A/N: I couldn't help it, I joined the Merlin fanbase! T.T As if I don't have enough to do right now what with school and graduation and recognition coming up, I've got to read fanfictions, keep up with the latest news on the series/try to catch up on all the episodes, and write my own fanfics….*sigh* first-world problems right?
Anywho about the story: it's just a one-shot right now though I think I'll expand on it a bit depending on how you all like it. Please tell me what you think (seriously, reviews are crack to a writer)
Disclaimer: I do not own the series Merlin or any of the characters associated with said series.
…
Useless
That's what he had called Merlin today. Useless.
Not that this was really anything out of the ordinary: just the verbal abuse that was part of their morning exchange. A tradition that Arthur could never quite pin to a specific date or event. He supposed it had started with their first meeting when Merlin had mouthed off to him for the first time and Arthur had, in return, thrown the impudent whelp in the stocks for the first time.
Merlin, of course, disagreed with this conclusion—because heaven forbid he ever concede a point or give another the last word, this was Merlin after all—claiming that Arthur was "too much of a spoilt prat with a head too far up his ass" to contribute to their witty (as Merlin claimed it was, at least on his part) banter and hence the stocks. That cheeky little comment had earned the raven-haired boy a pillow in the face and an afternoon in the company of the palace horses and their waste.
Regardless of its origin though there was no denying the bond that had formed between master and servant; a bond that had transcended society standards and birthright to allow a friendship to form—not that either would willingly admit it unless under torture or the piercing stare of one Guinevere. It was a source of much irritation for King Uther, a topic of persistent conflict between father and son, a light of hope for the people of Camelot and a blessing for the young prince—though not even torture could pull that last admittance out of him. He just prayed that Gwen would never press the matter.
That relationship, though, the one Arthur cherished so dearly, had been tried several months ago when Merlin had revealed a not-so-small secret about himself.
The bloody idiot had magic.
Reflecting on this, Arthur supposed it made sense, considering how many times the boy had defied the odds and persisted in surviving, well, everything. Dragons, poison and questing beast were no match for the powerful warlock who doubled as Arthur's manservant. And Arthur didn't know whether he was relieved by the fact or irritated that he had wasted precious time worrying for a clumsy manservant who could turn men into frogs.
Not that his worrying was done by any length of the imagination, if anything he found he wasted twice as much time concerned for his incompetent manservant.
Merlin had explained that the magic was not a choice but a part of him, the boy could not stop using magic any more than Arthur could stop breathing and Arthur accepted that. Merlin was not evil, he could barely squash a fly let alone rain down fire and brimstone on an innocent village. So the revelation about Merlin's magic really did not cause too many waves.
The issue of trust, however, did.
It was probably very girlish of him, but Arthur had withdrawn a bit from his servant. These last few months had seen him more reserved with what he shared with Merlin. Yes, logically speaking he knew that Merlin would never do anything to betray him and he still trusted Merlin more than any other man he knew. But, curse him, it hurt Arthur more than he liked to admit that Merlin had not returned that trust! The prince had been punched, kicked, stabbed, shot and knocked out more times than he cared to remember but none of that had hurt so much as the realization that his best friend did not trust him.
And that maybe Arthur had not earned that trust at all. Arthur worked hard to earn everything he had: he was a prince by birth right but devoted his hours to studying the law and caring for his people, he was a knight by tradition but worked harder and longer than any of his men to justify his title, he was loved by Guinevere and dedicated himself to being the man she expected and loved. But he could think of nothing he'd done to deserve Merlin's friendship or trust so he could not really fault the young man for not trusting him.
And yet somehow it still hurt.
The wound was healing, but slowly.
Part of that healing process included their traditional banter which, coincidentally, was what had spurred Arthur out here, to the training grounds, at this ungodly hour of the morning.
Useless.
Arthur had used that word only yesterday morning, when Merlin, in typical fashion, had shown up late.
"Sorry I'm late!" Merlin exclaimed, bursting through the doors of Arthur's chamber, balancing his breakfast with one hand and carrying the Prince's laundry in another. Arthur wondered how the clumsy servant had managed all the stairs. "Gaius needed help with a remedy this morning and I—"
-Crash!-
Arthur groaned, his eyes rolling up to the ceiling and begging for patience, "Seriously, Merlin? You make it all the way up from the kitchens and decide to spill the food all over my floor?"
Merlin twisted his head up to grin at his master, "Makes you feel special, don't it?"
"Oh yeah." Arthur replied, dripping sarcasm, "I'm all warm and fuzzy inside for it and now, you get to scrub the floors and redo my laundry."
The boy looked down at the clothes he had just picked up and groaned upon seeing most of them covered in Arthur's breakfast. "You've gotta be kidding me." He moaned looking utterly pathetic with the other half of Arthur's breakfast stuck to his shirt.
"You are absolutely useless, aren't you Merlin?"
Useless.
Merlin had been unfazed by the jibe and had parried with skill, taking lead in their morning verbal spar that ended with a goblet smacking Arthur in the back of the head and Merlin, who was on the opposite side of the room form said goblet, looking stubbornly innocent.
The day had proceeded as usual with training, court, patrol and all the extra pomp that came with being the King's son. And yet Arthur found it difficult to focus on anything. He lost two rounds during training, ignored most of the court and almost let a particularly bold pick-pocket get away with his purse while on patrol. All he could think about that whole day was that one word.
Useless.
So Arthur decided to work out his confusion the only way he knew how: by beating the living hell out of one of the training ground's many dummies—and no, he did not mean Merlin.
Birds chirped happily in the trees beyond the castle walls, greeting Arthur as he walked across the dew soaked grass. The slowly brightening skies provided him with sufficient light so he carried no torch. The air was still and cool perhaps intended to sooth a restless soul, all it did for Arthur was build his already mountainous frustration.
His first strike startled the birds into silence with his ferocity. The second blow sent them fleeing from the previously tranquil training grounds; frightened by the brutal attacks and intense display of raw emotion. The Prince did not notice, he only had eyes for the target, nothing else mattered. He stabbed and cut, spun and feinted, he attacked fake limbs, pierced a chest with no heart and hacked at a neck that supported nothing. An inexperienced observer might call it fierce but any of his knights would have known different; fierce attacks had control and there was no control here, just pure, unchecked rage.
This toed "crazed."
Useless.
Arthur knew that the word had not hurt Merlin, the insult rolling off with the warmth of their tradition. In truth, Arthur had called his friend much worse over the years. Comparatively speaking, "useless" actually bordered complimentary. But Arthur could not get it out of his head.
Because in truth, Merlin was anything but useless. Merlin was his best friend. His confidant. And, despite their recent falling out, the man Arthur trusted with not just the safety of his kingdom but with all his private matters as well. All his worries, all this weaknesses. He hid nothing from the boy. No, Merlin was not useless, he was Arthur's friend.
And he was lucky for it, he knew that. Arthur was a prince, a crown prince at that, and friends were a luxury that his role did not afford him. How could it? The threat of betrayal and its consequences were far too high to fall victim to a false friendship. It was one of the harder lessons that a younger Prince Arthur had learned. A lesson Uther ensured his son committed to his heart. Arthur thought he'd pleased his father in at least that aspect, that is, until Merlin came around and, under Uther's command, ironic as it now seemed, became an integral part of Prince Arthur's life.
No, Merlin was definitely not useless.
And, a few months ago, Arthur had learned just now "not useless" Merlin truly way.
The sun was almost fully risen now and life buzzed within and without the palace walls. But Arthur did not stop. Sweat stung his eyes, his throat was sore for water and his arms felt the true weight of his sword, but he did not stop. Instead he grew frustrated with his body's weakness. He would not accept the natural response to exertion and pushed his body even harder than before.
Arthur did not notice the hushed whispered of fearful servants or the concerned looks his knights shot his direction when they found him still cutting away at the battered training dummy well into the morning. None of them approached or disturbed him. The knights felt concern in their gut, knowing the day's exertion would not end well for the prince but had too much respect for the young man to try and stop him; the servants were just scared.
All but one. But even he would not intervene today; the respectful knights did not allow it.
Arthur gasped as his knee buckled to the side, making him stumble for the umpteenth time. He paused for a moment, greedily swallowing air that seemed far too scarce. The world swam at the corners of his vision and he shook his head to banish the dizziness. Readjusting his grip on his sword he faced his opponent again and pursued his attack.
His sword sang through the air, and with each strike came the hushed hisses that had haunted his dreams for some time now. They were not new, he's heard these venomous hisses before, most of his life in fact. Usually though they only haunted his darkest nightmares, but right now they assaulted his ears, deafening him to the sounds of the world, and whispered poison. He rallied against the poison, happy to have an opponent, no matter how obtuse, to vent with.
Tired already?
Arthur answered the accusation with a roar as he sunk his sword deep into the "heart" of the dummy, killing it for the hundredth time that day.
Pathetic, how do you expect to protect your people against a siege or stand on a field of battle?
Arthur continued swinging, striking, killing his opponent. Some functioning part of his mind wondered when the poisonous words had taken on Merlin's voice.
Useless.
He did not know when he passed out. He did not remember his knee buckling, did not feel his head strike the ground or the soft grass that cushioned the fall. He became aware of the conscious world moments later when he felt arms slip under his and lift him to a standing position. Cracking open an eye he found Leon supporting his right arm and Merlin under his other. Arthur struggled to get his feet back under him, partly so that the pair would not have to carry all his weight back to the palace but mostly so he would not appear weak before his people.
Much too late for that.
The next thing he knew, he was being laid in his own bed. Someone—Leon—was removing his armor while Merlin scampered out of the room, possibly to find Gaius. Arthur hoped not, Gaius would have more important patients to attend to than him. But a few moments later, Merlin returned alone and with a beaker of what turned out to be water—something Arthur only learned when Leon and the boy helped him sit up to drink it.
Merlin spoke as the prince was laid back down against his pillows. Leon answered but none of their words made it to Arthur's ears. He was too dizzy and tired to muster up the will care or the effort to hear anything but that one, accursed word:
Useless.
Merlin looked at the prince and shook his head at whatever Leon had just said. The boy pulled one of the room's many chairs next to Arthur's bed and simply sat there beside his master and friend. Arthur's eyes drooped closed at last.
No, Merlin was definitely not the useless one.
...A/N
Very Arthur-centric I know. The next one will be more Merlin-centric I think. Please R&R!