Chapter 2: Punished for What he is Not

"Trouble sleeping last night, Merlin?" The elderly man peered up from his work only briefly to address a horrendous looking Merlin. Fatigue displayed itself prominently on his pale face. Dark shadows marked the hollow of his eyes and bloodshot whites (that were frankly more red than white) looked up at Gaius.

"Just a little," he remarked innocently, flashing his signature lopsided grin in attempt to mask his true unrest. The amount of sleep that he had earned could be counted on his hands and fingers (in minutes), yet he put up his finest front for his aged guardian. His mental self-persuasion was still convincing and in effect, and Merlin upheld his belief that Arthur had witnessed nothing the previous night. Nonetheless, the rational side of his mind had tucked away the possible truth that he feared into the far corner of his mind, and would not turn to face it unless it was absolutely unavoidable. But none of this he wished to bother Gaius with. His blue eyes observed the old man as he tended to his work. To one side a titanic book lay open and exposed with its old wrinkled and torn pages open to the physicians examination. To his other side was a small dish which contents appeared to be a blend of various leaves and herbs which truthfully, Merlin knew nothing about. The skin on his face had long since lost its youth and now sagged and flopped unattractively as he moved and heavy bags of flesh pooled under his eyes, but no matter his age, or perhaps because of it, Merlin could never hope to fool Gaius with his measly lies.

"You were out late working for Arthur, were you not? Did you not finish with your duties?" He questioned. Ouch—Gaius had hit close to the mark. So close that Merlin worried he had sniffed out his true concern. Quick, now was the time to plan a masterful escape!

"Ahh, no—I mean yes! Yes I did finish!" He stammered, throwing on his coat and scampering sheepishly across the room. "I just—I just have some last minute preparations, you know, for his ride, so I think I should be going now!" Eager to escape Gaius' all-seeing eye, the warlock made for the door and plowed head down toward the exit.

"Merlin, wait!" He did as commanded. This was it. Gaius was going to deduct him, dissect his mind and draw out that he had used magic in the open and might have exposed himself. He would first be furious, lecture him, and then fly into a panic and concern. Merlin stopped before the door and remained unturned to even face the court physician. He braced himself, prepared himself, and received…a foul ball?

"Merlin—" he started, "—you're not having nightmares…are you?" The old man finally tore his attention from his work. He gently set aside the dish and spoon and hobbled over to Merlin; concern glowed in his sunken eyes and impaled the warlock with the hard glance. Oh, thank heavens. Gaius thought that he had a second Morgana on his hands. Well, actually Merlin would much prefer being regularly sleep deprived like Morgana instead of having a possibly death sentence linger over his head because of his magic, but at least Gaius' concern was misplaced. An adorable smile of relief placed itself involuntarily across his face as he escaped conviction.

"No, not at all! It's just work, so you have absolutely nothing to worry about, Gaius, I promise." He wheeled around to face Gaius, now confident that not even the great court physician would be able to deduce his hidden dilemma. And sure enough, he had passed. The corners of Gaius' lips lifted into a floppy smile when he was relieved of his worries over the boy whom he long considered a son.

"Well run along then; Arthur will have your head if you're late," he chuckled. Merlin did just that. He managed to utter a "bye, Gaius" as he raced out of the door leaving behind his worries and an untouched breakfast. He felt fresh, regenerated, good despite his zero hours of sleep the previous night. Yes, it was going to be a good day! Merlin was utterly convinced that Arthur had seen nothing. They would meet and the Prince would chastise him for not cleaning the stables well enough and forgetting to groom the horse for his ride, and he would bow his head and grin sheepishly in response. Everything would be normal. Everything had to be normal.

And so the warlock pranced down to the stables with a girly spring in his step. He skipped among the horses and for once, thoroughly enjoyed this task. He tossed a saddle over Arthur's favorite stallion and danced circles around the creature as he played with the buckles and the straps. All the while he bore the expression of a fool lost in the clouds. Arthur made sure he was told just that.

"Merlin, I don't see what you're so happy about considering the horses aren't ready yet for my ride and the stables are filthy! Did you even clean them last night?" A familiar voice, haughty, rude, and condescending, directed itself at Merlin, but he invited the tone with nothing but open arms and glee. He was happy to see Arthur. He was happy to see Arthur! Because everything was fine. He wasn't in shackles or in the dungeon or in a cage or tied to a stake. Arthur's usual insult only heightened the warlock's joy, causing him to flash an even larger grin toward the prince.

"Good morning to you too, Sire," he replied, sure to emphasize his politeness by addressing him as 'sire' instead of 'Arthur'. Merlin's blue eyes stared up to meet Arthur's just as blue optics. There was no hate in them, no confusion, and no hint that implied Arthur suspected even the slightest thing about Merlin's magic. At that moment, Merlin was still his little manservant boy who was useless in all aspects except in being a good friend. Arthur returned the happy stare with a somewhat puzzled glance in response to Merlin's unusual glee. He was clad in his knight's uniform, glistening chainmail and all, with his sword wrapped securely around his waist. He reached a glove hand up and ran his fingers through his curtain of fine blond hair, expelling an irritated sigh as he did so.

"If it's a good morning, then why isn't my horse ready yet?" he retorted, giving Merlin a playful knock to the shoulder. But Merlin only continued to beam like a fool. He was completely unsuspecting. He wasn't aware of the boiling fury that bubbled just beneath the visible surface of Arthur—but it was definitely there. What right had the manservant to look so happy, so utterly joyous, when he had sealed his fate the previous night? Why did he look so gleeful when he just betrayed his master and obliterated the bond that they had forged? Yet Arthur held his exterior in perfect order, keeping his mess of emotions and urge to cut Merlin down on the spot in check. Merlin's joy in contrast with his own inner turmoil only served to fan the flames that were already raging inside, and at that moment, Arthur promised himself that his manservant would pay dearly.

His eyes locked onto every possibly aspect of the boy. He seemed to be looking at him for the first time, as if this boy before him was not Merlin, but a stranger. He was. He was a stranger—this was a Merlin who possessed magic; not the dumb little Merlin who had always scampered at Arthur's feet and trotted to keep pace with the Prince. As if for the first time, he saw how slim the boy was. He looked so brittle, so thin, so weak, like he could be broken into pieces as a simple twig would. No, fragile was a better term for it—fragile like a rare glass vase. Not his clothes, his raven black hair, or even his trademark red neckerchief could distract from his apparent frailty. He could envision himself now, as powerful as he was, with a firm grip on Merlin's little arm and snapping it in half, breaking it, shattering it. But he knew that could never happen. His servant could use magic to fight back or to flee. This thought sent a new wave of exasperation through Arthur, but was held in check by Merlin's sudden interruption of his thoughts.

"It is now!" the manservant declared with a little too much joy in his tone. He wheeled around to face Arthur and showed off his usual idiotic grin while extending out the reins of the stallion. The look nearly succeeded in disarming Arthur's rage. In his memory now, Merlin had become a very prominent part. When was the last time the boy hadn't been there at his beck and call? When was the last time he hadn't been there to give terrible advice, make outrageous accusations, or fail at cheering him up? No one could possibly fill the place of Merlin in his memory. His father had certainly not always been there for him, Guinevere had only been there from time to time, and Morgana was no longer even in the spectrum. It was pitiful that only now he realized how much space Merlin had occupied within him. He was a friend. But no more, Arthur reminded himself. He shook himself of the effects of Merlin's grin. That man he was looking at was an enemy and a traitor, and would be punished accordingly however Arthur pleased. And so, with his heart hardened to stone, he continued to string along the unsuspecting Merlin. Merlin had fooled him long enough, so it was now time he returned the favor.

"Finally!" he huffed as he snatched the reins from Merlin. He then busied himself with a brief routine examination of his work, since it was a well known fact now that Merlin was not to be trusted to suit up a horse properly. As he did so, he caught the servant with his hands planted innocently behind his back and staring eagerly at his master, waiting for him to ride off into the romantic morning sun. "What are you waiting for, praise? Don't just stand there, go off now and do other things that you should be doing." He gave the order with an irritated wave of his hand which was an indication that Merlin was to scram.

"Yes, Sire!" The boy responded just as eagerly as he appeared and turned to take his leave, but was caught by one final order from Arthur.

"Oh and, before I'm back I want my room cleaned," he added before declaring Merlin's handiwork adequate and swung up onto the horse.

Merlin paused. Well, that was odd. Didn't he just clean his room yesterday? Unless Arthur threw a fit in there between last night and this morning, he saw little reason to clean the room again.

"But I just cleaned it yesterday!" he called after Arthur who was already trotting off and away.

"I don't care, Merlin, just do it again!" Such was the only reply Merlin received before the distance between them rendered further communication impossible. The warlock watched the back of Arthur get smaller and smaller, until finally he disappeared. Oh well, at least Arthur was his usual self. Still powered by a high of glee, Merlin himself trotted off to commence with a day of duties.

With Arthur out on a ride and expected back only after a number of hours, his list of chores was blissfully short. He had only few errands to run for Gaius and then the additional task of putting Arthur's room in order, for whatever reason even though he'd cleaned it just the previous night. Nonetheless Merlin plowed through Gaius' needs, which mostly constituted delivering treatments and cleaning out old containers that once held rather questionable materials. Still in the hours of the morning, he found himself with ample time to tend to Arthur's room as he bounced up the steps of the castle and skipped down the corridors. The stone walls were never more inviting. This he continued to think until he arrived at the massive doors that guarded Arthur's chambers. He pulled open the heavy wooden panels, slipped in, and turned his back to assist them in closing since the doors were terribly notorious for slamming with the force of a strike of thunder. Merlin masterfully cushioned the slam as they ejected only a tiny click as the door latched. But that was not all he heard.

"Hello, Merlin."

Startled, the warlock wheeled around in a panic and braced for a surprise attack. Who was it that was in Arthur's chambers? Only he, the manservant, was allowed access in the day, and aside from himself there was only…Arthur. Arthur Pendragon stood tall and gallant-looking as usual by his little rectangular window. He had stripped himself of his uniform and sported his usual casual attire. A pile of chainmail and robes lay scattered at one corner of the room. He hadn't bothered to grace Merlin with his glance yet and instead, remained with his back facing his manservant. His light eyes stared out onto the streets below, yet he looked at nothing in particular. He merely stood as if in deep thought, leaned up against the wall, arms crossed, and with a dreadfully serious expression lodged on his face.

"A-Arthur, what are you doing here? Aren't you supposed to be out on your ride?" Questioned he, now growing somewhat apprehensive. Merlin dared to venture several steps further into Arthur's room. He took no notice of its clean state though. The bed was in order and the ground clear of debris and articles of clothing. The table hogged the center of the room and displayed the usual set of fresh fruit and impeccably shiny surface. Everything was just as he had left it the day before. So why had Arthur demanded he clean it again? Of course Arthur himself held the answer to that, for little did Merlin know, he had departed on his ride only to circle back around, enter the castle from behind, and slip into his chamber entirely unnoticed by neither guards nor any other personnel. While the rest of Camelot thought their Prince was enjoying a fresh morning ride, only he and Merlin would know what he was truly engaged in.

"I came back," he declared, finally turning to face Merlin and revealing to him his dismal expression. "I had something to take care of."

"Oh, well, I guess that's what you have me for, eh?" The manservant joked with a sheepish look and awkward scratch to the back of his head, but the joke bounced off Arthur's serious exterior and was rendered useless. Merlin eyed the prince as he slowly departed from his idle position by the window. He paced over to the long dining table that was far too large for one person, yet only he alone dined on it regularly. "Is everything alright, Sire?" Merlin ventured to ask, raising a worried eyebrow at Arthur's resilient silence. He received no response, and thus tried again. "Arthur? Are you ok?" he asked again, this time more personally, as a friend instead of as a servant. Still no response. "Arthu—"

"How can you continue to speak to me like that?" A clap of thunder that could rival the slam of his chamber doors echoed through the room as Arthur smashed his fist down upon the dining table. Cold accusing eyes glared up at Merlin and awaited at least a semi-decent answer, but no matter what exited his mouth Arthur knew that there was no excuse or explanation that could prompt his forgiveness.

"Like what? Arthur I'm just—"

"Like you're still my friend god dammit!" Arthur spat. Rage tainted every syllable that he expelled yet he fought to regain his control. He'd intended to solve this civilly, to solve this as a prince and not an impulsive peasant, but once the words had escaped his lips his anger wanted to spill out with them. In attempt to control his turmoil, Arthur shrank back into a moment of silence. He hung his head as he set both his palms onto the smooth surface of the table. Merlin had indeed cleaned his room the night before, and the squeaky clean state of the table could vouch for that.

"Please, Arthur, I don't understand. Just what are yo—" The flood gates broke.

"Dammit all Merlin I know you're a sorcerer!" Inexpressible fury exploded from every pore in Arthur's body. He had to break something, snap something, obliterate something to keep himself from lunging at Merlin right that second and obliterating the boy himself. With only the decorations that cluttered the dining table within reach, Arthur claimed the silver platter of fruit within his monstrously tight grip and launched it in his blind fit of rage. The plate and the various fruit were cast airborne and in all directions. Bruised fruit soon pelted the ground and an ear splitting clang and clatter indicated that the platter had also landed some ways away.

All of the glee and bottomless pit of joy which Merlin had indulged in just hours before drained away, leaving only a baron landscape of fear, panic, and absolute horror. His pale complexion whitened even more as if Arthur had managed to squeeze out every drop of blood from his vessel with just those words, and really, he had. Arthur's hard glare was screaming accusingly into Merlin's ears, and he could hear every accusation, false or true, and every hate-filled syllable. Denial could no longer contain the truth which it had barred. Arthur had been there last night. Arthur had seen him use magic. He opened his mouth to retaliate in defense, but found it impossible to form words or even coherent sounds. He could not think, could not move, could not defend himself against this truth. But Arthur wanted a response. Not one more word had been spoken since his accusation, but his powerful glare was enough to enthrall the servant. The mere force of his eyes locked Merlin in a mental cage, keeping him from forming thoughts and depriving him of a free will. Merlin forced himself to tear his gaze away.

Ok, think Merlin, think. Freed from Arthur's entrancing glare, his brain finally continued with its usual functions of sustaining life. Somewhere in the furthest regions of his mind, Merlin had always known that this day would arrive, whether violently or peacefully, happily or mournfully. But not quite like how it was happening at this moment, though. He had run similar scenarios through his mind, over and over again, in trying to devise an escape route, an excuse, and even a script of lines that he could use to counter accusations against his magic. If there was ever a time, now was one of them to draw upon his months of mental training and preparation. Yet as he tried to summon the rehearsed lines to his mouth, he found that he remembered nothing. He could recall no excuses or pleas that he had memorized. Arthur had thoroughly forced his mind into a stand still, and Merlin could only find it in himself to muster a pitifully weak retaliation.

"Me? A sorcerer? Please, Arthur, you and I both know that I'm too stupid for that," he stammered, raising his hands in a feigned and comical surrendering pose. But the pose wasn't feigned. He shook down to the bone and his fingertips wobbled as if chilled. His voice, which he had intended to control and hold at a convincingly steady tone, betrayed him and wobbled just as much as the rest of his body did. His hopes for his unconvincing lie were not high, and Arthur only crushed them further.

He slowly removed his hands from the table and retreated one step, perhaps to avoid wrecking other items that decorated its surface. But he was in control now. The sacrifice of the fruit platter had not been in vein, for it allowed some amount of control to return to Arthur. He mentally regulated everything from his breathing to his blinking, thus when he opened his mouth to speak this time, his voice was level, firm, and condemning. It was certain now that he had made up his mind, and would not be swayed no matter what Merlin said.

"Don't lie to me. I saw you last night," he started, now beginning to calmly slip down the side of the table, yet he never allowed his eyes to leave Merlin even once no matter how he repositioned himself. But he could only hold his stern exterior for so long. The inner turmoil that boiled within him could not be repressed even by the most fortified of men, and although Arthur had held out for several minutes, he could no longer as his emotions regained control of his body. He now looked defeated, tired, sad even, as he made his way to his bed. "I saw the stables, the collapse, the magic, the repairing—Merlin, I saw everything." And that was it. He did it. He said it. It was done. His mournful look stemmed from this sentence, the sentence that ultimately declared that Merlin had been caught. He had recited the words inside his mind time and time again, but in hearing them flow off his lips aloud, they become reality, and at that moment he knew for real that his friend as a sorcerer, and there was nothing he could do about it.

Arthur now found himself sitting on the comfort of his bed. Somewhere along the way his rage had transformed to sorrow. It was like the stages of grief. First came the anger, then the sadness, and acceptance came along somewhere down the path, but he knew that it would be impossible to achieve here in Camelot. He sat hunched as he had the previous night with is elbows propped on his knees, only this time he buried his face within the rough palms of his hands. The world around him needed to disappear, and the momentary blackness gave him some relief, but he was ultimately still alive, and so was the rest of the world. He brought one hand up to press his aching temples. Now that his anger had subsided, there was only the hangover of a raging headache left.

Perhaps some of this realization had spread to Merlin, because he too felt the force of the conviction. Despite all the scenarios that he had played out and all his methods of escape, he was thoroughly unprepared for this reality. The truth that he had restrained for so long escaped all his inner protections and all his fail-safes, and came spilling out into the open.

"I'm sorry," was all he could muster. Head bowed, Merlin allowed the truth to soak into Arthur. In this moment of silence, he gave himself the liberty of contemplating over his final moments. What would Arthur do to him? Report him to Uther to be hanged, burned, or decapitated? kill him himself? forgive him and let him go? Oh how he would like to have believed in the last option, but he knew that it was a fantasy that would never be realized. He was apologetic to Gaius and to his mother, who had both tried so dearly to keep him safe, yet in the end all their efforts were in vein as he became his own undoing. As the silence dragged on, Merlin finally dared to peek up from his black strands at the still silent Arthur.

He only saw Arthur, seated at the edge of his bed with his head hung not in shame like Merlin but in fatigue. But what he did not see was the new born anger within him. Was that all Merlin had to say? Years of being fooled and he thought a pathetic apology would suffice? Arthur's brow wrinkled as a fresh wave of anger swept through his body, prompting him to spring to his feet and whip his head in Merlin's direction.

"'I'm sorry' is all you have to say for yourself?" He smashed his fist against the nearest solid surface, which was his bed post. "You have betrayed Camelot—you have betrayed me! You're a bloody traitor who's like every other wicked sorcerer who has been killed, and for that I promise I shall never allow this to pass!" He spat out each word through tightly gritted teeth. His hand burned from all the recent smashing and flipping but it compared little to the pounding throb in his chest. This time, the assaults did not simply go through Merlin. The precious moments of silence he had had allowed him to gather few scraps of thoughts and coherent arguments, but what left his mouth was mostly instinct.

"Arthur I can swear to you that I'm not like them. I've only ever used magic for good—for you—and that's all I tend to ever use it fo—"

"I never asked you to use magic for me! I never wanted you to use magic for me!"

"I know but please, believe me that it is your destiny to become the greatest king that Camelot will ever know and it is mine to protect you until th-"

"I don't need you to protect me!" Merlin set off the landmine.

This was what he did not want to hear the most, that Merlin had protected him. The boy had become frantic now. His gestures livened compared to his previous stillness in pitiful desperation, but Arthur would not hear it and his forever thinning patience would not even allow him to hear Merlin through. Merlin would come to regret his words. The prince did not need protecting.

At that moment he finally concluded what kind of punishment would be adequate. He had tossed and turned through the night and still contemplated the matter in the early morning in attempt to summon a consequence that would not only punish Merlin, but also reassert himself as Prince over his manservant. The answer came to him. Oddly calm, Arthur reseated himself at the side of the bed. Chin balanced on his gloved hands, in a monotone voice, he ordered, "Lock the door, Merlin." He did so. The click and latching of the door sealed his fate. Unmoved, Arthur raised his voice for a second command, which was a simple and seemingly unthreatening, "Come here."

Hesitant but in no position to oppose him, Merlin did as he as told. He prolonged his walk across the room as long as was physically possible as he practically tip toed to Arthur. Every step brought a fresh wave of fear and a new thought as to how the Prince was going to end his life. Nonetheless he was obedient and arrived at the bed side, standing with two arms lengths distance between the two. He still hung his head, fearful of looking up to meet Arthur's enthralling eyes. He had every reason to fear the Princes gaze, because it was truly fearsome. His eyes locked onto Merlin with such ferocity that he could practically feel his stare. He could feel Arthur silently evaluating his every flaw and every physical failing, and he stood as if he were an open book for his total and complete examination. Little did he know how fitting that metaphor would be.

Up to that point, Merlin had envisioned various horrifying endings. He saw himself hanged, drowned, burned alive, decapitated, drawn and quartered—oh the list went on. He thought he had thoroughly exhausted all the possible things that could be done to him to make him suffer so that nothing would come to him as a surprise, but he never, ever, considered what Arthur would have him do.

"Strip."

"What?"

"I said, 'strip'."

It he hadn't been shaking before, then now he was really shaking. This wasn't in the script—this wasn't even anywhere within Merlin's nightmares. Of all the terrible things he had lost sleep over, this was not one of them. He was left in the dark, and what awaited him was a complete mystery. The not knowing further heightened his growing terror.

"Don't make me repeat myself again, Merlin." He didn't.

A meek nod that wobbled as his body quaked was the only response that he could muster, and he did as he was ordered. He first parted with his neckerchief and just as with his walk across Arthur's chamber, took his dear sweet time first unknotting it and then neatly folding it into a square before finally placing it upon a chair that neared the bedside. He then slipped off his coat and repeated, folding it into a nice pile and then setting it atop the neckerchief.

"Hurry up," Arthur ordered. Merlin swallowed hard at this command as if a stone had been forced down his throat. He had shed off articles of clothing that he could go without, but going further meant the ultimate exposure. Further more, Arthur's glare that could rival a griffin seemed to restrain him ever more by the second. He felt the ability to move grow in difficulty, as if each second that Arthur stared landed a set of weights onto Merlin's limbs. But despite that, his order was an order, and Merlin had long since cast away his pride for the sake of being the manservant of the Prince of Camelot. Giving another weak trembling nod, he peeled off his raggedy blue shirt but this time, simply discarded it on the chair without folding it. He had done so to 'hurry up' just as he had been ordered to, but also because his uncontrollable shaking had sucked all the bodily control out of his limbs. He could no longer bring himself to even perform the simple motions of folding an article of clothing. The last to go were the garments that guarded his lower half. His worn boots found their place at the foot of the chair, which soon came to support a jumbled mess of his attire all the way from his shirt to his trousers.

This left Merlin completely bare. His raging imagination could not even concoct an ending to this story. Was Arthur aiming for some kind of humiliation? Or perhaps torturing him would be easier done without clothing to obscure the abuse? His mind raced with panic and fear, but at least the internal conflict obscured the chill of cold air against his porcelain white exterior. He had worse to worry about than the cold.

Admittedly, Arthur had never seen Merlin in this state before—void of attire and so pitiful looking. But there was nothing to enjoy looking at. He was just as frail and skinny as he appeared even with rags on but even more so with rags off. The whiteness of his sunlight deprived flesh heavily contrasted the stark blackness of his hair. It was almost sickly looking, like a child with a terminal disease. Yet despite his lack of attraction, he found himself unable to restrain from exploring every visible aspect of his manservant with his sharp eyes. He absorbed every ridge, every flaw, every bony surface and curve, or lack there of considering his sharp and very angular figure. Merlin was certainly not a woman, nor did he even come close to having the shape of one. He suffered long under Arthur's close scrutiny, for neither said one word for a seemingly uncountable number of minutes. Not until he was shivering both from fright and the cold did Arthur move to cast another order.

"Come closer." Merlin obeyed. "Now get down on your knees." This he did not obey. Master and servant were separated by less than an arms length of distance. He was frighteningly close to Arthur, closer than he would usually allow on an ordinary basis, and had he knelt down he would be caught very awkwardly in the boundaries of his legs. But this was not an ordinary basis, but before that thought could be processed in his mind, Arthur's voice hissed into his ears as if he were casting a death sentence. "On your knees, Merlin," he repeated, his patience rapidly deteriorating.

Merlin's terror reached its all time high as he bent to this command, literally. He sank to his knees, eyes pointed toward the ground determined not to look back up into Arthur's furious gaze from his pathetic position. But that too was impossible. A rustling of clothing from above distracted him from his determination as the urge to observe what was going to befall him pressured him to look up at Arthur. What was going to happen finally struck him.

The same clarity reached Arthur as well. This was it. In place of execution, this was how he was going to torment Merlin, and this was how he was going to ultimately place himself as superior to the manservant, magic or no magic. He had undone his trousers and lowered them just enough to leave his most sensitive part exposed, although not nearly quite as exposed as Merlin literally was. To men he could be considered formidable. To women he could be considered desirable. To Merlin he was about to do something unimaginable.

"Suck it," he commanded. Merlin didn't know whether to be disgusted, terrified, or simple aghast. In fact, his initial terror had transformed into something entirely different. It was an indescribably monstrous beast like a hydra which donned the heads of fear, agony, confusion, and a mess of other undesirable emotions that swelled in his chest. Before him was Arthur Pendragon, crown Prince to Camelot, an arrogant bastard, but he was his friend. No, he couldn't be serious. This was just a ploy, a trick to run Merlin into a mental corner and scare the daylight out of him before knocking him around a bit physically after the psychological damage was inflicted. Any second now he would draw back and plant a punch across his face or run a sword through his gut. Anything, but this. Anything but this. But fate would not have it his way.

What remained of Arthur's patience evaporated as he violently grabbed a fist full of black hair atop Merlin's head. He yanked his head up skyward so their blue eyes met; Arthur's were full of fury, Merlin's were full of terror. His pitiful state and that kicked-puppy look in his eyes almost disarmed him again. He was a sorcerer, but oh he was his friend! Was…he was his friend. Arthur sucked in a short breath as he realized what was happening. Merlin had burrowed deep into Arthur's heart, deeper than anyone else had ever reached, and that Arthur simply would not accept. To know that another living being had such a hold over his heart terrified him. His moment of pity quickly morphed back into stern rage. He had to do this, both for himself and for Merlin. Once he was through, Merlin would know who was truly in charge, and so would he himself.

"What did I tell you about repeating myself?" He tightened his grip on Merlin's black strands. "Sorcerer's require incantations to perform magic, no? Then you will be completely harmless if you can't speak." His mouth would be busy with other things. For Merlin there was no escape, and so in shameful, total defeat, he bowed down to Arthur's order. He flushed him mind of thought, leaned in, and took Arthur between his lips.

An unfamiliar sensation and musky taste blasted his senses. It was surreal, it was fiction, it was not reality. The smell, the taste, the texture—everything was as alien as what Arthur could possibly be thinking at the moment. He squeezed his eyes shut to blotch out all light and proof that he was wide awake and not having a horrifying nightmare, but they few open again in shock when Arthur, still with his firm grip on Merlin's hair, drew him in closer and forced his member even deeper in one swift motion. He had taken him from tip to base, but not without consequence. Merlin fought viciously against his gag reflex as Arthur penetrated a region of his body that wasn't meant to be treated as it was. Tears welled in the corners of his eyes from the burning discomfort, but only a weak whine ran through his throat. This, however, must have been welcomed by Arthur, who let out the first signal of enjoyment.

He exhaled a long deep breath as he allowed himself to be fully submersed in the sweet sensation. Merlin lacked his practical uses, but this was something that he could be good at without putting in any effort. For thinking this, a distinct emotion of self-disgust began to pool within his chest, but he pushed it aside with the tingling pleasure that he acquired from Merlin's tight mouth. He could feel every twitch from the inside, every tiny movement of his tongue pressed against his length, every breath Merlin struggled to take, and all of it served to heighten Arthur's pleasure. A cool shutter ran down his spine at the sudden onset of pleasure and allowed a faint purr to run up his throat. He tilted his head back to avert his eyes from Merlin since the boys ruined appearance would certainly make the event sour. For several seconds he remained idle, only soaking in the comfort and new found treasure, but a man's desire is a beast that cannot be detained for long.

There was no hesitation as he guided Merlin's head into an even rocking motion, first pulling out to the tip and then shrinking back in to the base. The friction of the hot walls of his mouth against Arthur's pulsing member struck a sweet note, but not so sweet a note that Merlin would take any notice. He could not deny how blissful the feeling was. It was arousing, infatuating, and near addicting. For every second that he wasn't buried deep in Merlin's throat, the boy sucked in as much breath as possible. Being utterly unaccustomed to such an action, he was pathetically unable to even breathe properly. But Arthur paid no attention to this what so ever and was busy immersing himself in the glorious sensation. And immerse himself shamelessly he did.

"Keep going," he ordered between steadily quickening breathes. He released his hold on Merlin's now disorderly hair and commanded that the boy himself now take the initiative. He was, after all, the servant, and the servant's job was to please the master. Just like Arthur had said, Merlin was unable to utter a response of any kind. Not even a whine this time. The burning pain and his reflex to vomit had not yet subsided, but there was little he could do besides obey, and he obeyed. He groped with his hands until he found that edge of the crimson covers to Arthur's bed and snatched the article in his grip. He clung onto it for dear life. With his pride all but obliterated, he went down on Arthur with his mouth tightly wrapped around the hot organ. He bobbed his head at as even a pace as he could manage in his broken state, which was quite uneven, but once again Arthur took little notice to the minor imperfection and instead, laid back and enjoyed himself, and it was very enjoyable. His breath had quickened as he came near submitting to the pleasure, but soon he grew dissatisfied with Merlin's painfully slow pace. He ached like any man for a quick and clean release, which couldn't possibly be brought on by the current speed, so he buried his gloved hand into Merlin's mess of hair again and forcefully picked up the pace. Now that was better, for him, but not for Merlin.

The friction exploded with the new speed and an even wetter sensation. Arthur allowed a single gasp to escape his lips when he pulled Merlin in, locked him in place, and reached the full height of his tantalizing pleasure. Another shutter ran down his spine as he rode out the final bursts of pleasure. That had been far more rewarding than he had originally thought. He struggled to control his panting as if he had just completed a long run, but oh he had reached the finish line and gone beyond. He couldn't help but sneer as he finished, knowing that he had just preformed the ultimate act of control over another man. Again, somewhere deep within his chest, a boiling pit of self-disgust grew because of this, but he again evaded the feeling and instead turned his attention back to Merlin.

Crumpled on the ground before him was the manservant. His knees were red and aching from being forced against the hard stone of the chamber floor. Salty tears streamed in lines down his now even paler face and his quaking had yet to cease. His jaw, having been forced open for so long, was sour and stiff and the joints begged for Arthur's retreat. The only act of mercy the prince showed all day came when he did just that. He pulled out of Merlin's mouth just as abruptly as he had entered him. This, although being slightly more comfortable for Merlin, was still highly un-pleasurable as he flew into a fit of coughing and chocking. The sticky whiteness of Arthur's ejaculate had thoroughly invaded his throat and reached the deepest region of his mouth. There was little choice was to swallow it, and he did, only rejecting drops that he had painfully coughed up. He fell onto his palms and sank to all fours as he cleared his air ways by swallowing the material. His head spun due to oxygen deprivation and his eyes burned with tears, but Arthur was not through yet, not even after seeing Merlin in this ruined condition. There was still more to be done. Merlin had to be taught a lesson.

Without a word, Arthur grabbed the still wheezing Merlin by his bony forehead and threw him up onto the bed. He tumbled over onto his side trying to right himself and gain a coherent understanding of what was happening. In a flurry, Arthur rid himself of his boots and dropped his trousers further before also taking to the soft cushions of his bed. Before Merlin could utter a word, the prince took him by the unattractive angular hips and flipped him so his front was pressed down and his back entirely exposed.

Enough oxygen had made it to Merlin's brain for him to finally grasp what was going to occur. No, it was impossible. He wasn't a woman, what Arthur was about to do was simply impossible. His mind had been blank during the earlier abuse but terror now filled the empty space. He grabbed at the sheets, the covers, the pillows and anything that he could get a firm grip on as if he could claw his way to safety, but that too was impossible. He was stark naked but sweating like he was baking in the sun. No. No no no no no. Merlin broke his silence in a desperate terrified plea.

"A-Arthur, please stop this!" Arthur, peeling off his gloves, slammed one hand down on Merlin's shoulder thus shoving his torso into the covers. With his other, he firmly gripped his hip and forced them higher. "God no Arthur please I'm begging you!" Begging did him nothing as the Prince set himself in a more comfortable position with Merlin bent like a dog before him and himself on his knees to be level with him. Merlin's pleas turned into cries as panic rendered his voice like that of a terrified child's. He may not have been a child, but he was very, very terrified. His final plea was more of a sob, but did just as little as his previous ones.

"Arthu—" He was forced to cut off his cry as a true sob came up his throat. Discomfort that bordered on agony set fire to his lower half as Arthur, with no preparation whatsoever, sank two fingers from tip to knuckle into Merlin. This wasn't happening. This wasn't happening. He let out another shaking cry as Arthur worked his fingers as if he was in a woman, but he most certainly was not in one. His lack of knowledge brought on only more pain to Merlin, who had tightly shut his eyes and reduced to biting down on the sheets. Muffled whimpers sounded between wasted breaths, and then suddenly he was freed from it. He felt the intrusion suddenly disappear as Arthur yanked out his fingers. Merlin's brief moment of relief was quickly swept away, though, as something even more painful replaced them.

He felt stiffness rub up against his rear and knew only too well what it was now, and the thought threw Merlin into another wild panic. He thrashed in the bed blindly, completely unable to muster any thoughts or working actions, until finally Arthur grew tired of his unruly pet and turned to more corporal punishment.

"Shut up and stop moving!" A fresh burning sensation was born when Arthur whipped Merlin upside the head. This silenced his whines and ended his flailing. The slap had struck a great potion of his ear and utter cheek, mostly missing the mass of his face due to his awkward position half buried into sheets. But it had done its damage. But only more damage would be done as Arthur returned to where he had been interrupted and in a single motion, plunged into Merlin from behind.

The pain was indescribable. Merlin had been thrown against walls by magic, poisoned, and subjected to various other physical abuses, but this kind of pain thwarted them all. An inferno of agony scorched from the unwarranted penetration, and this time Merlin could not even hope to muffle the ensuing cry. He hollered in anguish until his throat was dry and his voice was reduced to a low mournful whine. A floodgate of tears broke and streamed from his eyes. Without mercy, Arthur buried himself deep within and then retreated, and repeated this processed rapidly like a wild beast. The warmth of Merlin's mouth had been wondrous, but the sensation of being sucked in by the walls of his entrance was incomparable. How it sucked him in, how it fit so tightly and so perfectly, and how it suited his lustrous needs just right blinded Arthur to all else, and especially to the suffering Merlin beneath him. But Merlin was suffering in more ways than one.

Above the physical agony of feeling Arthur ripping him, stretching him, and piercing him in ways that were not meant to be, an even more painful hurt ached in his chest. He ignored the blood that he felt trickling down his leg to stain the sheets. He ignored Arthur's animalistic pumping. He ignored the aching in every inch of his body. He felt only the pain that stabbed at his heart. To have Arthur of all people to do this to him was the worst of all punishments. Arthur had been right with his selection, for Merlin would have preferred death over this. Arthur had been his dearest companion, and now he was his violator. In his moment of blurry eyed pain and faintness of consciousness, Merlin finally came to realize his true motivation behind hiding his magic. Of course he had wanted to escape death, but above the value of his own life, he had feared the most how Arthur would react if he ever found out. It was indeed pitiful that he was only just realizing this under such gruesome circumstances. He had feared rejection from Arthur all along. He had feared losing someone whom he had grown so attached to, someone who he had literally given his life to. For those reasons he hid his magic. A single tear, not of pain but of sorrow, slid down his cheek and splashed onto the stained sheets below him.

With a grunt and a quick gasp in satisfaction, Arthur released a second time, this time deep within another invaded and abused region of Merlin's body. The events the followed passed in a blur. Merlin could recall laying upon the bed, stiff, broken, and a shattered man. He had watched Arthur's broad back as he slipped back on his shoes and smoothed out his wrinkled clothing. He had ordered something like, "Make sure to clean this all up before you leave." Those were the first words that he had spoken to him after the ravishing attack and the last he heard before Arthur departed. Without another word or even a glance in Merlin's direction, he silently crept across the room, exited, and locked the door behind him to leave only a pitiful little Merlin scattered atop the bed.

After that, Merlin had remained unmoving for god knows how long. The comfort and the softness of the prince's bed had done little to ease his pain, but now Merlin allowed himself to drift into its comforting surface. He had never felt so good, or so bad, in his life ever. Perhaps as a sort of mental defense, he locked out the happenings that had just occurred. He simply rose as if he had awakened in his own bed after a long nights slumber and made way to his pile of clothing. Using an old rag he wiped himself down as cleanly as he could before casually slipping back into his discarded attire. The morning theme followed the mentally ruined Merlin as he cast an eye down toward the bed. What a mess. Sweat and other unnamable bodily fluids were splattered on the royal surface and gathering a pail and a fresh rag, Merlin proceeded to dab it down.

He smeared away at the stains until only a clean newly washed patch was left. He then went onto making the bed, since the sheets and covers had been badly throw around into a wrinkled mess. Still damp from the wash, he carefully folded the fabric to allow it to better dry, but also so that it still appeared to be in order. He achieved a fine balance if he did say so himself. Following the bed he turned his attention to the bruised fruit that littered the ground. Some had rolled unbelievably far and forced Merlin onto his hands and knees to reach into little corners and beneath furniture to retrieve it all along with the silver platter, which now held a bundle of no longer edible fruit. He set the tray down on the dining table anyway and made a mental note to ask Guinevere to replace the fruit when she had the chance. With that, the room was perfectly presentable again. Well, it looked like Arthur's room had needed that second cleaning after all.

Satisfied with himself, Merlin left through the massive double doors and let them thunder shut behind him. Running back through his mental list of chores, he was surprised to find that he had just completed the last one. Oh, that's right, Arthur had been out on a ride so there was little for him to do with his master gone. Well, this was a break that was certainly well deserved, he thought to himself as he eagerly left the maze of corridors. What would he do with the rest of his day? He so hardly ever got free time that having it now rendered him confused. With nothing yet in mind he found himself wondering back toward Gaius' room. The old door squealed on its hinges as it opened, but revealed the Gaius himself was not present. Probably out on a house call or doing some of Uther's bidding, Merlin reasoned. He passed the various glass vials and towering stacks of books before he reached the little doorway to his own chamber. It was far smaller and certainly less lavish than Arthur's, but it was comforting at least.

Upon entering the room, he stripped off his jacket, flopped down onto the bed, and then could fool himself no longer. It hadn't been a nightmare. It had happened. Arthur had learned of his magic and abused him for it, and Merlin had indeed paid dearly. Rolling onto his side, Merlin curled into a defensive ball, and then wept himself into a deep sleep that he wished would never end.

A/N: Whew, that was considerably longer than the first chapter, but I hope you liked it! Thank you for reading, and I would really appreciate reviews to let me know how I'm doing so far!