As ever, I don't own Merlin.
/
It took every ounce of training that Griflet had ever received for him to not start jumping up and down with joy like a child. Sitting neatly on his plate was no longer the miserly portions he'd been forced to have of late, but the full rations that everyone else had. He ate in rapturous silence, savoring every morsel. It was quite possibly one of the best lunches he'd ever had.
"Enjoying your meal?"
His eyes flicked open and met hypnotic blue. The King's personal servant, the one he remembered being called Morris, was smiling charmingly at him as he poured the wine. He smiled in return, deciding that he liked actually having a conversation with the servants. "Yes, very much so." Looking out over the hall, he was surprised to see Merlin milling aimlessly about, carrying what seemed to be an empty jug. As he watched, Jaspar loomed up and snapped something at him, but the manservant just stared blankly at him, swaying slightly where he stood. Morris chuckled, and Griflet glanced over at him. "What's with Merlin?" He asked, since the Dog seemed to be well aware of something.
"Oh, nothing much. Merlin and I just had a little chat today. It looks like he's still in shock." He smirked in the direction of the younger man. "Good day to you, my lord." He glided away, his movements smooth as silk.
/
On the top of the rampart after lunch, Merlin watched as the Camelot knights mingled and mixed with the Buregatin, Mercian, and regular troops, going through some of the elaborate kata's that the Buregatin used in their training routines. Watching Arthur whirl around in the flurry of kicks and punches was rather humorous to see.
An arm snaked around his waist, and an apple appeared in front of him. "Miss me?"
Merlin froze, and staunchly refused the urge to blush. After his conversation with Morris, it was getting steadily more difficult. Swallowing, he looked over at Gwaine and managed a smile. "Of course." He grabbed the proffered apple and wiggled out of his grip. "And just what do you think you're doing, grabbing me in broad daylight? People will talk."
"Darling, I have my doubts that anyone will care here." Gwaine leaned on the battlements, smiling his most charming smile. Merlin firmly told himself not to melt. "The way they go on, you'd think that that Mercian, Crane, had slept with the whole castle, save Kestrel. Apparently the prince is rather picky, and has this thing about being the one to ask."
Merlin raised an eyebrow. "So, this Lord Crane's not very nice, then?" He slid closer, and Gwaine grinned, returning his arm to its original position as Merlin attacked the apple. Servant's did not eat well at Kendral. His lunch had consisted of a piece of gritty, slightly moldy bread.
"Evidently not. He's supposedly got Chillingham wrapped around his little finger- a master manipulator or something. I have my doubts, but after watching him while we were on patrol, I might believe it. He's a nasty creature, there's no doubt, and easily as cruel as Chillingham." There was a slight pause at the end of that phrase, and Merlin looked up suspiciously.
"Tell me what you're not telling me," he said quietly.
Gwaine sighed, running a hand distractedly through his hair. "There were…rumors, I heard last night at dinner. Someone was saying that one of the reason's Griflet was on half rations is that he wouldn't sleep with Crane."
"What?"
/
Aden slowly made his way through the third floor, his footsteps lazily tapping down the hall. Comfortable in his element, his home, and his sanctuary, he sighed pleasantly as the cold gray stone's essence wrapped around him, an excellent change from what he normally endured in Camelot. The place was entirely too white.
Slowing, he stopped at the door with a small, brass plaque attached that read as follows: Crane, Second In Command. It was a large, heavy, oak door, with thick iron fittings and studs- built to keep out invaders, and built to keep in his personal servants. Crane went through at least 8 a year, most of them dead from the tasks he demanded of them- or dead by their own hand, one way or another.
He rapped his knuckles sharply on the door of his only friend, and former enemy.
It flew open abruptly, Crane reaching out to grab his collar and pull him inside with the force of an eight horse carriage team…ifthey were trained warhorses. As muscled as he was, Crane was an inch taller, four inches broader, and a good 50 pounds of muscle heavier. With a face like a mountain that had been bombarded by catapults, he managed to be handsome, and had no scars on his face. He was blonde haired, with blue-green eyes that changed shade according to his mood. Right now they were almost totally green- he was in a very good mood. Aden quietly thanked the gods. For all that he liked his second in command, he was dangerous to deal with even on a good day, and downright deadly to everyone when he was in anything less than good. "Finally," the man grinned, revealing exceptionally sharp eyeteeth, "You've been so unkind, Aden, not coming to spend time with your closest- make that only- friend. Mead, here, sit- how's things been? Camelot decent? Are you actually going to kill Uther this time, darling?" The last word was said mockingly- everyone knew that, despite Crane's love of the men around Kendral, he had no taste for Aden and had no inclination of ever touching him.
Aden fell into a chair as a small, skinny boy zipped up to him, carrying mead and two goblets. Slightly dazed, he looked around for a moment, trying to get his bearings.
Crane decorated his room with weapons, torture devices, and various other implements of pain causing grief. Aden preferred to actually handle those he was breaking, and slowly ease them into their new form of life- Crane detested it. He believed in getting results as quickly as possible, which was why he went through so many servants so quickly. Jaspar had served Aden for nearly 10 years, broken inside of his rooms, anything but outside. The boy Crane had sent with the mead had probably been broken for only a few days. He'd be dead within the week, most likely. Studying the boy for a second, he was unsurprised to see a spiked collar around his neck, and chafe marks around his wrists and ankles. His hair was chopped short, the straw blonde strands uneven but manageable, and his eyes and face were totally expressionless, a look that Crane loved in his servants. He was responsible for the work that had been done on most of them through the time he'd spent at Kendral, which was a little upwards of 30 years.
Crane dropped into a comfortable chair next to him, a small table between them now laden with the tray the boy had brought over.
"So," he said calmly. "How'd it go?"
Aden sighed, letting the boy pour him some mead. "Botched, the lot of it. I could have killed him on a hunt if the people I'd hired hadn't been utter idiots, and I didn't even get a chance to break the kid that Uther sent for me."
Crane's eyebrows twitched up towards his hairline, a sight that would have been amusing were it not for his face's cold looks. "You're getting old, Aden," he teased. "Time was you could have had him groveling at your feet in an hour."
Aden scowled at him, but the affection in his eyes was obvious. He and Crane had met in battle, and after Crane had been captured, the man had stayed on, along with all of his men. Over the years the number had dwindled to only 40. The two had hated each other at first, but slowly grown accustomed to each other.
"Yes, I'm old. How did the boys handle themselves?"
Crane gave a crooked grin. "Well, Kestrel slept his way through half the castle-"
"And I'm sure you took the other half," Aden muttered, sipping the mead.
"Shut up." Crane grinned good-naturedly. "Griflet did quite well though- there was a nasty skirmish with one of the smaller raiding parties, I think it was Helam's, but he took down five and the rest ran. He'll be a good tactical leader, but put him in charge of anything social and you may as well talk to a block of wood. The boy's useless at communicating and making friends."
"He seems to have taken to the Camelot knights though, and that worries me." Aden sighed, watching as the servant slipped into a corner and lowered himself to the ground, kneeling. "They'll be dead within the week, and he's much too loyal for his own good."
"You're going to kill Uther then," Crane said wryly. Aden nodded, trying his best not to twitch with annoyance when he said, "Good luck. You've never had the stomach for it before."
"Partly because getting away with it would be difficult."
"Partly because, underneath it all, you still wish he loved you like he used to…before Liam."
Aden's knuckles went white on the goblet. "Shut up. That was a long time ago. I hatehim."
"Oh, I know that. I just want to make sure youdo."
/ Six Days Later
"MERLIN!"
Jumping from where he'd been violently cursing a stain on one of Arthur's favorite shirts, the younger man turned to face the officially pissed off Once and Future King, swallowing very hard. Arthur was drenched, and his eyes were blazing like a bonfire.
"Y-yes?" he asked warily, forcing himself not to shrink back against the wall. It was taking a lot of will power, and he really, really, really didn't want to have to associate any memories of Arthur with Chillingham-esque pain. As long as he didn't throw anything, he'd probably be fine. If he did, well… running was certainly an option. His nerves were shot just being here- he'd hidden it fairly well, but knowing that he was virtually still under Chillingham's control was terrifying, and his control was starting to fray.
Arthur didn't seem to have caught onto his mood. "Dry clothes, now." Flopping into a chair, he began wresting off his boots, swearing violently under his breath the whole time. Merlin scurried over to the wardrobe, pulling out new things for Arthur and ignoring how much his hands were shaking.
It'd been a full week since they'd arrived, and 3 days since he'd had any issues with Chillingham- the last time they'd been on patrol and the man had whacked him upside the head for not going armed. Otherwise, there'd been nothing wrong with the past week, and he'd basically been ignored. It had been rather boring for Merlin, really. He'd been all but confined to Arthur's chambers after one of the drunker soldiers had had the nerve to try and grab him where Arthur could see. His time with Gwaine was becoming incredibly restricted thanks to that and the endless rounds of patrols the knights had been conscripted to join in on. Despite the fact that all seemed well, for the most part, with minimal fighting and general good will abounding, he couldn't shake off his fear and anxiety, and the feeling that something was wrong.
"Merlin! Shirt!"
Jolting, he threw the blue one to him. "Can I ask what happened?" He asked, a tad timidly. It wasn't ever safe to get Arthur this riled, and who knew if he'd take offense?
Arthur scowled angrily. "Kestrel," he spat. "He "accidentally" dropped a bucket of water on me. He won't stop flirting with me, and it's driving me up the wall!"
Merlin nodded sympathetically, and promptly dropped Arthur's boots- on top of Arthur's foot.
"AUGH! Merlin! You've been so clumsy these past few days! What's wrong with you, eh?" Arthur was practically yelling at him now, and Merlin shrank back.
Five seconds later, he blacked out.
/
"…lin? ..Er…lin…MERLIN!"
Jolting back to reality with a painful, throbbing head was not fun in anyone's books, and Merlin prayed it would never happen to him again. Groaning, he curled around himself, squeezed his eyes shut, and hoped it was going to go away, fast. Through the haze of pain he was aware that someone was talking, and they seemed a bit frantic, but his head hurt too much to think.
"Merlin, your prince needs you to get up. I suggest you do so."
That voice. Oh. That voice made all the pain seem much smaller. That voice could deal out pain like no one else. He had to obey that voice- he'd disobeyed once, and look where that had gotten him.
Ye gods, how he hated Aden Chillingham.
Forcing his eyes open, he cringed as a brutally scarred hand gently turned his face back and forth. The storm-cloud eyes did not look pleased and how did he get in here anyway?Letting Chillingham pull him into a sitting position, he shied away like a frightened horse when the man reached for his face. Arthur's hand clapped his shoulder, and gave him a warning glare. Holding very still, and trying to figure out what on Earth was going on, he let Chillingham finger through his hair, deftly mapping out his skull.
"No fracture- he's probably just bruised. He fainted, you say?" The question was shot at Arthur, who nodded. Chillingham's lips pursed, and he carefully slid a hand under Merlin's jaw, making him look at him. "How much have you eaten lately?"
Merlin licked his lips, uncomfortable with the cold stare. "Th-the same amount as-as the servant's get h-here," he swallowed hard and forced the words out, "My lord." Arthur's hand tightened on his shoulder, but he said nothing.
"That would be the problem, then," Chillingham said simply. "You're accustomed to eating much richer, bigger portions. Tell the cook you're to be given the same as the soldier's tonight, and don't look at me like that, he's not going to poison you."
The cook, just as bad tempered as Jaspar, was high on Merlin's list of People To Never Annoy. He also didn't like Merlin much.
Chillingham rose, with a soft groan that betrayed his age. "Well, I'm off for patrol. If he's still not feeling well, take him to Gaius- that man can cure just about anything." With that parting remark, he sauntered from the room.
Merlin looked at Arthur, wide-eyed. "What just happened?"
"Well, you passed out and fell like a rock on the floor. I ran out to go get Gaius, and ran into Chillingham, who asked what was going on, and the rest is history," Arthur said. He looked a bit shaken. "Why didn't you tell me you weren't hardly eating anything, Merlin?"
"I didn't think it was important," he said quietly, letting Arthur help him up.
"Bedrest for you then," the Prince said sternly.
"Arthur! Please, no, let me get out," he begged. "I've been in this room and the Great Hall almost the whole time we've been here. I'm going crazy. The last time I was actually outside of the walls was the first day we got here! Please, I promise I won't do anything stupid, I'll just go sit on the battlements and enjoy the air and-"
"Possibly get carried off by a wyvern. They've been roaming in the area. I'm not letting you outside, Merlin, especially now, knowing your luck!"
"Arthur!" A spike of pain shot through his head and he stumbled, Arthur barely catching him. Arthur sighed.
"Merlin, please stay here. Get some sleep, at least. When we get back from patrol I'll send Gwaine up to stay with you, alright?"
Merlin sighed. "Fine."
/
As soon as the patrol was gone, Merlin slipped out of his room and made his way to the fourth floor. The third floor was home to Chillingham and Crane, with a few of the married soldiers as well. The floor was mostly deserted though, and he easily avoided the solitary person who was headed to the lower levels. Slipping up the broad staircase, he came to the large door that marked the entrance to the fourth floor's solitary room; the Room of The Dead, the soldiers had called it. He'd come to find out why, and to get out of staying in bed for so long. He was sick of the room and wanted to explore. Starting up here seemed like a good idea.
"I thought I'd find you up here."
Whirling around, Merlin stared in surprise at Griflet, who was ascending the stair's behind him. "How-"
"Arthur mentioned something about confining you to his quarters. He's not in a good mood. What did you do?" Griflet had reached him by now.
"I passed out."
Silence descended for a second, then Griflet burst into laughter. "Oh, I feel so bad for his children if he's this over protective of you."
/
Leon sighed with all the feeling of a hurricane. "Will you two stop it with the anxious looking around like you expect Merlin to come hurling out of the trees or something!"
Gwaine and Arthur glared at him, turned around on their horses and ignoring the extremely amused looks that Chillingham and Kestrel were exchanging in front of them.
"He could be getting into trouble!"
"He could be getting carried off by a wyvern!"
"He could be getting taken away by a recreant knight!"
"He could be unconscious on a floor somewhere!"
"He could be-"
"He could be," Lancelot interrupted calmly, "Asleep, and resting off the shock. He's not that disobedient, and he's not stupid. You're over reacting."
/
"What is this place?"
Empty except for a chair almost identical to the throne at Camelot that sat in the center of the floor, the top floor of Kendral was dusty and quiet, the tall windows at the top streaming in pale golden light. Their footsteps echoing in the hot, silent room, Griflet and Merlin entered, Griflet closing the door behind them. "This is the old execution room. Apparently, before Father was born there was a civil war in Mercia- Kendral used to belong to them, you see, and it was one of the headquarters the rebel king used. They brought the others here and had them killed in this room- legend says they stashed them here too, for a while, but I doubt it. The chair's the only evidence that this room was ever used for anything other than dancing."
"What's with the chair?" Merlin reached out and ran his fingers over the swirls. As he did, a curious musical sound filled the air, like a young child singing softly. Startled he looked around, removing his hand. The singing stopped, fading into nothingness.
"They had the person sit there," Griflet was saying, "And then they slit their throat from behind, while facing the rebel king. It's bolted to the floor."
Merlin's stomach roiled dangerously upwards, his head spun. Griflet caught him as he swayed towards the floor. "I'm alright," he assured him, a tad shakily. "That just…shocked me a tad."
"Ah. Well, that's all that's up here. Shall we go?"
"What about that?" Merlin pointed at a dusty hanging by the door. It was small, and appeared very old, with a few tattered tassels hanging pathetically from it.
"Oh, the Bond. Here, come have a look."
Woven in elaborate red letters against a black background were these phrases: Honor Alwayse Your Lorde, Serve Alwayse Your Kinge, Protecte Alwayse Your Countreemen.
"Very old, isn't it?" Merlin said dryly, noting the curious attempt at spelling.
"Ancient," Griflet confirmed. "It's the bond that everyone takes when they join the commanding ranks of Kendral. It's been here since before even the rebel king. I don't know how old it is, but someone said once that it was magicked to ensure that the people who say it can never betray the castle or something…Anyway. Let's head back down. I'm with Arthur in that you need to get some rest. Ready?"
With a last glance at the Room of the Dead, and the chair that occupied it, Merlin let Griflet lead him out of the room.
The door was swinging closed when the soft, child-voiced whisper of, "Come back…" reached his ears.
/
Gwaine pushed open the door to Arthur's room to see Merlin nearly asleep, curled on Arthur's bed. A stab of jealousy flicked through him for a second, but he shrugged it off. There wasn't any way he would have let Merlin stay with the other servants, picked through and picked upon as they were, and with the dangers of the castle mounting day after day, Merlin was safer here than anywhere else. After he'd been grabbed by the soldier, Gwaine had fretted and worried over him, but Merlin had simply shrugged it off, and retreated reluctantly to Arthur's rooms.
Now, he was probably going crazy.
Gwaine already knew that he was.
"Gwaine?" The voice was quiet, scratchy, sleep- saturated. He grinned, and slipped into bed behind Merlin. Merlin shifted slightly, pressing up against him and sighing in his quiet, happy way. They so rarely got time like this now, they both cherished it.
"I love you," he whispered in Merlin's ear.
Merlin's hand snaked over his, their fingers twining together. "I love you too," he whispered back, smiling sleepily.
/
Arthur carefully opened the door, looking in warily. Relieved to see that Merlin was, in fact, asleep, now sprawled all over Gwaine, he slipped inside and over to the bed. Gwaine looked up at him, his chest acting as pillow for Merlin for the moment. Cocking an eyebrow at him, he looked questioningly at Arthur, staying silent.
"He's alright?" Arthur murmured the question, trying to avoid waking him up. Gwaine nodded, running his fingers through the black hair. "Good. I'm off to the training grounds, get him up so he's ready for dinner." Gwaine nodded again, and Arthur slipped out the door.
/
He walked the stairs to the fourth floor, opening and pushing into the Room of The Dead. Wandering aimlessly around, he paused when he saw three children enter the room. Two had the same red-gold hair as Griflet and Chillingham once had, the other a thick brunette. The brunette looked about the same age as the bigger of the two red-heads, maybe 15 years old. The other was maybe 9 years old, with big blue eyes and an innocent, trusting face. They wandered around the room, chatting and laughing to themselves, the little one holding tight to the bigger red-heads hand, looking anxiously at the chair even though he was smiling. The sounds were curiously muffled, the room golden color with the light streaming in.
"That's me."
Merlin looked over to see an identical boy to the 9 year old standing next to him, watching. He looked almost decidedly sad. "And that one's Aden, my big brother, and Uther- he's my cousin."
"Cousin?"
The boy nodded, grinning sadly. "Yes…But that's not why I brought you here. This is important- did I hear Griflet call you Merlin?"
"Yes- wait, you heard me?" Merlin stared at the boy.
"Of course- you came and visited me today. Now, watch."
Merlin watched.
The sounds came into focus quickly.
"…their throats in this chair, Liam," Uther was saying. Liam's eyes widened.
"They- they didn't!" He protested firmly. "No one got killed here, Uther! Da wouldn't allow it! He says that killing people is…" he wrinkled his nose, "Un-ethik-al."
Uther snorted and Aden laughed. It was a nice laugh, soft and sweet and gentle, surprisingly kind for such a cruel person. But maybe he wasn't cruel yet…
"It's not unethical," Uther said smugly. "It's because my Da's weak and ordered that none of the prisoners in the war get killed. He doesn't understand that people have to die at some time.We just hurry that process along. It's notbador anything, isn't that right, Ade?"
"Course." Aden smiled down at his wide eyed brother. "It's okay, there's no ghosts or anything here Li. Come on, you can sit in the chair."
"NO! I-I don't want to!" He shrank back and clutched at Aden's leg.
The scene faded, and became nighttime. A few stars could be seen glittering through the huge upper windows.
The door swung open again, Uther carrying a limp Liam in his arms. Striding across the floor, he propped him up in the chair. Merlin's stomach dropped as the king-to-be pulled out rope and lashed the boy in place, his head lolling onto his shoulder. He stirred a few times, but Uther paid no attention, fastening the ropes tight.
"I'm not going to like this, am I?" he whispered. Liam shook his head, and gripped Merlin's hand.
"I had to show you. I'm sorry."
A quiet moan came from the roped Liam's throat, and he stirred again. Uther smiled like a knife, and pulled out a long dagger from his belt. It shone in the moonlight, the blood channels catching the faint light and making it glitter dangerously.
Merlin sat down hard, and looked at Liam in horror. Liam simply squeezed his hand, leaning against him.
"It'll be over soon."
/
"Merlin, please, tell me what's wrong."
Merlin buried his face in Gwaine's shoulder, face soaked in tears. "It was everywhere- just everywhere, Gwaine, and I couldn't stop it, it was the past and ye gods Uther was only fifteen, and he did that! Fifteen! And I don't even know why he did it- Liam could have only been nine at the time, only nine, just a child…"
Gwaine had been woken by the sound of Merlin screaming in terror, the younger man thrashing around like something had gotten a hold of him and was intent on ripping him to shreds. It hadn't been a pretty sound, and to say that he was worried about his lover was, quite possibly, the understatement of the year. After 10 minutes of reassuring him that he was there, he was alive, no one was trying to hurt him, and that he was safe, Merlin had burst into tears and clung to him like a child. He also couldn't get any sense out of him. He was babbling about was a chair, a child named Liam, and a knife that Uther had apparently used to slice someone's throat with and how the blood had been everywhere. The closest he could figure was that Merlin must have had some sort of violent nightmare.
Arthur burst in. "Merlin, it's almost time for din-"
Merlin flew off the bed and all but tackled Arthur. Arthur barely caught him, looking at Gwaine in bewilderment. Gwaine shrugged, climbing off the bed and gently prying Merlin off the prince and back into his arms, murmuring platitudes the entire time. Merlin clung to him, the tears finally stopping as he took deep, shuddering breaths.
"What happened?" Arthur asked finally, reaching out to gently touch his shoulder, but Merlin said nothing, just buried his face in Gwaine's neck.
"Don't tell him…" he murmured when Gwaine opened his mouth to explain. Shutting it again, he simply shrugged again, and gently pulled him back to bed.
"I'll send him down to dinner as soon as I can get him cleaned up, alright?" He told Arthur, who hesitated but nodded.
/
Dinner was long and possibly among the worst of Merlin's life, starting with a dropped wine jug. The Buregatin took pity on him, helping him clean it up. S'Caneral and C'Hara, who had all but adopted him, coddled and crooned at him, helping him recover a bit of his composure in time to serve at the high table.
The real trouble emerged when he was pouring Uther's wine.
"Ah, Merlin," Chillingham said, giving him a surprisingly soft smile, "How're you feeling?"
His hands shook slightly for a moment, and then steadied. Forcing himself to respond, Merlin smiled back at the border lord. "Much better, my lord."
"Glad to hear it. Were you up and about later today? Griflet mentioned seeing you."
Moving over, he began pouring Chillingham's wine. "Yes, I went up to the Room of the Dead."
Uther went deadly still beside him, then, in a rush of movement, flew upright and stormed out of the room. Chillingham, watching Uther as he fled, said very quietly, "And who told you that you could go into that room?"
Taking a very dangerous risk, Merlin said quietly, "A little boy, named Liam."
Chillingham's knuckles went white on the stem of his goblet, and he stared at Merlin with an expressionless mask. "I see," he said finally. "Well then, go about your duties…"
/
Jaspar watched carefully, waiting for Merlin to go out of the servants mess before slipping into the hall behind him. Walking silently, he approached closely, and raised the heavy sap.
Merlin crumpled as silently as he'd hoped. Pulling him onto his back, Jaspar picked up the slim, limp servant, and carried him up the stairs, heading towards Chillingham's private quarters.
The master was waiting.
