Merlin: You have a very good servant!
Arthur: You are right. I do. A servant who is extremely brave. And incredibly loyal, to be honest. Not at all cowardly.
.***.
The master of the house and servants had been born Calder and had taken on the epithet of "cruel" years before Merlin even came to Camelot. Proud and cruel, he ruled the household with an iron first. He was little more than a hedge knight, one step above squire, the seventh son in a forgotten line of minor nobles. With no inheritance to look forward to, he'd taken the job as master of the house of Camelot because he liked the idea of exercising power over those who could not fight back.
On one particular morning not long after Merlin had gotten back from that far-flung village with little Freddie in tow, he came down to the kitchen to find a ruckus. Really, he'd just been hoping for something to eat. Sometimes Sarah, the bread baker, would leave the heels on the edge of her cutting board for the servants to nibble on. Chores started for some as early as five in the morning, and the servant's breakfast wasn't until nine (by then, only half of the staff could attend, as the others were already in the thick of their duties. Merlin had only been to the servant's breakfast two dozen times since his arrival in Camelot.)
But as he threw a glance at Sarah's station she caught his eye and shook her head, nodding in the direction of Calder the Cruel, who was bellowing near the fire. That wasn't unusual - Calder was always bellowing, roaring, shouting, screaming, threatening or yelling. It was his perpetual state. What was unusual was the poker he held in his hand and the way he was brandishing it at Freddie.
Merlin had taken the seven-year-old under his wing, feeling responisble for his fate since he'd stepped in that morning in Petyr's town. Freddie was a fast learner, quick and eager to learn. He could probably be a squire when he got bigger, but for now he scurried from room to room, carrying splinters of firewood and stoking the fire. It wasn't a hard job, and it meant that Freddie had near free range of the castle, important for one so young and restless. The only problem was that he had to wake up first and stoke all the fires in the castle, which meant rousing one's self before the cock crowed. Twice so far Freddie had been late to his duty, and Merlin's heart sank when he saw him cowering in front of Calder the Cruel. Three times shirking your duty, and Calder gave you a punishment you weren't like to forget.
Merlin pushed his way to the front of the crowd of servants, all bidden to remain there to see the demonstration of punishment. He glanced at Hooper, a boy who helped the master of hounds, a brawny twenty-year-old who had set his jaw. Hooper was a friend, and had a temper. Merlin hoped he wouldn't do anything rash.
So Merlin prevented that by doing something rash first.
"Your job, boy, is to keep the fires of the castle hot. Yet I passed the knight's chambers this morning to find Sir Leon stoking his own fire. He asked me where the usual boy was with more wood." Merlin could just see Leon's face, probably concerned that Freddie had caught a cold running around the damp and chilly castle. Leon wasn't one to get indignant about starting his own fire...Arthur maybe, but not Leon.
"Perhaps you need a reminder of how hot a fire should be." The poker, which had been sitting in the flames, was withdrawn, the tip white-hot. There was an intake of breath among the servants - if the boy was branded, he would carry the mark for life.
"Stop!" Merlin shouted, running forward. He couldn't take Freddie's eyes, wide and scared. He couldn't take the way he scurried backwards, the way he shook his head and murmured under his breath a singe word please please please please. So he ran forward and bared his own arm, telling himself it would be just a few seconds of pain, and he could heal it later from Gaius or by magic. Telling himself it wouldn't be that bad. "I told Freddie I'd start the fires this morning. He hasn't been feeling well. It's by fault - I was late." He took a deep breath, looked Calder the Cruel in the eye. "It's my fault."
Freddie was looking at him, opening his mouth to give the whole game up and Merlin pushed him back out of the circle to Hooper, who caught him around the waist and was also staring at Merlin, opened-mouthed. He wished they wouldn't stare. He was looking at the poker, shining white, and he knew it was going to hurt. He knew he was going to scream, and embarrass himself, and oh, why couldn't Hooper look away?
Calder stared at him for a moment, and Merlin knew he was wondering whether he could perform the same punishment on Merlin without the latter going to the King. Merlin just lifted his chin and rolled up his sleeve. A dare. What could the old tyrant do without looking weak in front of his subjects? He pressed the poker to Merlin's skin...
Merlin bit his tongue so hard blood erupted in his mouth. In the end, he couldn't stop his scream as his body twisted, turned, tried desperately to get away from the invasive object pressing deeper and deeper into his skin...
Finally the offending metal was gone and Merlin collapsed, cradling his arm against him, tears and snot dribbling down his face. He was vaguely aware of Calder shouting something, of the man kicking him almost into the fire. And then a pair of hands was on him and Hooper was standing over him. "Merlin? The king's breakfast is on the sideboard. Stop by Gaius's on the way up, okay?"
Except that Merlin wouldn't because then Gaius would start a row with Calder, who would then take it out on Merlin, and he didn't have time for politics like that, not when Arthur was in the middle of these difficult negotiations with the Dondorians. But he nodded at Hooper and stood up, his head spinning with pain. Freddie pressed a cloth soaked with water against the burn and Merlin smiled wanly at him.
"I'm sorry, Merlin." Freddie said miserably, and Merlin rubbed his hair absent-mindedly.
"It's okay, Freddie. Better me than you. Just don't wake up late again, all right?" Freddie looked like he would never sleep in again, and crossed his heart quite seriously.
Merlin chuckled, winced as he picked up the plate and his arm gave another scream of pain, and backed out of the kitchen. On his way out, Sarah gave him a chunk of warm, soft bread. "You're a good man, Merlin." She said, and Merlin tucked the gift into his sleeve, to eat as soon as he left the presence of Calder the Cruel. Maybe the day wouldn't be so bad after all.
He munched on the bread as he dodged through the corridors, turning and spinning to avoid passers-by, always making sure to keep the tray with the food level. Every time someone jostled him he winced, and when he wasn't wincing he was forcing back small cries of pain. The poker had left a three-inch long, half-inch thick, angry red weal on his arm. He was sure that under the cloth it was puckered and angry-looking. Not for the first time, he spent the walk up to Arthur's chambers thinking of interesting deaths for Calder the Cruel.
"You're late, Merlin."
"And you're your usual pleasant self, sire." Merlin said in return, his voice too full of forced-joviality for his liking, but Arthur didn't notice. He was still sitting on the edge of his bed, staring out the window with the expression he wore when trying to work through some difficult problem. Merlin was okay with that. He used the time to set up the breakfast food along the table. One of the maids had fetched a pitcher of water and Merlin, after glancing at Arthur to make sure he was still deep in thought, poured some onto the drying cloth.
"What's that you're doing?" Arthur asked, and Merlin closed his eyes, reminded himself to breathe. He was a terrible liar, especially when it came to Arthur, but if he could think of a quick, simple story...
"Just dampening a cloth, sire." But Arthur was already on his feet and grabbed Merlin's arm to see what he was doing.
And Merlin screamed.
He flailed and Arthur let go of him immediate and Merlin slammed his hands against the table, trying to steady himself, screwing up his face against the pain. Arthur could only stare, alarmed and more than a little concerned. The door opened and a guard looked in, eyes flitting quickly between the king and the servant. Arthur shook his head and the guard disappeared, closing the door with a soft snick.
"Okay Merlin," Arthur said quietly, putting a tentative hand on Merlin's shoulder. He took it as a good sign that it was not shrugged off. "What happened?"
Merlin, still not trusting himself to speak, turned his arm so that Arthur could see the ugly burn. When he caught sight of the king's angry face, he turned away. And he'd done this to not get involved in politics.
Arthur struggled to find words, "You...you should get Gaius to look at this." Merlin made an assenting noise in the back of his throat. "And you should tell me how you got it."
"I was...clumsy with the fire this morning."
"You're such a rotten liar, Merlin." And this caused Merlin to look up, surprised at the naked affection even he couldn't miss in Arthur's tone. "Did someone do this to you?"
Merlin looked away and Arthur felt something red and hot burn in his chest. Someone had burned his servant, his Merlin. They'd probably held his arm still and pressed a hot object against it, probably laughed while Merlin screamed and screamed.
"Things are going to change today." Arthur swept out of the room, Merlin hurrying along after him.
"Arthur, you don't understand, you don't even know who -"
"I know exactly who did this, Merlin. Calder the Cruel, right?" Arthur frowned at Merlin's incredulous expression. "He caught me nicking sweets from the kitchens when I was little. Gave me a big wallop with a heavy piece of wood. I never told my father - too proud, I guess- but I never forgot."
"Then how -?"
"How can I let him terrorize servants?" Arthur slowed and slumped against the wall in a deserted corridor, and Merlin just stared at him, "Because since becoming king I feel like I haven't had five days straight where the safety of all of my kingdom wasn't in jeopardy. And though I like to think of myself as a good person, I forgot that protecting my kingdom isn't just about winning military victories, and I forgot that sometimes malicious and cruel people can attack from within." Merlin just stared at him, a little terrified because he thought that Arthur was on the verge of tears of frustration. "Funny, right? Since I've been attacked from within my my own kin twice now."
"It's not your fault, Arthur."
"If I'd known what was going on in my own household then I could have prevented that." He glared at the burn on Merlin's arm and the servant shook his sleeve down to cover it up.
"You can't think of everything."
"I should have thought of you." Arthur said, so quietly Merlin didn't know if he'd actually heard it. "I should be protecting you."
"I don't need protecting." Merlin complained, trying not to smile. Arthur would be a good king if he felt so deeply for the pain of servants, and Merlin told him as much.
"You're more than just a servant, Merlin." Arthur said, pushing himself off the wall and clapping him on the shoulder. "Try to remember that. Go get your arm looked at. I'll see what I can do about Calder the Cruel."
And Merlin ran off, looking over his shoulder in time to see a red cloak swish around a corner. And he thought that everything would be okay, because Arthur was on the job.
Eventually, of course, the Once and Future king would get everything straightened out in regards to relations between servants and those who ruled them, but it would take a couple more tries (and one very scary experience for Merlin) for that vision to become a reality.
.***.
we did not expect anyone to read this story, let alone have people ask us to continue it. thanks so much for all the kind reviews. as the ending suggests, they'll be a couple more chapters. arthur's trying to combat centuries of class struggle. camelot wasn't built in a day.