Sorry for the wait. Like, for realsies. I know that was way longer than you loyal readers deserved. Next chapter is already in progress, I swear. One more chapter, two tops, and I'll wrap this bad boy up...
Ten million and two thanks goes to the patient and wonderful Emryslin (AO3) also known as dollopheadoctor (tumblr). She is so amazing and took time out of her busy busy busy schedule to pander to my fanfiction needs. Please appreciate this fantastic person.
Merlin hated the looks the other men gave him, the little smirks that curled around the edges of their mouths, the way their eyes swept over his body like they could see right through his clothes. It was as intrusive as any touch.
He was by no means the first slave to ever be used for sex and he wasn't stupid enough to even entertain the thought that he would be the last, but with Merrick it was different. He was more of an abused pet than a slave. Merrick certainly treated him like a dog, having his way with him and beating him senseless and then getting angry when Merlin wasn't wagging his tail and jumping up and down when he came home at the end of the day.
At first, Merlin was worried he might be loaned out, passed out for all the other men to enjoy. That was before he learned how possessive Merrick could be, dictating when he could eat, when he could sleep, and what he could do all day. That was before he learned that Merrick could get upset if other people even talked to Merlin, not that he could ever answer back. Merlin belonged to Merrick, and Merrick was determined to control every aspect of him.
That wasn't to say their activities behind thin tent walls went unnoticed. All of Merrick's full uses of Merlin were common knowledge in the camp. In fact, Merrick seemed to prefer it that way.
Once, after Merrick came back from a ride with some of his most trusted officers, Merlin had gone to fetch his horse. Merrick was talking animatedly, mock begging, mock fighting, and gesturing wildly to his groin.
It wasn't until he heard the words that he understood Merrick was recounting their latest nightly struggle, during which Melin had put up quite the fight about opening his mouth for the first time.
He stood frozen, listening to the whole thing as if living it hadn't been hell enough for him. When Merrick caught sight of Merlin's pale and stricken face, he was not abashed or ashamed, merely amused. "Gave me this," He gestured to the scratch on his cheek, the one good swipe Merlin had managed to get in, with a sick sort of pride. "Isn't that right, love?" He smirked at Merlin, raising an eyebrow. "I think he enjoyed it though, in the end. Judging at how eagerly he swallowed my come…"
Merlin's face burned. That was a lie. Merrick had covered his mouth and nose, refusing to let him breathe until he'd swallowed it down.
They'd roared with laughter as he walked away.
Other slaves pitied him, giving him tentative smiles as they passed, but not daring to try and befriend him. They would have had a hard time even if they had. It was difficult to make friends without talking, and nobody had time to sit around and let him write out notes.
Besides, who wanted to be friends with a corpse? Because that's what Merlin was. A walking corpse. It was inevitable that he was going to die here, treated as he was. He'd hang around, letting himself get beaten and raped until Merrick bored of him and then what? He doubted they'd let him stay on as cook.
But it was more than that. Every time he heard "roll over," or "open your mouth," a little more of him died. And every day, more and more of him shriveled away. It didn't matter how hard his heart worked, or how his lungs kept determinedly pumping air into his body… Merlin was already dead.
88
"It does seem a silly tradition…" Gwen ventured timidly, her fingers swift and confident as she fit the amour's straps around his body. "I mean," she continued, "do they expect you to be attacked in the middle of giving a speech?" She gave him a comforting smile. Arthur knew she was trying to lighten the mood and he was grateful for it, but even so his stomach was twisted up in knots.
He'd given speeches before - hundreds of them- without so much as breaking a sweat, but this speech was different.
This speech would change the fate of his kingdom- maybe even history itself. There was a lot at stake here. What if his people didn't respond kindly?
He took several deep breaths. Everything would be fine. The time had come; the people were ready.
"Thank you for doing this, Guinevere," he said weakly. "I really needed a friendly face today."
"What about Merlin?" she asked as she brushed non-existent lint from Arthur's cape, "he usually, ah, he didn't want to...?"
"No. I didn't ask him. I couldn't."
Gwen smiled again. "You've been good to him, Arthur. He's come leaps and bounds."
Arthur nodded, slightly pale. "Yes," he said distractedly, gazing at the far corner of the room, running through his speech in his mind for the hundredth time.
Gwen seemed to know what he was doing. "you know it, Arthur." She assured him. "I've never seen you this nervous before a speech."
"Yes. Well." He cleared his throat. "Some speeches are more important than others. People will be looking for comfort after our devastating war. Hand me that scroll? I just want to look at it once more."
She obliged, but he couldn't focus on the words with his heart beating so furiously in his ears, and adrenaline pumping through his veins. After barely skimming the first few lines, he put it back down.
"They're waiting for you." Gwen said from the window. She had the velvety curtains pulled back just enough to let her peek out.
"Do you see Merlin? Is he out there?"
"No," she said slowly as she scanned the crowd. Arthur tried not to look disappointed.
"I'm sure he's listening, Arthur." she placated. "Ready?"
He nodded.
"Then good luck." She curtsied. He meant to tell her not to do that anymore (again) but his mouth was very dry, so he simply nodded once more, turned, and marched out into the sunlit balcony before he could rethink what he was doing.
The applause was thunderous, and Arthur found himself hoping it was still as enthusiastic when he exited.
From his position on the balcony everyone looked small and far away, almost like they weren't even really people at all. This made it easier.
Some had hopeful expressions on their faces as they gazed up at him. Others had small flowers tucked between their fingers or in their hair. All of them looked expectant. In the distance he could see the colorful paper lanterns they had strung up between houses. People were ready to honor their dead, celebrate their victory, and look toward happier times.
Arthur took a deep steadying breath.
"Good Afternoon." he began. He rested his hands on the stones in front of him so he wouldn't he tempted to fiddle with them.
"It is only due to the courage of our warriors that I have the great privilege to stand here and address you today. Though there is no way to repay them for their ultimate sacrifice on the battlefield, I offer them the meager thanks of a humbled King; and to their families, my condolences. Know that I share in your sorrow. May we carry their faces in our hearts, and take comfort in the fact that they did not suffer in vain."
He paused here, bowed his head and remembered the face of every friend of his who he lost, knowing each person in the crowd was doing the same.
"This war," he started anew, raising his chin, "has shown me the true strength of rage, the depths of despair, and the horrors of which men are capable. But it also showed me something greater. I have seen the loyalty and bravery of our soldiers, the power of a comforting word, the unity of my great people, and the joy of reunion.
Learning from our past, together, we must build towards a greater and more peaceful future. It is for this reason, with gladness in my heart that I have passed a decree that will bring the great people of Camelot closer together. Together, as we have not been in decades so that we may stand united as one Kingdom of equals."
Here he paused again, licking his lips and looking out determinedly to the horizon. "I have dissolved the law my father wrote that made acts of sorcery illegal. Sorcery is no longer a crime in Camelot. The use of magic for good is a craft long forgotten to us."
A rumble of murmuring in the crowd made Arthur's heart beat thunderously.
"Let us remember that our diversity makes us strong, let it solidify strong bonds of acceptance among us and instill a justice long missing from our lands. We owe it to our fallen heroes to build up from our loss. We will rise up, stronger. Righting this wrong has been a long time in coming, and I know in my heart that Camelot is ready to overcome this obstacle which was instilled with such anger. We will take our hardship and transform it into something good and wholesome. I am proud to lead such a great people. Tonight let us honor those fallen to protect us."
And that was it. He turned, red cape swooshing, returned inside, and nearly fell over. Applause began only after he had left the balcony, but he hardly registered it. Sweat had gathered in little beads on his forehead, and he wiped at them weakly.
He hadn't realized just how nervous he was while speaking. He didn't even have time to take a few calming breaths before a huge weight hit him directly in the chest.
"Arthur," Gwen exclaimed, her curly hair flying into his face, "You were wonderful!"
He exhaled in relief. "Do you think so?"
"You were great, Arthur! It's wonderful news!"
"It went okay?"
"Listen!" she stepped back, flapping her hands emphatically, eyes bright, "Arthur, shh! Listen!"
He fell silent, and immediately heard the chant coming from outside: "Long live the King! Long live the King!"
Arthur let out a laugh of pure relief, and for a moment he and Gwen simply stared at each other, eyes and smiles glowing. It was almost like old times when their relationship was so easy and everything was happier.
But in the silence, Gwen seemed to remember herself.
"Well, Sire," she said, the note of propriety back in her voice, "We'd better get you to the Banquet hall. You've got a feast to attend."
Two armed guards followed them from the doorway and down the hall, flanking Arthur on either side. He wondered briefly if they had heard his speech through the door at their posts, and if they had, what they thought of it. Their faces were as stoic as ever.
He put the matter from his mind. It hardly mattered what two guards thought anyway. All the Advisors, Council Members, Dukes and Duchesses would be at this banquet. He would be getting his feedback all too soon.
"Merlin?" Gwen's question made him look up just in time too see Merlin bursting through the door at the far end of the hall, to the consternation of a few more guards.
"Merlin?" Arthur echoed Gwen. It wasn't that he wasn't pleased to so Merlin, but he had made it pretty clear that he didn't want to be around all the crowds and the people and the fuss that was sure to accompany the celebration today. "Merlin!" His cry turned surprised as Merlin sprinted down the hallway, headed straight for him.
He managed to grab Merlin round the waist, catching him just as he threw his arms Arthur's neck. He laughed in delight, and spun them both on the spot right before Merlin grabbed his chin and crushed their mouths together.
They kissed like fools in love: desperately, enthusiastically, like they'd never have another chance again. And Arthur didn't give a damn who saw them.
88
Merlin spat out a mouthful of hot blood, and wiped his lips with the back of his hand. His stump of a tongue had been continually getting better right up until foreign objects started being shoved into his mouth. The constant abrasion did not exactly encourage healing. In front of him, Merrick did up his trousers.
Catching his breath, he noticed a long crimson streak was left on his skin, and he rubbed it halfheartedly on his clothes as he made to stand up. But he didn't make it very far. A hand, cold and unyielding as death, stopped him, forced him back down. Knees he thought numb suddenly proved him wrong with stabbing pains that traveled through his bones and into his thighs.
His stomach lurched weakly. The thing Merlin hated most about Merrick was his unpredictability. There was no telling how much Merrick wanted to control him on a given day. Sometimes he'd rather ignore Merlin than deal with him and other days… well, other days he was like this.
And Merlin cooperated with every second of it. Because, in the end, he was only a slave.
With a heart like lead, he felt Merrick's hand travel down from his now ridiculously shaggy hair and onto his neck. He kept his head down, his gaze among the leaves and twigs and remaining bits of his dignity - if there were any.
The touch retreated mercifully onto his collar where Merlin could not feel their icy touch and yet he shivered anyway. The ran along the collar's edge, stroking, almost lovingly. For an army fighting for magic, they were surprisingly unconcerned about Merlin's loss of it. They knew full well what his collar meant, yet no one offered to attempt to remove it. Did that mean it couldn't be done? Or did they leave it because they knew Merrick's affixiation on it? He did not know which he prefered.
Either way, it hardly mattered. He was still sucking the same dick.
Merlin closed his eyes, and just waited for it to end. In the darkness of his own mind he was unprepared for when he was snapped forward by the metal of his collar, his breath catching in his throat.
Hot, vicious, lips were crushed quickly to his, his body bowed forward in such an awkward position he had to throw out his hands to avoid falling. He kept his eyes closed. If he opened them, he would have seen Merrick. Closed, why, anybody in the world could be kissing him.
A wet tongue slid through his lips, sharp teeth scraped his lip, a kiss at the corner of his mouth. It lasted a lifetime, maybe two. He didn't look up until it was over. Merrick had Merlin's jaw in his hands, his life in his pocket, and a satisfied look on his face.
"Oh," He sighed happily, "You enjoyed that, didn't you?"
Bile rose in his throat. Why did he have to enjoy it? Why couldn't he just endure it? Was that not enough? He felt his palms beginning to sweat. He wanted to let his face fall back down, so he wouldn't have to meet Merrick's hard gaze, but Merrick's firm hand wouldn't let him escape. When he didn't immediately answer, Merrick gave his head a rough shake. He would have to answer.
Merlin swallowed the sour taste back down his throat. He gave a nod- or an approximation of one, at least, but it seemed to be enough. Merrick pressed a far too tender kiss to his forehead.
"Now, you may eat." he granted before striding away, hands held folded gracefully behind his back, chin held high. In a sort of sick way, Merlin envied him, and he hated that.
Stumbling to his feet, he retched several times, stomach heaving like a boat on the waves, but there was nothing in his stomach to throw up. After a few moments of gasping and gagging, he managed to get some breaths of air down his throat. Closing his eyes and holding his beaten head in his hands, he forced himself to take deep breaths.
"There now," he thought as he leaned heavily against a tree, "see, that's better… It's alright… Everything's fine." He was lying to himself and he knew it, but it seemed that all anyone ever said to him anymore was a lie so he might as well join in. Besides, if he said it enough times, he might even start to believe himself. At least he could eat now.
Stomach bubbling dangerously, Merlin finally manage to stand upright, stretching out his sore joints and limbs. Now that Merrick had left him he felt better: less nauseous and far steadier. Just Merrick's presence, the mere fact that he was close, put Merlin on edge. Even thinking about him, his desires, his lust… knowing what he had done to Merlin's body, knowing what was going through Merrick's mind when he looked at him, and worst of all knowing it would happen again and again and again and Merlin was powerless to stop it. It was enough to make anyone sick.
He blinked eyes that were far too watery for his liking and stood again, shaking on bandy legs. He bent slightly to brush grass, dirt and pride from his knees, trying to focus on his lunch and nothing else. He desperately wished for some water, so that he might rinse his mouth. But his thoughts were interrupted by a rustling in the bushes behind him, and he spun around with a jolt, realizing he wasn't alone. His only just-calmed heart began to pound anew as his eyes raked the landscape feverishly. He and Merrick hadn't been very well hidden, hardly twenty feet from the last tent and behind some trees. He felt the blood drain from his face.
If someone had seen them, watched him perform such a debasing act (and claim to like it) for food like an eager dog - Merlin couldn't bear it. He could not bear such humiliation, such disgrace. There was no point in pretending that nobody knew what was going on. The whole encampment was all too aware of how Merrick's used his slaves, but knowing and seeing were very different. If someone caught him in the act, it was like it all became real. Merlin couldn't handle that. A half-choked sob broke free from him as he spun aimlessly, the world blurring before him, trying to find his intruder…
Then there she was. Her little face perhaps just as scared and pale as his. Merlin's heart dropped. There was no telling how much this child had seen; and what she understood from what she had seen, for she could not have been older than eight. He would have liked to think her innocence intact, but she was a slave too, so he knew better. He did not think it was possible for him to feel more loss, more sadness, yet in his chest something stirred for this poor, dirty, girl. At least he had had his childhood.
He wondered if her mother was a slave, too. He wondered if her mother was alive. They stared at each other, wide-eyed and scared.
Still, this was no place for a child to be wandering around. There was no telling what dangers she might run into. The people here weren't kind. They wouldn't care for her. She would have to look out for herself, and the sooner she learned that, the better. He had to scare her off. It was for her own good, really. He only wanted the best for her.
He pulled a gruesome face, baring his teeth (perhaps they were even still red from with blood), screwing up his eyes, and wrinkling up his nose. He saw, with some satisfaction, that she jumped ever so slightly, but she did not run. No, she stood there and contemplated his face with a awestruck look that seemed to say I didn't even know faces could do that. And before Merlin knew what was going on, she'd returned the favor, imitating his own face, giving it back to him.
He had to admit he hadn't seen that coming.
He was forced to stray from his fool-proof plan. He contorted his face three more times, and she hurled them effortlessly back,each time more quickly than the last. Then with a giggle and a smile, she carried on her way as cool as you please.
Unless Merlin was very much mistaken, he'd just made himself an unlikely friend.
88
"Are you ready, Merlin?"
Gaius had a small leaflet of pages in front of him, all filled to bursting with his loopy scrawl. Of course, that was nothing compared to the messy explosion of books and scrolls, ink and parchment that covered his table, and overflowed onto the floor, on his shelves, the windowsill; every flat surface was completely and thoroughly wallpapered. Arthur was sure Gaius had at least half the library holed up in his small quarters. Arthur couldn't have read most of it it even if wanted to, because it was all written in the language of the Old Religion, a language that was still, even after all of his research, a great mystery to him. That, and he had done enough reading these past few weeks than he ever wanted to do again.
"Now keep in mind," Gaius continued, his withered hands fiddling nervously with his stack of parchment, "This is only our sixth attempt. We may have to make more adjustments. I don't want anyone to get their hopes up. After all, this is experimental in nature."
Arthur didn't think Gaius had to worry on the front. Merlin looked about as hopeful as someone who was told they were about to be punched in the groin. Stony-faced, he was seated on the only clear chair, arms folded, looking chalky.
After their first try at removing the collar had failed, Merlin had been very… well, "upset" didn't really cover it. There had been tears, harshly scrawled words, and a vase had met its unfortunate end (though it had been hideous anyway, so no real harm done.)
It had taken Arthur quite some convincing to get Merlin to agree to try again at all, and his agreement had been delicate to say the least.
Arthur would have thought that Merlin would jump at a chance to be rid of that dreadful thing around his neck, and he hadn't been the only one taken aback by his initial refusal.
To his surprise, he'd found himself being questioned by Gaius, who was also desperate to know more of Merlin's past, and he gently asked Arthur what he knew of the time Merlin's spent enslaved, in the hopes that Merlin had confided in him. Shame faced, Arthur had to admit that he knew little more than Gaius. He added what precious knowledge he could - the mess of whip scars on Merlin's back, the dog bite he had received while trying to escape, and his suspicions about the sexual abuse. Gaius then confessed what he knew - only that Merlin had changed masters three times before ending up in the hands of one of Morgana's own warlords.
Arthur knew he had to respect Merlin's need for space. He couldn't force him to talk about painful memories that he clearly didn't want to discuss. But he lamented in his lack of information. It was difficult to help Merlin, not knowing what nightmares he'd lived through.
So it was with great caution and a heavy heart that he had approached Merlin later, asking only after his reluctance to take the collar off.
"Help me to understand, Merlin, please," Arthur had pleaded, one hand raking through his hair so often he was sure it was now standing on end. He was pacing relentlessly back and forth in front of his fireplace while Merlin sat at the table, knees pulled up, looking uncomfortable.
"I thought that you would be as eager to get that - that disgusting thing off of you as I am, and I don't understand why you're not. I didn't think that this would be an issue, quite the opposite, in fact."
He sighed heavily, shooting a cursory glance at the infuriatingly explanation-free parchment sitting in front of his former servant.
"I'm not going to force you into anything, Merlin, of course I won't, but I want to help you move on from your past. Only you're choosing to stay in it and I just don't understand. I'm not asking for a confession, or an autobiography, I only wish I could understand what the problem is."
He came to a halt finally, to stand with his arms crossed, facing the flames and hoped Merlin hadn't caught him wiping furiously as a stubborn tear fought it's way out his eye. When he spoke next, his voice had lost its harsh edge, turning to something weak and trembling.
"If… if you knew, Merlin, if you knew how hard it is to look at you with that thing on you, to see you in so much pain…" he shook his head, and had to clear his throat before he continued. "If I had just found you sooner, you wouldn't be suffering like this. It's my fault. I don't know how you can even stand to touch me. I just… I just want to help."
Warm hands brushed his jawbone, tugging his head sideways so Merlin could kiss his cheek. A ripped off bit of parchment was pressed neatly into his hands, and Merlin watched, chin propped on Arthur's shoulder, as he read.
I'm afraid it'll never come off. Every time we try, I lose a little hope. I've no hope left. I'm sorry.
"You've nothing to be sorry for," Arthur murmured, twisting around to hold Merlin's waist. He rested their foreheads together. "If you've no hope," he murmured, his hand sliding to the small of Merlin's back, "Have faith in me. I'm the King of Camelot, remember? If I can't even get a collar off my best friend what am I good for, right?" He smiled, and paused to kiss the tip of Merlin's nose.
"I don't want to see you like this. I don't want to rest until you're free of it, but I can't if you won't let me. If we don't try...'"
Merlin, eyes downcast, nodded ever so slightly, though he didn't exactly look convinced.
Grinning, Arthur pulled him in close. "Good," he breathed, "besides, I have enough hope for the both of us."
So now, standing in Gaius's quarters for what seemed the hundredth time, Arthur kept Merlin's words in mind, and he was glad to hear Gaius try to ebb the flow of their collective excitement.
Due to the clutter, Arthur had forgone a chair to instead lean on the wall, basking in the last of the day's light filtering in through the window. He shifted to make himself comfortable - he'd done this enough times to know it was going to be a while.
Merlin, fiddling with his hands in his lap, shot Arthur a questioning look. Arthur nodded his encouragement.
"Alright then," Gaius cleared his throat, "let's begin."
He started to read from the papers in front of him, and Arthur began to wait. It took ages. First of all, the collar took a myriad of enchantments to get it to work the way it did, and it took an equally large amount of counterspells to undo it. Secondly, despite their mountains of research, there was no way they could pinpoint the exact spells that had been used when the collar was made. Therefore they had to overreach, make sure they covered every possible spell that could have been used.
It took quite a while. The most infuriating part - besides not knowing if it would work - was the fact that he had looked up hundreds of words, recopied endless spells and yet, he still had no idea what was being said. Granted, he caught a word every now and then like "contain" or "magic" or "unite," but overall it was like listening to a speech in a foreign language, which is ultimately what he was doing, he supposed.
Arthur rolled his head in circles, stretching out his neck as Gaius flipped to yet another page. Every so often, Merlin's gaze sought out his, brimming with anxiety, and each time Arthur tried his best to assure him only his eyes and his smile, to fill him with his own hope and love.
Gaius droned on until Arthur wished he could sit down. The sun slowly yawned its way across the sky. Gwen had initially wanted to stay with them and watch too, but experience had told them the fewer people present when their spell failed, the better. And after a gentle yet pointed explanation of this, she reluctantly agreed to wait outside.
Arthur was just glad he was allowed in - like he was the carrier of a precious secret. After all it's not like he was necessary personnel. Gaius said the spell and he stood still and looked pretty. He was there for moral support only. He had offered to wait outside once too, but Merlin had declined, a fact that pleased him to no end.
Merlin shifted uneasily in his chair as Gaius cleared his throat, beginning to feel the effects of so much talking. He was close to the end, now. Arthur straightened up, no longer leaning casually against the wall. He was tense, ready to see some results, eager to act (or at least jump in with comforting words and pacifying kisses).
Gaius's voice rose theatrically, swelling as he reached the climax of his speech. His last words fell
from his mouth like a hammer on the anvil - final, and ringing.
Arthur had been expecting something dramatic: a gust of wind, maybe some sparks, at least some magical fog. Something. None of that happened.
For a moment, there was nothing, just the echoing silence that reverberated endlessly around the room, telling them that they had failed again. Arthur let out a hollow breath, letting his head hang. To think he had cajoled Merlin into this huge disappointment once again.
But then there was the smallest of clicks. Arthur's head snapped up. A neat crack appeared on the rim of the collar, a clean cut near the side of Merlin's neck, staring back at him like it had been there all along and they'd just failed to notice.
It swung open as if on a hinge, and with a deafening clatter fell to the floor.
Silence.
It was impossible that something that had haunted their lives so completely fell away with the smallest of whimpers. An almost inaudible click and it fell away, just like that. No theatrics, no bangs or flashes. Somehow, it didn't seem fair.
An astound chuckle broke free from Arthur, throwing the room into the warmth of his laughter. He could scarcely believe it. Stunned, Merlin reached up to his neck tentatively, feeling the pale stripe of skin where the collar used to lie. He had a fantastic tan line.
"Merlin!" Arthur leapt forward from his place on the wall, wrapping his arms tightly around Merlin in a crushing hug.
He turned, and in his state of joy, hugged Gaius too. "You've done it!" he shouted. Gaius patted him uncertainly on the back. Despite his close relationship to the physician, they'd never embraced before, and when he let go of the old man it was with a certain degree of awkwardness. But Arthur wouldn't let that get too him, not now when something so marvelous had happened.
"Merlin," even Gaius was wide-eyed with excitement, "Can you do magic? Can you feel it?"
Merlin closed his eyes and tilted his head back like he was bathing in sun, a smile sliding over his face. A small, warm breeze began to stroll through the room though all the windows and doors were shut. It grew strong and stronger, filling the room until the papers that filled every surface began to dance.
A joyous laughter rang like bells through the room, bouncing off the walls and making Arthur's heart swell, and his spirits soar.
"I can feel it… I can feel it, Arthur."
It was strange. He didn't hear the voice with his ears and yet it heard it plain as day. It was as if it were one of his own thoughts, but the voice did not belong to him. His face paled. "Merlin!" he gaped, "Is- is that-?"
Gaius gave a deep rumbling, laugh. "Do you hear it too, Sire?"
"Hear what? What am I hearing?"
"It's how the Druids communicate." Arthur shivered. That was definitely going to take some getting used to. "I'm not a Druid."
"And so you cannot answer back - at least not with your mind." Gaius explained, grinning affectionately at Merlin, "It's not surprising that he can bend the rules of magic a bit. Pushing thoughts into peoples' heads shouldn't be too hard for the most powerful sorcerer in existence."
"The most- you've got to be joking!"
"Is that doubt I'm hearing?" Merlin asked playfully.
It was so good to hear his voice.
Gaius crossed the room to dark trunk, stooping down to open the lid and rummage inside. Standing up, he had a red square of fabric clutched firmly in his hand.
"Here," he held it out to Merlin. "That really is a ghastly stripe on your neck, Merlin."
Grinning, Merlin tied the handkerchief around his neck, and suddenly it was like he had never left at all. He looked so happy, so much like he did before this nightmare began, smiling up at Arthur like he was ready to take the world by storm.
Arthur threw his arms around Merlin again, burying his head in the crook of Merlin's neck, never mind that Gaius stood not two feet away. Merlin reciprocated, squeezing his arms tightly around Arthur's shoulders, unable to stop smiling, his heart pounding.
"It's so good to hear your voice," he breathed, "so good. You've no idea."
Merlin's hand curled into the fabric of Arthur's shirt, like he was hanging on for dear life.
"I know, Arthur, I know."
88
The warmth that encased his hands was better than gloves, and definitely better than human contact. A few months ago, he'd have chopped off a finger to get someone to touch him - not sexually, just a pat on the back, a handshake, a hug, anything. Now he'd chop off a finger to get it to stop. It was so ironic it was almost funny, but Merlin was far from laughing.
He inhaled deeply. It smelled so good. Eating was his favorite part of the day, and he'd been looking forward to this since he woke. Unlike Boan's farm where he was only fed table scraps, here he ate what all the other servants ate, and it was glorious. He stared lovingly into his soup bowl, admiring the chunks of potatoes and meat, and thought hard about how they used to taste, how they used to felt on his tongue. If he concentrated hard enough when he ate he could almost taste it.
He was jarred roughly from behind and the broth in his bowl sloshed around dangerously. He brought it close to his chest, like he could protect it from the world. Nothing spilled, but he resolved to squirrel his meal away, eat it somewhere safe, enjoy it in peace, away from all the people gathered around the cooking fire.
He looked around sharply, searching for a good spot. There's not much in the way of landscape - lots of tents, the edge of the forest too far to be a viable option.
"Merlin!"
Shit.
With his tongue in Merlin's ear, Merrick had had him carve his name into the dirt with shaking hands. He'd considered giving a fake one, but what was the point in lying? Now each time Merrick said his name he wished he had.
No where to run, no where to hide; he was trapped like the beaten dog he was, tail between his legs. A rather fitting analogy, he thought to himself, though of course a dog might have an actual chance at escape.
"Merlin!" Just the tone of Merrick's voice made Merlin freeze instantly, his blood like ice water.
He shuffled slowly on the spot, turning reluctantly to see Merrick barreling toward him with wildness gleaming in his eyes. He tightened his grip on his soup. Merlin He hated the hold Merrick had over him; he hated always having to ask himself what now? Ask least with Boan he knew why he was being hit. Here things were so chaotic they boarded on meaningless, and Merlin stopped correlating cause to effect.
Wham, a fierce flesh-colored smack… but not on his face. He managed to keep his grip on the bowl, but that isn't terribly helpful when its contents were sailing through the air. Just that quickly, his whole day, his hope and excitement, his heart was soaking into the dirt with the broth. His hands, scalded by the hot soup, were stiff and shaking. The bowl slipped from his grasp and flopped to the ground, as empty and useless as its owner.
Twin needles pricked at the backs of his eyes and hot liquid bubbled up, filling his vision with wet, stinging shame. He didn't know how to explain it, he couldn't explain it, how one stupid bowl of food was the entire world to him, life or death to him. Some of the broth had sloshed down his shirt, leaving a dark, blotchy trail. He could not stand the idea of all that food wasted. He resolved to suck it from the cloth the first chance he gets.
"Merlin, you stupid cock-sucking son of a bitch!" There was another slap and this time it does hit his face- a sharp pain slashed across his cheek like the graze of a sword. It took all his self control, but he managed not to reach up and hold his stinging cheek. He kept his head down. Submissive was always best here.
Submissive was always best.
"Did I tell you you could eat yet? Stupid, disobedient fool!"
His lips trembled slightly, but he pressed them together. He had given Merlin permission to eat, not five minutes ago, after Merlin had finished washing Merrick's clothes. But there was no way he could defend himself without talking. There was no way he could apologize either. Thank heaven for small mercies.
It didn't matter. This question had no right answer. Either way he was going to get hit. He hunched his shoulders in anticipation, breaths shortening, heart quickening.
"Well?" Merrick wasn't going to let it drop. He wanted to hear Merlin say it.
He pursed quivering lips to still them, keeping his gaze fixed on his feet. A deep breath and a shake of his head. No, he'd never been given permission to eat, yes, he was a disobedient slave.
A third slap, this time to his other cheek, and Merlin stumbled back a few paces. Several voices chuckled, some murmuring unintelligible things to each other. Merlin had almost forgotten about everyone watching him… now that he could feel the full burden of their stares, he wondered how it was possible that he hadn't before. It felt like a yoke on his shoulders, so heavy he felt as if he might be pulled into the earth himself. He wished he would. The humiliation was nightmarish, shame stained his cheeks.
"Oh come on, Merrick," one voice was in front of the crowd, "Let the boy go…"
"No!" He spat it out, face contorted, eyes ablaze, "No, he has to be punished, he has to learn his place!" He snatched Merlin's arm in a grip of iron, dragging him forward even as Merlin dug his feet into the earth. "If he acts like a child, he shall be treated as one!"
Soldiers around the fire shook their heads, rolled their eyes, and watched with poorly disguised interest. Merlin felt sick. He was flung unceremoniously forward, and lost his footing, his palms and knees stinging when they slammed against the hard earth. Disoriented, he scrambled to turn over, eyes searching desperately for the object of his nightmares, the cause of his fear. It rolled off him in waves and he had no doubts Merrick picked up on it. Like a fish on a hook, Merlin's eyes caught on Merrick. He bore down on Merlin, a thin reed swinging menacingly in his hand and his blonde, dirty hair in his dark and angry clouds overhead cast Merrick in shadow as he advanced.
Merlin shook his head, asking in the only way he knew how to. He wasn't above begging, not anymore. Not if it took the pain away. The unforgiving toe of Merrick's boot pressed into his side, rolling him effortlessly into his front. Before he could so much as blink a weight fell heavy onto his thighs, trapping him.
His fingers dug into the earth, as if he could crawl away, as if he could escape. Maybe if he dug deep enough, the earth would collapse beneath him and he could slip into sweet nothing.
He clutched at his trousers, giving a wild grunt that was all he had left of the word 'no'. It did him no good. Merrick had a firm grip on them and with one swift heart-stopping yank his bare arse was exposed to a chorus of hearty chortling and catcalls.
It was surreal, like a nightmare about being naked in public, only the details were far too sharp - the breezy absence of clothing, the dry grass beneath his curled fingers, and above all else that could convince him wasn't dreaming, the pain - oh, the pain. Stinging burns, like he was lashed with thin tendrils of fire. Again and again and again, heat bloomed across his backside. The pain, at least, he was familiar to. The humiliation, he was not.
So exposed, so vulnerable, being punished out in the open. The sound of laughter filled his ears, the weight of stares holding him down. His face was perhaps as red as his backside and he dropped his face to the ground to hide it, covering his head with his arms and letting the smell of earth fill his nostrils, letting the grass tangle in his fingers.
He didn't try to crawl away; he didn't try to fight the way he might have before - he didn't want to add to the spectacle. Besides, there was no escape. He kept his head on the ground and pretended he was elsewhere, waiting for his circulation to return to his numbing legs. He looked up for only one second, too see just how many eyes were boring into him, out of some kind of sick curiosity.
Even though the world buckled in his watery eyes - as unstable, perhaps, as Merlin's delicate future, he saw one face clearly: the pale, scared, and tear-stained face of a little girl.
88
"Merlin," Arthur sighed, his hand stilling as Merlin's body stiffened up for the third time, "It's okay. We don't have to do this." As soon as he said it, guilt rose up to the surface of his skin like bubbles in champagne because he really hoped Merlin wouldn't rescind his offer.
"No, keep going. I want to." Arthur shivered. He still wasn't used to that.
"Okay," he kissed Merlin's temple. "Just relax." Merlin took a deep breath, closing his eyes and letting his muscles relax.
"That's it," Arthur encouraged, letting his mouth slide across Merlin's, darting out his tongue to taste him, suck on his swollen lips. Body steaming, skin buzzing, he drifted lower, giving that jawline all the attention it deserved. He lavished Merlin's neck, nibbled his collarbone, mouthed at his shoulder. His heart hammered so hard in his chest he found it hard to believe that Merlin couldn't feel it, their bare chests pressed together as they were. It was still hard to believe that he got to touch this, this beautiful man. He got to touch and kiss and hold; he was the luckiest man in the entire world, that, he was convinced of.
He was determined to take it slow, consider Merlin's every want, to be the most perfect, kingly, gentleman. Tonight Merlin had asked Arthur to touch him, caress him, to bring him to his fullness, yet each time his hand strayed lower than Merlin's prominent hip, his body tensed like a coil.
"Merlin," he tried again, gently, "Please, I don't want to push you." He kissed his cheek, "I don't mind waiting. I'll wait forever for you. Let's just take it slow."
"No, please! I want this. I want you."
Arthur studied his face for a moment, studying the creases in his forehead, the gleams in his eyes, looking for signs of honesty and of hesitance.
"You know," he cleared his throat idly, looking down at Merlin's anxious face resting on the pillows between his hands, "you don't… owe me anything because I legalized magic. I did it because it was right, not because I wanted to please you."
"I know that," Merlin huffed, "I only- can I- let me change your hair. Please. Just- just for a bit."
Arthur rose an eyebrow at him. "You want to- cut my hair?"
"No, it's just, um, my las mast- the last man I… he was blonde. Too." He turned his head, not quite meeting Arthur's stare, though he could plainly feel it. "When," he swallowed and began again, "When I look down, I see… your hair." Arthur felt him shudder beneath him. "I hate it."
Arthur reached out to touch his chin gently, turning his head forward to kiss his lips, sweetly. "Yes, Merlin, of course you can."
His eyes flashed golden and Arthur's scalp gave a familiar prickle. Merlin smiled up at him, grinning. "You know, I quite like you in this color."
Arthur grinned back, raising an eyebrow. "Is that so? And what color might that be?"
"Dark brown. Almost black. It suits you. Brings out your eyes."
Arthur chuckled, "You find me very handsome, then?"
Merlin blushed. "Don't be such a dollophead, you know I do."
Arthur kissed him lightly, reveling in the feeling of Merlin's hands tangled in his hair. His thumb stroked Merlin's cheek gently as he pressed their bodies together, enjoying their shared heat. A thought suddenly occurred to him as his tongue was lathing broad stripes against the pale skin of Merlin's neck, and he snapped his head up, gazing down at Merlin and biting his lip.
Merlin's hand had been stroking the back of neck, but when Arthur stopped, his hand stilled and he looked up with confusion on his face.
"I- I think you're handsome, too." he gave a quiet chuckle, "Beautiful, actually. Gorgeous. I think you are the most alluring, magnificent, stunning creature."
Merlin smiled widely, his cheeks tinting in a lovely shade of pink. He pulled Arthur's face down, and kissed him fiercely. Enamored, consumed, Arthur's hands wandered. They slid down Merlin's sides, grazing over his nipples, pinching and them into hardness. As he sucked at the line of his collarbone, his hands felt each of his ribs. They hovered at his waist, his fingers explored the slight divet of his belly button, and his heart was so full he thought it might burst. He felt the light smattering of hair that let up to his naval, running his thumb over it and following it down… down to the waistband of his trousers. He slipped a thumbnail underneath, his heart pounding, his palms moist and damp, his mouth firmly attached to the soft flesh behind Merlin's ear.
Merlin gasped and then stopped breathing, hands curled tightly by his sides, speaking all manor of displeasure, his eyes squeezed shut. Arthur pulled back swiftly, studying Merlin's scrunched face for a moment. Merlin peeped open one blue eye.
"Okay, that's it." Arthur shook his head. "I'm not doing this."
Merlin's started, his eyebrows shooting up in distress. "What? No! No, Arthur, please, I want to, really I do! Just keep going, I just have to- to push past it."
"No," Arthur tucked his hands underneath Merlin's shoulders and with one swift motion flipped them over so that Merlin was on top. "You're going to do me."
Merlin seemed surprised, but he settled himself down, straddling Arthur's hips calmly. "Okay." He nodded, looking interested.
Arthur's hands found Merlin's hips and held them firmly. Slowly, Merlin leaned down, brushing his lips against Arthur's throat in a chaste kiss. "I don't… I don't know how you like it." He ventured.
Arthur snorted. "Take my word on this one, Merlin. I'm going to like anything you do."
With what Arthur firmly believed to be a devilish smile on his face, Merlin leaned down, grazing his mouth against Arthur's, letting his hands warmly squeeze his broad shoulders. His mouth ventured downward, making stops to visit Arthur's earlobe and neck, using just enough teeth to extract a gasp from those plump lips, being just rough enough to leave the skin a ravished pink.
His hands were busy brushing over Arthur's skin, feeling the cut of his chest, admiring the depth of the strength that hid in his muscles. Then his mouth sealed over a peaked nipple, sucking and biting and nosing at it. Arthur tried to control his shaky breaths, his arms wrapped around Merlin and holding on for dear life as Merlin's hand drifted lower and lower, batting the beehive in Arthur's stomach and sending its inhabitants wild.
He bit the inside of his cheek, his hands falling into the sheets as Merlin pulled back, turning his attention to the bulge in Arthur's trousers. His hands worked deftly at the laces there and soon Arthur was greeted with a bout of cold air as his hard cock sprang free.
Merlin brought his face close to investigate and Arthur had to turn his head away, the sight of Merlin's face that close to his groin was too much to handle. He tried to control his breathing as his face flushed slightly. He couldn't help but be a little nervous. There'd been others, yes, a noblewoman here, a scullery maid there, but none of them were important. Not a single one of their opinions about his body had mattered in the slightest. He'd wanted touch, intimacy, any human connection to remind him he wasn't alone in the world. A quick romp and they were out of his bed before he could so much as catch his breath. It was lonely at the top… or at least it had been.
Here, with Merlin running his fingers across the hot skin of his shaft, it was different. Merlin wasn't just important, he was the most important - the only person who mattered. Arthur wanted to protect him, to impress him, to please him, and the fact that Merlin was so unfortunately experienced in this area made everything so much more complicated. But he would gladly surrender, freely give himself over for Merlin like he'd never done before.
Just knowing it was Merlin's hand curling around his member, swiping at his head, was enough to bring a distinctly undignified whimper to Arthur's lips. He'd barely begun, and yet he felt sure that Merlin need only give the word Arthur would come. His face pressed in closely, so close he could feel hot breath when Merlin breathed out and cold air as he breathed in, taking in the sight and scent of Arthur's arousal. Ridiculously sweet kisses were marching a line up his dick as if he were something to be savored, something to be adored. He bit his lip, not wanting to embarrass himself with any more strange noises.
Fingers were now trailing across his mouth, nudging insistently against his lips, looking for entrance. Arthur complied, letting his tongue dance against the flesh of Merlin's hand, drawing sloppy pattern. Merlin couldn't wet his own hand.
He unceremoniously removed himself from Arthur's mouth as soon as he deemed his hand slick enough, and all too quickly it was wrapped around his throbbing dick. Arthur groaned, determined to keep his hips from bucking into the friction and only succeeding a little bit. The air was filled with the wet sound of flesh on flesh.
He wanted to draw it out, make this memorable. After all, it was their first time being really intimate… he couldn't explain how desperate he was to have Merlin enjoy his. If he didn't, Arthur would feel about as disgusting as the man who had raped him. Heart pounding, he lifted his head, just enough to see.
Merlin's hand was pumping quickly up and down on Arthur's cock, but his dark eyes were on Arthur. He watched the expressions on Arthur's face, the hoarse gasps leaving his lips, the rapid rise and fall of his chest with such unbidden pleasure on his face it was enough for Arthur, as close to the edge as he was, to lose it. One twist of Merlin's wrist and he was undone, spilling himself onto his stomach and into the sheets.
"Shit," he gasped, thrusting his hips upward, as Merlin's hand disappeared into his own trousers, "Merlin, Merlin, I love you."
His head fell back, his cheeks burning, blood pounding.
Fuck. He'd done it now. Stupid, stupid. He'd ruined. How could he blurt out something so intimate, so beautiful, at a moment like this. He whispered a curse. That would certainly be enough to scare Merlin, if nothing else. After what he'd escaped from the last thing he needed was a needy blonde man following him around like a lost puppy. He waited- for what he knew not. Desperate footsteps, perhaps.
Silence.
He lifted his head to check, but Merlin, having wiped his hand on the sheets, was settling himself down next to Arthur, his head nuzzling into the crook of Arthur's shoulders. Maybe Merlin hadn't heard? Hope glimmered in the distance like stars. But he looked into Merlin's face, gazing back up at his and he knew Merlin had heard.
He looked away, clearing his throat. "Ah, Merlin- I- um, I'm sorry I…" he didn't even know what to say. I'm sorry I took what would have otherwise been a beautiful moment and squandered it in a moment of passion? I'm sorry I'm so in love with you that I'd be lost without you? I'm sorry that on my best day, I still wouldn't deserve you?
Merlin snorted, stretching up to bring Arthur's face to his and kiss his lips heatedly.
"Don't be sorry, you numbskull." Arthur could hear the smile in his voice, "I love you, too."
88
Merlin's hands smoothed over the tender flesh of his backside, inspecting what his eyes could not. Though his movements spoke of all caution, it was impossible to avoid every bump, every snag scattered across the fabric of his skin like mosquito bites. Each time his cool fingers brushed against a fresh welt it sent a stinging pain through him, like that of an angry bee.
He'd mastered the art of concealing pain, hiding winces. He ground his teeth together instead, bit down on his lip until he tasted blood. He'd gotten so good he almost believed himself.
Lacing up his trousers he barely grimaced, and walking proved to be easier than he had dared to hope; he hardly limped… well, hardly more than usual.
He needed to be alone for a moment. He kept his head bowed as he moved through the campsite, unwilling to see the faces of those who had witnessed his humiliation as he passed.
Reaching the forest's edge he let out a breath he hadn't been aware he was holding. Here, at least, he could breathe. Here, away from choking stares, away from Merrick, he felt like things were okay - at least for the moment.
Collecting firewood was one of his favorite chores. He could drag it out, recruit only the best logs, collect and collect until his arms were so full he could barely carry them all. Best of all, he didn't have to think. He could let his body drive itself for some time, check out of reality. And every minute he could escape from his hellish existence was a good minute, in his book.
He wandered among the trees, touching their trunks, admiring how sturdy they were, how strong. He wouldn't mind being a tree… nothing would ever hurt him then. He'd always liked nature, and it was peaceful here, just him and the forest. But it wouldn't last long enough. It never did. Merrick liked having him close too much, liked keeping him on a short lead. No matter how long he took, when he returned, Merrick was waiting; always waiting, like a snake in the underbrush.
"Here's my naughty boy," Merrick laughed smoothly, snagging Merlin around the waist as he was depositing his firewood, and giving him the most unpleasant one armed hug he had ever received, "Come on then, love, give your master a kiss."
With all the enthusiasm of a dead man, Merlin did, pressing cold lips limply onto Merrick's cheek. Merrick seemed to enjoy it anyway.
"There's a good lad," He sighed with an air of a preening peacock. Merlin made to leave his side, having delivered the forced and twisted token of his affection, but was snatched back, by a strong arm. Head bowed, lips pursed anxiously, he waited.
"Why do you always want to leave me, hmm?" His voice, a second ago playful, playful for Merrick anyway, had a sudden bite of poison in it. It was one of the few times when Merlin was glad he could not respond. He let his eyes drop, but Merrick had none of it. He squeezed his cheeks tightly between his thumb and forefinger, forcing his face up in his painful grip. Merrick's eyes burned, uncontainable, uncontrollable, and willed with inconsolable anger.
"Are you hungry?" He spat. It seemed a question out of nowhere, and Merlin, though starving, was at a loss as to whether he was supposed to agree or not. Luckily it didn't matter much, as he was unable to do either, his face caught as it was.
Merrick pushed him away as violently as he grabbed him, and Merlin stumbled, his heart racing. Merrick advanced, muttering obscenities under his breath. Merlin, blood rushing in his ears, tried to decide if he was about to be beaten or raped. Other soldiers milled about not fifty yards from them and it was only a matter of seconds before he became another spectacle, and Merlin couldn't take it, he just couldn't.
Then, out of nowhere, out of absolutely nowhere, the tug of small hands on his tunic. Though he knew how dangerous it was to take his eyes off Merrick, he was too surprised to stop himself.
A child's head floated by his hip, her hair parted into messy braids. Green eyes fixed up at him, grinning, and, in her hand, an offering of stale bread.
He moved without pausing, or thinking. He just had to have it. Like pulling a friend back from the line of danger, it was automatic. He snatched the bread from her so fast it might have burned her hand, clutching it tight until-
"What is this?" Merrick roared.
Fear pierced Merlin like a lance, and he dropped the bread as quickly as he had taken it.
"Has she been feeding you?" He shouted as he came forward, outraged, pointing at the little girl who looked only disappointed that her gift had been cast aside.
Merlin immediately stepped between his master and the little friend he hadn't asked for, shaking his head violently, waving his hands frantically.
"No, no, no, no…" he tried to convey, "This silly girl? I've never seen her before in my life. She's crazy. She's no one."
He attached himself to Merrick's side, smoothing the hackles of his shoulders with his hands, kissing his cheek tenderly, touching his face, his hair.
"Let's go," he pleaded silently, taking Merrick's hand in his, "Let's go to our tent. Let's go make love in our tent. I'll be so good if you just leave her be! I'll even enjoy it. "
With a grunt, Merrick tore his arm free, and one rough shove left Merlin sprawled mud-spattered on the ground.
Merrick had the girl's small arm encased inside his iron grasp, marching her away through the mud, away to where Merlin could not follow or help her.
Her small legs worked furiously to keep up with Merrick's brusque strides, nearly being dragged by her arm. Even so, she managed a curious glance back at Merlin as if asking for an explanation, and when none came, she delivered one last gift: a cross-eyed, tongue out, nose wrinkled face.
Merlin meant to respond, to give one back, but he'd forgotten how to breathe properly. Jagged gasps cut their path down his throat like broken glass, and he clutched at his chest. He could only stare on in disbelieving horror. Then the little girl's head was turned away, as she jogged to keep up.
Merlin never saw her again.
He kept still for a few moments, breathing slowly, lamenting, angry at Merrick, angry at himself, angry at that stupid girl, what had she been thinking, giving bread to him like that right in front of Merrick?
His fist pounded at the ground in fury, but far from satisfying, he only managed to splash himself with mud, making him about as dirty on the outside as he felt within.
A few inches from him, the bread still lay on the ground, now half- spattered in grime. Merlin gave it only a cursory brush before stuffing it down his throat.
Sometimes, in moments like this, he remembered Freya, and thought about all things she might have gone through had she lived, and he decided that she was probably better off sleeping peacefully under the earth.
And maybe so was he.