd had enough.
Warnings: none
Disclaimer: I do not own the BBC version of Merlin; It and Shine do. I am very respectfully borrowing them with no intent to profit. No money has changed hands. No copyright infringement is intended.
He didn't mind being called a servant. He was Arthur's anyway. Whatever he wanted Merlin to be, he would be: gadfly, idiot, drinking companion, jester, a silent post to absorb Arthur's rants, even a moving target at times. Anything to make Arthur happy. Once and future be damned, he just wanted to know and be known by the man.
But with Uther's sneering dismissal of his worth, made worse by Arthur's agreement, Merlin felt himself little more than a slave, an indentured domestic. With dung-rich clothes, chores that even a score of servants could not finish, the sleepless nights, the painful bruises from endless thrown goblets, and exhaustion that the prince - arse - did not or would not recognize, Merlin would have been angry had he enough energy to think about it.
Instead he took it to heart, heard the dismissal and the scorn - and the laughter between the two royals. It was the final straw.
Ignoring Kilgharrah's increasing petulance about coins and destiny, he decided he'd had enough. Gaius was less sympathetic than the dragon but must have known better than to argue with the evidence of Arthur's neglect: clear in the slump of Merlin's shoulders, the pain in his eyes, the smell of shit clinging to him. Instead, he merely gave Merlin the dreaded eyebrow and shoved dinner at him. Then he helped Merlin pack.
In the morning, while people were already bustling about in the courtyard, under bedclothes, rumpled and golden and annoyingly innocent-looking, the clotpoll lay snoring, completely oblivious to Merlin's imminent departure.
Leaving his letter of resignation on the side table, Merlin lingered a moment, then shook himself free.
In a way, he wanted to stay just to have it out with Arthur, shout at him and shake him until some idea of what Merlin had done for him penetrated that thick skull of his. But he knew it would be useless. Arthur was never going to see him as anything more than a servant, disposable, a nothing.
He had to walk away before it was too late and he lost whatever was left of himself. But he'd be lying if he didn't acknowledge that it was killing him to go, just a little.
To say that Arthur was upset was an understatement.
The thunder of horse's hooves behind him, Merlin's name a sharp echo in the forest, as Arthur got closer, Merlin could feel the prat's anger. But he kept going, kept ignoring the increasingly annoyed shouts to stop.
He knew he'd never be able to outrun the war horse, but while it gave him a little thrill that Arthur had come for him after all, he knew whatever conversation there would be between them would not end well.
It didn't take long. Hengroen was trembling with sweat but Arthur ignored the animal, jumped down, and stalked over to Merlin. Although there was always the possibility that another servant had already been conscripted for Merlin's old job, it seemed as if Arthur had somehow managed to dress himself. But he looked so much like the idiot prat of old, all entitled privilege, that Merlin stepped back automatically, a little startled.
Scowling as if he was ready to rip Merlin's head off, nevertheless, Arthur didn't hit him – for once. Instead, brandishing the note Merlin had left behind, he said, "What the hell is this, Merlin?"
Merlin flicked a quick glance at the paper and then shrugged, his voice disinterested. "A letter."
If nothing else, his answer and the way he wasn't fighting back seemed to infuriate Arthur further. "I know that, you idiot." He waved it under Merlin's nose, quick jerking motions, then tossed it aside. "What do you think you are doing?"
Watching the paper float down to land by Arthur's horse, for a moment, he didn't say anything. Hengroen proceeded to nibble at it, the letter disappearing a little bit at a time, much as Merlin's true self had disappeared over the last few years. Finally, knowing that Arthur was growing impatient – and when wasn't he – Merlin said, "Leaving."
Arthur must have known what he'd say. It was in the letter after all.
"You… you can't leave." Sputtering, looking confused and furious and the slightest bit worried, he stepped closer. He reached out, grabbing onto Merlin's arm, and pulling him near, gave him a little shake. "I haven't dismissed you."
Arthur's hold was strong. Sometimes he didn't know his own strength, and while Merlin knew that Arthur didn't always mean to hurt him, he'd done it enough times that Merlin was not going to let it happen again.
Jerking out of Arthur's grip, rubbing his arm absentmindedly, knowing there would be another painful bruise later to add to the collection scattered across his skin, he said, "You don't own me, you… you dollophead." The scowl on his face and the way he stepped back out of reach must have given Arthur some warning. He didn't try and grab for Merlin again. "If I want to leave, I will."
Arthur drew back, looking as if Merlin had sprouted two heads right before his eyes. "You... you can't.…" He sputtered a moment, then stopped. Blinking in confusion, his face cleared a little. He must have figured something out because he seemed suddenly apologetic – well, as apologetic as a royal, entitled, supercilious clotpoll could be. "If it's because of the thing I said yesterday, I… you know how it is. My father…."
It only made Merlin angrier. "How it is? I'll tell you how it is. To you, I'm just some bumbling fool who keeps you entertained. Never mind that you treat me like dirt most of the time." The wall he'd wrapped around in his heart for protection was starting to break, his voice rising in fury. "And don't bother to deny it. We both know it's true."
Stepping back, Arthur looked as if he'd been struck. He was all bluster, too, defending what was indefensible, his voice loud enough to match Merlin's own anger. "You are my servant. I'm supposed to treat you like dirt."
For a moment, Merlin couldn't say anything. What was there to say after all when someone he'd looked to as a friend, someone he thought would be a great king, a great man some day, plunged the proverbial knife into his chest and twisted it? And rejoiced in the blow.
Trying to calm himself, all the while his heart hurting with the beginnings of grief, he reached down to pick up the pack he'd dropped. Slinging it over his shoulder, he said, "Well, congratulations. You're doing a bang-up job."
Arthur was standing there, mouth agape, not even trying to defend what he'd said or take it back. It only made Merlin angrier and sadder, and most of all, disappointed. He gave a great sigh, then settling the pack further up his back, he said, "Good luck with your next servant. I'm sure he'll say 'yes sire' and 'no sire' and lick your boots, just the way you like it."
"Merlin…" Arthur almost sounded sorry. Almost. "I don't want a booklicker. And I… damn it, Merlin, do I have say it?"
Confused, Merlin shook his head. "Say what? Do you expect me to beg your forgiveness for not keeping my place like everyone else, that you can treat me like dirt any time you like? That I should be overjoyed when you've lowered yourself to notice me at all?"
He stood there, scowling, gawping at Merlin in what looked like astonishment, then seemed to collect himself. "You are an idiot. Sometimes, you have no idea of how things are."
It would seem that Arthur wouldn't apologize for it, not even a little. Merlin wanted to throw something or magic the tree branch onto the prat's thick skull and beat some sense into him but even Merlin wasn't that stupid. And it wouldn't matter anyway.
All he could do is tell Arthur how he felt and then leave. At least it would be good to finally tell the arse off.
"How things are? I slave all day for you, without thanks. Waiting on you hand and foot and all you do is complain. And throw things at me whenever you feel put upon. And beat me up whenever you feel bored or angry or frustrated and I'm just supposed to take it? Well, no thank you, my lord. I'll take my chances with the bandits. At least they won't expect me to kiss their feet when they hurt me."
At first, Arthur didn't seem to understand what Merlin was saying but then his face hardened and he drew himself up, puffing his chest out as if Merlin had struck him or insulted royalty. He looked put upon and terribly, terribly misunderstood.
"I never hurt you. How dare you suggest such a thing. That would not be honourable."
Merlin almost laughed because it was just too ridiculous. Arthur had been hitting him almost from the moment they met, and if he didn't see what he'd done, then shouting at him wouldn't change it.
But Merlin had to try, even if it would be for naught, even if Arthur couldn't see what he was. Because perhaps something might get through.
"Then explain the bruises all over my body. And the wounds from the goblets you throw and the cracked rib from the mace work last week."
"You have a cracked rib?"
Arthur sounded upset. But too late. It was clear that he'd not been concerned before now. He'd been too busy shoving his head up his own arse to notice little things, like Merlin getting injured.
Merlin tried not to sound sarcastic but it was impossible with the prat prince looking at him like he cared. "Of course, you didn't notice me struggling with all the lifting you've had me do. That would mean you paid attention."
Stepping closer, Arthur said, "I did notice. The struggling and your attitude of late. You go to the tavern so often I thought it just another drunken exploit."
That made Merlin angrier. "I don't go to the bloody tavern. I'm usually working, you arse. And when I'm not doing all your ridiculous chores, I'm doing errands for Gaius. Sometimes I'm so exhausted, I can't walk, never mind think straight." Arthur was gawping again. It wasn't a good look on him but right about now, Merlin didn't care. He threw his hands up, turning to go. "But it doesn't matter. I'm done."
"Merlin." Arthur was suddenly there, right next to him, holding onto Merlin's upper arm with all the fighting strength of his years of training, squeezing hard enough to hurt. Never mind that it was already bruised to the bone. "We weren't finished."
Giving an involuntary hiss, the pain shooting lightning-fast up his spine and back down again, Merlin must have turned white. He was certainly dizzy a moment. But at least Arthur let him go.
"Merlin, Merlin, are you all right? I didn't…."
The git sounded upset. But Merlin wasn't looking at him. Instead he was trying hard not to faint. Closing his eyes a moment, hoping to will away the pain, he took in one deep breath and let it out slowly. When he looked up again, Arthur was hovering over him.
"What the hell was that? Surely you didn't break your arm as well."
"It's bruised. Everything's bruised. As if you cared." That wasn't quite true. He knew that Arthur did care, at least a little, just not enough to stop. And then he realised that maybe Arthur didn't know how badly he'd been hurt. "Well, fine, you want to know? Then I'll show you, you twat."
Stepping back, he pulled up his tunic and let Arthur see. Bruises, purple and yellow, bright and fading, lined his torso. Merlin remembered each one: the flat of a sword when he hadn't moved fast enough, the wooden shield jammed up against his stomach as he tried to defend himself, the lance butted against his spine when he turned away – at least that one had been an accident. A hundred times and a hundred blows of one kind or another.
"Merlin, I… I had no idea. When I'm training with the knights, we get bruises enough. It comes with the territory. But these… who did this? It can't have been all… I didn't…." At least Arthur was looking ill, at long last.
He wanted to feel sorry for the arse but maybe, just maybe Arthur would finally see him as more than someone to order around and beat up whenever he felt like it.
"I have a bruise on one knee that was my fault. All the rest…." Merlin shrugged. "Are yours. Either from training or throwing things at me or making me the butt of your jokes. And the stocks, of course. They have their own joyful way of reminding me of my place.''
"Why didn't you tell me?" If nothing else, the shame in Arthur's eyes seemed real enough.
"And what? What should a servant say to a prince? Stop, you're hurting me? Would you have listened to someone who is lower than dirt, a nobody?" Merlin wanted to get angry, really he did, but it seemed useless, a sad end to whatever they had been.
"You aren't a nobody. Stop saying that." Scrubbing his fingers through his hair, a sure sign of frustration, Arthur turned his face away, staring out into the forest as if he couldn't bear to look at Merlin. His voice, too, was strained. "You are my servant, my… damn it, Merlin, you are my friend whether my father likes it or not. Just because I can't acknowledge it, doesn't make it less true."
When Merlin didn't say anything, just stood there, joy and despair in his chest, Arthur spun back. Straightening, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly, he said, "Merlin, I can't say it in front of him. I can't even think it around him."
That didn't make sense. If they were friends, to not say it, to ignore him and belittle him in front of Uther, made whatever there was between them a lie. "Is that because you'd get into trouble? Or is it because you can't be bothered to stand up to him for once?"
"Do you think so little of me? You really are an idiot." Arthur coloured a bit, narrowing his eyes and glaring at Merlin. Then whatever was driving him seemed to crumble. All that posturing gone and he looked as unhappy as Merlin felt. Arthur's fingers were in his hair again, pulling through the fine strands, rough and agitated, as he said, "He'd punish you for it, banish you at the very least or worse."
It didn't make sense.
"The only time he even looks at me is to mock me. Or to sentence me to a day in the stocks. I'm nothing to him. Disposable."
Arthur stepped forward, almost snarling. "But you are not nothing to me. And that makes you dangerous."
When Merlin looked at him, thoroughly confused, Arthur must have realised that Merlin had no idea of what he was talking about. Arms now folded across his chest, he relaxed a moment, seemed ready to explain at last.
"I'm surrounded by nobles who rely on my father and myself for favours. It's a way of keeping them happy and willing to support the crown and the kingdom. We need them as much as they need us, for the army, for taxes, for defense, and a myriad of other things too numerous to mention."
When Merlin just stood there, waiting, he seemed reluctant to continue. Perhaps Arthur thought he should have known what he was implying but Merlin was from a tiny village. To him, court politics, even after all this time, was just a mass of puzzling pomposity, made worse by the pretentiousness of rich nobility and glaring self-interest.
Arthur must have known, though, because whatever unwillingness he had for spelling it out to a peasant faded away. "Merlin, if I were to show favours to a lowly servant, it would upset the balance, a slap in the face, if you will, to their exalted status. There would be repercussions."
"Oh."
It suddenly made a kind of sense. Even in the village, when everyone was really equal in the struggle to stay alive, there was still a hierarchy. It just didn't seem that important, though, when people were worried about their next meal. But in Camelot, with wealth and power, they could afford to be petty – and would hold onto what they had by whatever means they could, even if it meant treating those under them with contempt.
"Yes, oh. To my father, even the slightest hint of any friendship between us would be enough. And he would blame you for it." Arms still folded across his chest, Arthur looked very unhappy. He glanced down at the ground, staring with intense interest at his boots. "He might even claim that you've enchanted me for gain. And we both know how that would end." At that, his gaze lifted to Merlin's own, apology and a subdued horror in his eyes. "You'd burn, Merlin."
No one wanted that, least of all Merlin. But why was Arthur explaining it now? There had been ample opportunity over the years and Arthur must have known that Merlin didn't understand the ramifications. He'd teased him often enough about being an unwashed peasant - among other things.
"You couldn't tell me this before?"
"You know how you are. You can't keep a secret to save a life, especially yours." Arthur rolled his eyes. "It would spill out somehow among all that drivel you endlessly mouth."
"Hey!" Deep down, Merlin knew he was right, at least about talking too much. But he could keep secrets. He had the biggest one after all, haunting him every moment. But Arthur didn't know that. "So all this time…?"
"I've been protecting you." Arthur was looking smug again, even sent Merlin a little, supercilious, full-of-himself smile. He started to lift his hand, probably to give Merlin a punch in the arm, then must have realised what he was doing, and let it fall back to his side. His voice was fond, though, as he said, "Idiot."
"I thought…." Merlin was still frowning, trying to process what Arthur had said and what he hadn't.
"Well, stop thinking so much." Pointing with one finger, aiming dead centre at Merlin's forehead, looking as if he wanted to flick a warning into Merlin's skin, not enough to hurt but just a little sting of reminder, he said, "You'll injure yourself."
But when Merlin stumbled back, instinctively moving out of Arthur's reach, the git looked contrite. "I promise that things will be different, well, as different as I can make it without my father finding out."
Arthur sounded absolutely sincere, and his eyes, under all that pomposity, were vulnerable.
Merlin actually considered it. He hadn't wanted to leave in the first place but his heart and his body was tired of being hurt, of being something to use and to laugh at. To be thought a nobody, a nothing. It would take more than sincerity. Arthur would have to give his word and keep it.
"There will be no more throwing things at me. No more hitting me with swords or lances or sticks. Your promise on it, Arthur, or I'll just go home to Ealdor."
Arthur's face lit up, relief in his eyes. Then his grin faded a bit as he considered what Merlin wanted. It was no small thing and they both knew it. Finally, he said, "I can't stop some things, at least not in public. It would get back to my father. He has spies after all. But in private, I… I can try."
Merlin nodded. It was a beginning. But he wasn't finished. "No more goblets tossed in my direction."
"I'll substitute pillows." Arthur's smile was growing again.
Merlin scowled. It wasn't funny, although his heart felt lighter than it had in months. Besides, pillows were made to be tossed back at royal gits and Merlin had been practicing. "No more using me as the target."
"I can't stop that without my father knowing. All my manservants have had to do it. But I'll make sure you have extra padding underneath, chainmail if necessary." Arthur was nodding, appeared to be thinking of how to get around his father's expectations. A good sign.
But there was one more thing that Merlin wanted, would insist upon, and he knew it wasn't the king who made the rules but Arthur himself.
"I want a day off once in a while."
With that, Arthur threw up his hands, shaking his head as if such a thing were impossible and Merlin an idiot for even asking.
"Now you are just being ridiculous. I don't get a day off. Why should you? You'd just squander it, frittering it away on ill-considered distractions, tavern going, or sleeping in or whatever you do when you aren't collecting herbs."
But when Merlin didn't back off, just stood there glaring at him, Arthur gave a long, drawn-out, put-upon sigh. "All servants get a half day off once a week."
Merlin couldn't believe his ears. After all this time, and Arthur knew it, knew that Merlin could have had time to himself. After running himself ragged saving the royal arse and he could have slept in, glorious sleep.
Arthur should be a toad. Merlin would find a spell and he'd make Arthur into the ugliest, slimiest toad there had ever been. With a little crown to remind the git of what he once was.
"You told me I don't get time off, you pompous, arrogant twat." He was so angry his voice was pitching high, almost enough that bats could hear it. The birds certainly could. A flight of them took off as he yelled at the arse.
Face colouring a little, Arthur said, "I took you on hunting trips. That was time off."
Time off, the git thought it was time off? What world was Arthur living in that he thought it was even remotely acceptable to make Merlin go on those bloody awful hunting trips and think it time off? Turning him into a toad would be too good for him. Perhaps Gaius had some suggestions in those books of his – not that he'd ask Gaius because he'd just use the eyebrow on him and talk him into forgiving Arthur.
"Time off?!" If Merlin's voice had been loud before, now it was pretty much deafening enough to strip trees of their leaves and scare the wildlife for miles around. "That was work, you wanker. I had to do all the setting up, the cooking, the cleaning, taking care of the horses…. You absolute tosser."
He finally ran out of breath but when Arthur starting sniggering about it all, then outright laughing, he sent the clotpoll a glare that should have turned him into a pile of bones. But the arse just stood there, impervious. Stupid glares.
So he tried again. "You are unbelievable. There aren't enough insults in the world to describe you, you arrogant, supercilious, egotistical, cabbage-brained dollophead."
After letting Merlin go on and on, his hands waving about, yelling for a while, when he finally ran out of insults and energy, Arthur stopped laughing, instead seemed to realise that maybe, just maybe he was mistaken. But, of course, he couldn't apologize. The world would end before that ever happened. Instead, he said, "I thought it was funny at the time."
"Funny?"
He was getting wound up again, was ready to send another volley of insults Arthur's way when the git said, very softly, very seriously, "I'm sorry."
Merlin couldn't believe that he'd apologized. He hardly ever did that, especially to Merlin.
And while they stood there, Merlin's still dealing with the enormity of it, Arthur said, "Merlin, please. Come home."
Arthur never said please. It just wasn't in his vocabulary, except when talking with Uther. He certainly didn't use it around Merlin.
An apology and 'please'. It was mind-boggling, world-shaking. It completely turned Merlin's view of things upside down. For Arthur to make himself so vulnerable for Merlin's sake was just unthinkable. And yet, he'd done just that.
His anger and frustration and despair leached away; all that was left was exhaustion and the distant dream of a future that might still include Arthur and Albion. His body slumping, worried that he'd misheard Arthur, and yet hoping so much that it was true, he said, "Did you mean it? What you said about being friends?"
Nodding, Arthur stepped closer, reached out and put both hands on Merlin's shoulders, gently though, as if he remembered about the bruises.
"Yes, every word."
He looked down, perhaps gathering enough courage to tell him what he was really feeling. With Arthur, Merlin knew it was such a hard thing to do, a struggle to say what was in his heart. He was as unlike Merlin as anyone could be. That didn't mean he didn't feel as much but saying it was another story. Knowing that, it was all the more precious to Merlin when Arthur let him in.
Finally Arthur glanced up again, held Merlin's gaze as he said, "Merlin, I can't lose you. You are the only true friend I have – and if you ever tell anyone I said that or give the least little hint that it is so, I will personally send you to the stocks and gather the worst of the rotten fruit for the townsfolk to use on the village idiot. Which is you."
That was the Arthur he knew. Threats and love all twisted up in a single gesture.
At last, Arthur gave him a little shake and let him go. His face pinking a little, he said again, "Please, come home."
Already decided, knowing that he was cherished after all – and didn't that gladden his heart so much that he felt that he might burst from it, he couldn't let Arthur figure it out just yet. He was too arrogant by half and this would just make his head so big that he'd not be able to fit through Camelot's gates.
Instead, he said, "Can I still insult you?"
"You are such a girl's petticoat." Arthur was rolling his eyes again. It was a wonder they were still in his head.
Trying not to be too affectionate, knowing that Arthur was slowly withdrawing into that awful shell of his and any emotion would shake him up, Merlin said, "Arrogant prick."
Arthur's reply was immediate. "Daffodil."
"Wanker."
Merlin reached out and pushed him a little, knowing that Arthur needed the connection. Pushing him back, not as gently because sometimes Arthur really didn't know his own strength, still he was grinning. For a few moments, they shoved at each other, elbowed, manhandled, crowding the space between them, a back and forth of friends.
Then laughing, Merlin sprinted away, grabbing at his pack before tossing it up across Hengroen's neck. With Arthur running close behind, Merlin climbed up into the saddle. Then reaching down, one hand open to clasp Arthur's own, he said, "Are you coming?"
Arthur looked up at him, one eyebrow raised. "That is my horse."
Ignoring the implications that it was Merlin who should walk back, grinning down at the now scowling prince, he said, "Are you coming?"
With that, Arthur just shook his head, let Merlin pull him up behind him. Arms around Merlin's waist, he leaned in, growled into his ear, "My horse, Merlin. And since you are making me ride like a girl and this is the only time I'm ever allowing it, I'm doubling your chores tomorrow."
As Merlin snicked at the horse and they started back toward Camelot, he said, "Funny you should mention that." He turned back to grin at Arthur.
"Tomorrow's my day off."