A/N: Ahahahahaha.
Life is hella chaotic, y'all! The kids I babysit started school, and my job has shifted from babysitting, to legit sitting with them while they do Zoom to try and keep them sane. The eldest (10) is typically fine on her own, but the two youngest (5 and 8) are struggling and it's tough. The middle child flat out refused to do her zoom meeting yesterday because she was ten minutes late and was convinced her teacher would hate her. The youngest consistently is near tears by the halfway point. And they only had one hour of zoom this week. Next week it goes up to 3, minimum. Ahhhhhhhhh. And all of that, on top of my regular job, as an after school teacher, which has shifted to virtual learning. Next week we start our curriculum, which seems easy enough, but with 20+ kids all together in a meeting I'm... Ahhhhhhh!
Anyway! This chapter. I legit have no idea what's going on in this story at this point, I have no time to go in and check. All my spare time is used trying to preserve my sanity. I have been steadily writing my Drarry story, though, when I find the time, which is nice. I learned from my mistakes with this story (I.E. the parts that make me dislike it) and I'm hoping (!) it's working, but who knows. Regardless, I hope y'all like this chapter, I have no idea what is going on. But! It seems that no one else knows where the Lake of Avalon is, either, from last chapter. So I think I'm good with saying that lake they went to was the Lake of Avalon.
The title of this chapter comes from the song Heirloom, by Sleeping at Last. Great song, from a great band. Truly recommend Sleeping at Last as a band, by the by.
Enjoy!
He had no idea what was going on. In general, but also personally. There was just so much. And it was so conflicting.
For the most part, he had the rebel attacks to deal with. He'd been around death before. Had even caused it, a handful of times. He'd seen lives be taken and had taken them himself. Yet, hearing as the members of Court discussed the most recent attack, which they had managed to contain (but still capture almost no one. Only two people, but both bit the poison packet before they could stop them)... it was terrifying.
Five dead. Four men and one woman. All magical, to some degree, though one of them was more a magician than anything. Could do parlor tricks, but not much else. It was enough to gain him some degree of respect, but not enough to make him actually respected.
It had been enough to get him killed, apparently.
Over twenty others had also been injured. A few children, too. All were magical. They lived in a fairly well mixed town, about seven hundred people, with half magic, half not. The attack had been calculated. Measured. They had deliberately attacked the magical citizens, sparing the non-magical ones.
That had made it clear. This was a war. They were willing to fight and fight hard for their cause.
Merlin didn't know if he should hate them or not. On one hand, they were causing needless death, harming people who had done no wrong. His people.
On the other…
Wasn't that technically also true of his own father?
He really didn't know what made him sicker. The news of the attack, or how the members of the Court had wanted to handle it. He'd listened in horror as some of the older members of Court demanded retribution. They had wanted to make an example of the non-magical members of the town and show Camelot what would happen if they rebelled. The younger (though not by much, as the next youngest beside him was forty-two) members weren't much better, nodding and agreeing, then adding that they should kill several of them, any who seemed to be in league with the rebels. Seemed, he should emphasize. No proof.
Like… dear god.
Luckily, ever since his twenty-first birthday, when he'd become the crown prince, he had more clout in Court. Was able to share his opinions and have been actually listened to, unlike when he'd been younger, and he'd mostly been ignored. Plus, his father seemed to actually care about his counsel for once, so he was allowed to speak his mind.
He had to be careful, though. Members of Court had notoriously low tolerances for what they called 'Disrespect,' so he had to word his counter carefully enough to not offend, even though part of him longed to go 'what the hell is wrong with you people?!'
Instead, he had said, "most esteemed members of Court, perhaps it might be best to reconsider? All retaliation will do will anger the rebels more. It will give them fuel to strike back, harder this time. We don't know anything about them yet, don't know who their leader is. We should wait for any form of retaliation until we know more about their group and can see if a compromise can't be made."
It was a good thing he was the crown prince, or else he was sure he'd have been laughed out of Court. Luckily, none of the Court members, even the oldest of the bunch (and didn't this gall them?) had as much sway as even a young crown prince had. So, they said nothing, even as they glared at him and thought of polite retorts. The king beat them, though.
"The likelihood of negotiations is very slim, Prince Merlin. Now that they have taken blood, I fear no compromise would even be possible. To do so would be an act of weakness."
Merlin had to bite his tongue to keep from shouting how wrong that was. He'd been going to Court for long enough to know that he had to be calm and collected. Two things he rarely was, but had to pretend to be. Great. But this was important. He might be the only hope for lessening the bloodshed.
"I respectfully disagree," he claimed after a few seconds, causing the older Court members to murmur. He kept going despite their nasty looks. "I think that if we show mercy here, they may realize we wish for peace. A wise man once told me that if the option of peace is available, you should always choose it. We cannot afford a war with an enemy we do not understand."
"And whose fault is it that we don't understand them?" A voice piped in, causing the Court to murmur in agreement. Merlin couldn't even begin to feel embarrassed when his father's voice boomed out.
"My own," he asserted, eyes hard on the Court members. They all shrunk down, too spineless to face the king. "Since I have been spearheading the investigations. If you have a problem with the way we are running our investigations, please, speak up now."
No one spoke up, obviously, though a few still glared at him. Merlin just stared coolly back, until they looked away, flushed with anger.
"We can't afford to be weak, though," an older Court member claimed after a few moments, feeling brave. He was actually one of the nicer Court members, so Merlin was more inclined to listen. "No offense meant, my prince, but these are acts of war. We cannot show them mercy when they have so obviously thrown down a gauntlet for battle. If we do not show our strength here, we leave ourselves open for further attacks, from different rebellion groups even. I'm sorry, my prince, but what else could we do?"
It was frustrating being the youngest person in the room sometimes. It was hard to get his thoughts across without seeming young and naive. But he wasn't naive. He understood what the Court was saying. He just didn't think war was the best option for their people.
"Again, I respectfully disagree. If we show our strength, we show these rebels we are everything they think we are, and more. We do not know if anyone in that village was involved in the attack. They might be completely innocent. If we can find evidence that they knew about the attack in advanced, then I would agree we should show our strength, though it still would not be my first choice. But we do not know. By attacking them, we are attacking innocent people who have done nothing wrong. We become the villains the rebels are rising against. Is that the image we want to portray to our citizens? Strength and might, but no compassion? No heart? I don't know about you, but I always saw Camelot as a just and fair kingdom. To punish these people for acts out of their hands would be cruel and unjust. That is what would lead to more rebellions. Not any show of mercy we might show."
"I believe you are correct, Prince Merlin," Gaius called out, voice loud and clear in the rising din of Court members clamoring to talk first and get the spotlight. The king waved his hand at Gaius, giving him the floor. Gaius smiled at Merlin kindly, a sort of pride in his eyes as he looked at him. It made him warm inside. Like he'd made Gaius proud with his words.
"Strength for the sake of strength does nothing. We can claim to be strong, but if we lack compassion and mercy, we are nothing but a tyranny, not a fair kingdom. Retaliating death with more death will only increase the death count. It will do nothing to dissuade the rebels from further attacks, nor will it keep our kingdom safe. We should try peace first, resorting to war only as a last resort."
"Or," an older member of Court chimed in quickly before the rest, a cantankerous old man who felt no joy in his miserable life, Merlin felt, "we leave ourselves open for further attacks! These people are our enemies. You claim these villagers are innocent, but then why has they never embraced our rule? They refuse to learn magic, refuse to accept our way of life. Why should we show them any mercy? They wouldn't show us mercy if the tables were turned. We have no reason to be merciful now."
"But the tables aren't turned!" Merlin shouted, chagrined a second later when his father raised an eyebrow at him. Fuck. He needed to calm himself. Taking a deep breath, he smiled brittlely at the old fools. "I apologize for my tone. I simply meant that we are the ones in charge here. It doesn't matter what they would or wouldn't do. We have the power and it is up to us to choose what to do with it. Unless you feel we are slaves to their theoretical decision?"
Merlin paused for a second, for effect, but plowed on when others opened their mouths to talk. He wasn't done.
"We aren't. We are Camelot. We are proud and mighty. We cannot punish people for things out of their control. It is not always a choice to not do magic. Some people simply aren't born with magic within them. How can we claim to be fair, to be just, while condemning people for something out of their control? It would be like killing people for having blue eyes. Or black hair. Tell me, how is that just?"
"So, you don't agree with our laws, then? The laws that your father, long live his reign, put into place for our safety? Is that what you are saying, my prince?"
Fuck. Goddammit. That hadn't been what he was intending to say (though he did believe it), but now he was forced to come up with a diplomatic answer when all he wanted to do was scream YES! Bloody yes. He hated the laws, though he would uphold them out of duty and honor as long as his father was king. But as soon as he became king, should the day arrive, he was doing away with those laws. Consequences be damned. But he couldn't say that here. He had to be careful or he'd lose everyone's support. And, he noticed as he looked around, he actually seemed to be swaying a handful of people. Not much, but if he could get his words across well enough…
"Of course not, your grace. I simply meant that it would be unjust to enforce our laws when they'd not been transgressed. After all, we don't know if the townspeople were involved. Our laws dictate that any person who uses swordplay against another would be criminally charged. However, none of the townspeople did such a thing. Nor did they consort with a known rebel group, to our knowledge. If we can find evidence that they did such a thing, we'd be well within our right to strike back. But if we cannot find such evidence, it is an unjust attack that goes against the morals and laws of Camelot. Do you think yourself so powerful to go against our very laws?"
He hadn't meant to add the last part, but it gave him some satisfaction to see the look on the duke's face.
"No offense meant, my prince," the duke spat, offense lacing his every word, "but our laws are there to keep us safe. It is not going against them to wish for the safety of Camelot."
"No," Merlin agreed, "it is not. So why are you suggesting we harm innocent citizens when they did nothing wrong? Non-magical people are as much citizens of Camelot as magical people. They deserve at least the bare minimum of security our laws provide. I understand that they would have us killed if they were in our shoes. But they are not. We are. We have the power to choose who we wish to be. Do we want to be a kingdom, ruled by fear and anger? Or do we want to be a powerful kingdom, rich with diversity and fairness? It comes down to the kind of Camelot you wish to live in. And I, for one, don't want to live in a Camelot that doles out unfair punishment to those who have not earned it."
The room exploded with noise after that, everyone clamoring to be the first to speak and gain the chance to speak. There were some furious faces amongst the Court, he noted. But also, some considering ones. Ones who seemed to be curious what he had to say. The only person who was fully on his side was Gaius, but the man sadly had the least power in the room, as he wasn't even technically a freeman. He was a fantastic physician, the best in the lands, and the king respected his authority enough to invite him to Court. But he didn't have much clout, not amongst the dukes and earls and viscounts. Still. It meant the world to Merlin to know he had Gaius on his side. Gaius meant more than any second-rate Noble possibly could.
"Silence!" The king demanded, the room quieting a moment later. His father was staring at him, face a mask, eyes evaluating him. Merlin just stared calmly back, one of the only people in the world allowed to look his father in the eye without much offense given. After a moment a small smile rose on the king's lips, the man nodding inappreciably. Merlin had a second to feel ecstatic that he'd succeeded, as the only person whose opinion truly mattered in Court was the king's.
But then his father sighed, shaking his head. And Merlin's heart sunk.
"You make some good points, Prince Merlin. And you are correct, to some extent. However, Lord de Vere is also correct. We cannot afford to show weakness here. To fail to retaliate would show we are too weak to strike back against an obvious attack. We need to show the rebellion that we are not a force to be trifled with. Show them what will happen when they dare attack Camelot's people. This matter is not up for debate. Let us discuss methods of retaliation that we can take."
Merlin wanted to scream. No! Did his father not listen to a word he said?! He wanted to argue, to force the man to listen, but he knew no good would come of it. Nothing changed his father's mind once it was made up. Nothing.
Merlin could only watch, numb inside, as the Court smugly looked at him and began discussing acts of retaliation. Each worse than the last. Place all members of the town in reform camps, even the women and children. Kill a handful of the powerful non-magical people in the town. Kill all of the non-magical men.
It made him sick. So utterly sick. He couldn't say anything as the discussion continued. They all knew his position. But clearly, his status as crown prince meant nothing to them. To his father. Why listen to him? He was just a naive child, twenty years younger than the next youngest person. What did he know?
The meeting dragged on and on after that, the heartless men discussing the best means of 'showing their might.' More like showing their heartlessness. Part of Merlin, as he sat there, hands clenched in fists as he struggled to keep his face neutral, understood the rebels so clearly. And part of him (a deep, deep part that he would never admit existed) privately felt that whatever retaliation they got from this? Was earned. They knew the risks. Merlin had pointed them out so clearly, so plainly. They refused to listen. The subsequent blood was on their hands, just as much as it was on the rebels.
That was the problem, he felt, of having only Nobles and Lords on the Court, with only one high ranking everyday man in their midst. They didn't represent the interest of the people. Of the common man. They represented greed and pride and power. Any attack to their power was to be met with scorn and hatred. And retaliation. That's what this was about. It wasn't about the five dead or twenty injured. It was about pride.
And it was pride that would be their downfall.
"Prince Merlin. What do you think?" His father called, hours later, leaning back in his chair. He looked weary. Good, Merlin thought cruelly. Perhaps he may even be regretting his decision. Not bloody likely, but he could hope.
Merlin pasted on a blindingly fake smile and looked his father dead in the eyes. It was bold, even of a prince, but Merlin was nothing if not bold.
"I feel I have made my opinions on the matter extremely clear, my king. I see no reason to say anymore."
He watched as his father clenched his jaw, clearly hearing the disdain in Merlin's voice, but nodded tightly in response regardless. The king turned back to the Court, dismissing Merlin's comment, but he could see the tension that had entered his father's shoulders. The dark, unclear look that the man would shoot him, from time to time. He knew he would be lectured after the meeting was over, put in his place. But he didn't care. He was so frustrated and upset as he sat there, forced to listen to them plan countless acts of needless violence, that he didn't care what consequences he faced. He truly didn't.
Mercifully, a couple hours before noon, the Court was adjourned. His father had decided that they would investigate the matter further, but they would place all members of the town in their reform camps in the meantime, even women and children. Merlin bit his tongue at the decision, biting back the comment that the reform camps never worked. They only lead to men who returned home with simmering anger inside of them, even as they bowed their heads and promised they'd never do it again. Or else it lead to death. They were planting the seeds to their own destruction, he wanted to shout. But he couldn't.
Because he was just a naive, childish prince.
What did he know?
It was as he stood, eager to flee the room and be reunited with Arthur (his mind cheering up as he remembered that morning, waking up safe and warm in the arms of the man he adored more than any other, so happy and whole that he wanted to burst), when his father called him back.
"Prince Merlin. A word."
Crap, he cursed under his breath, heart sinking. He knew it was coming. One didn't directly counter the king without some form of retaliation. After all. A king had to show his might, didn't he?
Merlin watched with listless eyes as the other members of Court, some thirty odd Nobles who had gained favor one way or the other, ranging in age from forty to seventy, exited. Several, mainly the older ones, shot him a triumphant look as they left, feeling secure enough in their position to be so defiant to the crown prince. He swore, if they still lived when he was king, he would take great pleasure in taking their position away. Maybe replace them with a common, non-magical peasant. That would rankle them. Show them to learn the consequences of not listening to their crown prince. Was it petty? Yes. Was it said from the same damned pride that he'd condemned not minutes before? Yep. Never let it be said that Merlin was a perfect person.
One Court member approached him, making Merlin tense. But then he realized it was Baron Seymour, one of the nicer of the older Court members. The one who had actually seemed to listen to him, earlier. Hm.
"You did well today, my prince. I almost agreed with you. I still feel that it is best to showcase our strength, in this case, but you were well spoken and I can see the logic in your argument. I have no doubt that you will make a fine king, one day. You will make us all proud."
The baron smiled at him and nodded, before exiting the room. Merlin didn't know what to feel. He never cared what the old fools of Court thought, but it was nice to hear that he'd done well. Even if it was from a Baron, who was amongst the lowest ranks of Nobility. Not that he cared for such things. Baron Seymour was a good sort, he supposed. Better than the honorary 'dukes' they housed. Honestly. Who cared about made up titles created to appease the egos of tiny men who were desperate to overcompensate?
He did smile slightly when Gaius approached him, pride shining in his old, blue eyes.
"You were amazing in there, my boy. I am so very, very proud of you. You stated your opinion and stood your ground, even against opposition from all sides. You will make a great king, my dear boy. The greatest."
Somehow, he felt, as a pleased blush bloomed on his cheeks, those words meant a thousand times more to him than any words a baron or duke could give. Gaius may not have been a Noble, but he was a noble man. And that meant so much more than made up titles.
Still. He didn't feel the praise was earned. Merlin's smile died as he looked down, helplessness entering him.
"Yeah, Gaius, but I failed. I wasn't even able to get my father to listen to me. What kind of king will that make?"
It was depressing to think about. To know that he had such little power that his word held less weight than a Baron's, to his father. But Gaius just shook his head, tutting.
"Such is the way of youth, with their radicle ideas. You will face opposition, Prince Merlin, from all sides for the ideals you carry. People will resist, as people always do. Small men are terrified of change, after all. But you were able to sway the opinion of at least half of the Court. Perhaps not fully, perhaps not all the way. But I have been around Nobility long enough to know that forcing them to change their thinking at all, even slightly different from their norm? Is an incredible feat in and of itself. And to think you were able to do that with words and passion alone. You will move mountains, my boy. And I will be filled with pride as I watch you do so. I know I have no status so my pride means nothing, but you will always have it, my prince."
Merlin felt his throat thicken, and he longed to hug the older man, but he reined it in. It would be improper. Instead, he smiled bright, eyes a little too shiny, and shook his head.
"No, Gaius. Your opinion means more than any lousy Noble's does. You are a better man than all of them combined. Thank you, for your faith in me. I hope I won't let you down."
Gaius smiled, eyes shining with happiness and pride.
"You won't, my dear boy. You most certainly won't."
With that, Gaius exited the room, leaving him alone with his father and the couple of Nobles he was speaking intently to. After a moment his father dismissed the Nobles and turned to Merlin, eyes inscrutable. Merlin simply stared calmly back, not giving his inner anxiety away. He'd learned a lot, over the past couple years, of how to control his outward emotions even as his inner ones raged. It was something, he supposed.
"You did well, my son," his father commented. Gee, it sure was great everyone was apparently proud of him. If only that pride translated to, he didn't know. Actually listening to his words?
He didn't say that aloud, just inclined his head minutely. There was a time the praise would have made him over the moon. Now, he felt more pleased with Gaius's praise than his own father's. He wondered what that said about him.
His father sighed at Merlin's non-answer, shaking his head.
"You don't… you don't understand. We have to show our strength, Merlin. If we do nothing, then they will walk all over us. We need to show that we are not a kingdom to be trifled with."
"But we wouldn't be doing nothing!" Merlin blurted, regretting it a second later when his father raised an eyebrow at him. Scowling, he collected himself. He refused to back down, though. In for a penny, in for a pound. "Mercy is not nothing. It is active. Powerful. It is strength in its own right. To show kindness in the face of hatred makes their argument weak. It shows that they are wrong about us, that we are not what they think we are. They hate us because we are killing them. If we show kindness… mercy… we can show them that we care. That we are better than that. We will sway the people's opinion. Show them we are willing to listen. To be better."
His father just shook his head, denying his words. He wasn't listening. He never did.
"No, Merlin. You are being weak. Power is strength. Kindness is a luxury we cannot afford. To think otherwise is weakness. And I would never have taken you for weak."
"I am not weak!" Merlin shouted, the words reverberating around the large room. He could see the disdain in his father's eyes, the dismissal at his clear weakness that made him overly emotional, but Merlin had had enough. He was tired of being ignored. Of having his ideals put down because he was young. Maybe he was young. Maybe he was idealistic. But he wasn't a fool. And he wasn't weak.
"I am not weak," he hissed, deadly quiet. "I think only for our people. All of our people. Unlike you. I am not the weak one here, father. You are."
Oh. He shouldn't have said that. He flinched unconsciously at the rage that filled his father's eyes, the fury that made him stand straight and sneer at Merlin. But Merlin refused to back down. He squared his shoulders and looked the king directly in the eyes. Maybe he'd be sent to the dungeons for his insubordination. Maybe he would lose his crown for this. But he didn't care. He spoke again, cutting off his father.
"Kindness is not weakness. Cruelty is not strength. Sometimes the hardest thing a person can do is be kind. To look in the face of adversity and say 'no. I will not let that define me. I will be better. I will not allow myself to kneel.' It is strength to be kind. To care. To love. It is easy and weak to let your fear and anger consume you; to allow it to hurt people who don't deserve it. It is stronger and so much harder to look in the face of hatred and to choose to forgive. I am not naive. I am not a fool. And I am not weak. My kindness is my strength. And I won't let you destroy it."
God. What was he saying? Who was he, to look his own father, the king, in the eyes, and say such things? He'd never have dreamed of saying this, even a year prior. But he'd been thinking a lot lately. About Gaius, and his insistence that Merlin's feelings weren't a curse. Weren't a burden. That they were his boon. That it was what made him strong. He thought about Freya and her sweet loyalty. Freya had always smiled at him so sweetly, telling him how she was so proud that he didn't let his father's anger crush his spirit. That he was an amazing person and deserved to be listened to and loved. He thought of Arthur, a man who had every right to hate him and yet believed in him so greatly. Who felt he would be a wonderful king one day, one he'd be proud to serve. Not because of his power, but because of his spirit. He thought of the people who mattered to him. Who cared about him.
And he didn't care what consequences he faced for his belief. Maybe it was selfish. Maybe it was stupid. But he just… didn't care.
Silence reigned in the room as his father stared at him, anger palpable, magic crackling around him in waves of electricity. There was a time this would have destroyed him. That seeing such anger, such hatred and rage on that aged face, directed towards him, would have caused his heart to break and shatter. And it still did, to some extent. He loved his father with all his heart, don't get him wrong. But Arthur was right. If he just stood by and let his father do such horrible things, without even a word of complaint… didn't that just make him as responsible for the crimes committed? Didn't that make him an accomplice? He didn't want to be an accomplice to this. He'd rather rot in jail than allow himself to fall so very far.
The silence lasted a minute longer, when his father turned away, breathing heavily. Merlin waited with bated breath for his sentence but jolted back when his father chuckled. It wasn't a warm chuckle, or even a humorous one. But it was so unexpected all Merlin could do was stare, even as his father looked back up at him, anger replaced with keen sorrow.
"There are days you remind me so much of your mother, my child. I could see her in your eyes just now, as you yelled at me. She was always so passionate and fiercely kind. It is why I loved her so. I fear she'd despise me, if she saw me now."
Merlin's heart clenched at the words, his father glancing up towards the ceiling as his eyes shone. The man never spoke of his mother. All he knew about the woman was that she was the kindest soul around. That she loved so fiercely and deeply that anyone under the banner of her love was truly blessed. Gaius had told him that, smiling softly, when he'd asked if the older man thought his mother would have loved him. 'She'd have adored you, Merlin. Make no doubts about it.'
"You... you are right. Kindness is not weakness. Cruelty is not strength. But I cannot afford to back down now. I have done too much... gambled too much. I am too set in my ways to ever change. Even if we fail. And I fear we just may. I am truly sorry, my son. I truly am."
But you could change, father. If you wanted to. You're just making excuses.
He thought the words. Felt them thick on his tongue. Wanted to let them loose.
But he found that he couldn't. Not as he looked at the sorrow in his father's eyes. At the way he sunk under the pressure. He was a man who had been fighting for so long, trying so hard to do what he felt was right, even as he doubted. As he feared. How could Merlin preach kindness if he were to hurt his father now?
It was easy to let your hatred and anger consume you, to let it hurt the people you loved.
It was so very hard to find it in yourself to forgive. Even if the person had done nothing to earn forgiveness. Even if they were dooming an entire kingdom for the failing of one man.
So Merlin swallowed the words. Swallowed his rage. Instead, he walked forward, slowly, and put his hand on his father's shoulder. Soft, kind. Gentle. He looked deep into his father's eyes. And he smiled.
"I think… I think, father, that if my mother were as much like me as you say. If we… if we are alike. Well. I think she'd forgive you, then."
He couldn't find it in him to say the words. That he forgave his father. For everything. For the years of distance and heartache. He honestly wasn't sure he actually did. But he hoped his words could give the man some comfort. After all. No matter what, he loved his father. He was a deeply flawed man, yes. But he wanted to be a good one. Didn't that count for something?
For the first time in his life, Merlin watched in awe as a tear rolled down his father's face, eyes bleeding sorrow. It was only the single tear, the man straightening a touch. He was taller than his father, he realized distantly. He'd never realized that. His father had always seemed so giant to him. So grandiose. Larger than life.
"I can only pray you are right, my boy."
His father stepped back at that, turning to the window, hands clasped behind his back. Merlin watched as the man composed himself, saying nothing. He'd said all he needed to say.
After that, his father told him his duties for the day. Merlin nodded and left the room, eyes dark and worried. His head was spinning with the previous meeting, hoping that things would work out, but fearing they wouldn't. Fearing that things had spiraled so much that nothing could fix it now.
Seeing Arthur… the man so full of worry and care that he practically bled it… it had soothed something, keep within him. He smiled tightly at his servant, explaining his plans.
The picnic they later shared had given him the luxury of being able to forget. To pretend. To play at being a normal person, a person who didn't have to hold such a terrible burden. A person who could share a tender lunch with his dearest love and not fear what the day would bring.
He wanted so badly to kiss Arthur. Part of him felt that the other wouldn't even mind, if he did. But he couldn't bear it. Bear the fear. The confusion. This… this was good. It was light, and happy, and lovely. He didn't want to worry about it. To agonize over his every move, to wonder if Arthur truly wanted it or if he was just being kind. If he was being a good servant or if he truly felt… well.
If they didn't name it… if they kept it light and easy and fun… perhaps he could trick himself into thinking it was just friendship. That Arthur would do this for anyone he had befriended. That he wasn't treating him differently. Not like a servant treated a master. Not like a lover treated their lover. Just a friend who wanted to be there for his friend.
And he wasn't a fool. He'd meant that, when he'd told his father that. He wasn't naive. He knew the truth, could see it shining in Arthur's eyes. The devotion. The… the love. It was maddening. It was too much.
He had no idea what he was feeling. He loved Arthur, of course he did. He'd loved him from the moment he'd first laid eyes on him, standing above him, smug smirk on his gorgeous face. A royal prince turned peasant king.
He was too confused to allow himself to delve deeper, though. He had so much to worry about. To fear. He knew what his father had planned, what the Court has decided. He knew what was going to come. He knew they were playing right into the rebel's hands.
For this was what they wanted, he had realized. He was sure of it. This would gain them support. Gain them righteous anger. The whole rebellion was built off the anger and suppressed indignation of being held down and suppressed for years. These men and women were willing to die for this cause because they believed in it. Because his father gave them no other choice. What else could they do? Roll over and die? No. They'd fight. If they were to die regardless, at least they could do it with honor. With dignity.
That's what the members of the Court couldn't see. Couldn't begin to understand. They saw peasants and non-magical people as fleas. As worthless. They didn't matter at all. They should be grateful they kept them alive, let alone fed. They felt that they should be thanking the magical Nobility on bended knee for their supposed kindness and mercy, for not killing them mercilessly. They didn't understand that the lower class had just as much pride and sense of self-worth as they did. Arthur had told him, once. Had he been the tyrant prince Arthur's friends had thought him to be, had he been every inch the haute prince they'd feared, they still would have resisted. Would have rebelled. Because it was better to die a freeman than live a life of servitude for an unjust reign.
So he had no time to puzzle out his feelings. To question Arthur's motives. To wonder if this was real or not. He had so much bigger fish to fry. He didn't even really have time to mourn the loss of his first real relationship. He had to keep going. Keep moving. Or else everything would crumble around him and then. Then he'd fail his people.
And he couldn't afford that.
Refused.
So this would remain nameless, he decided, as Arthur grasped his hand and smiled so very sweetly. As they walked through the forest he had grown up in, hands clasped so very tight his heart ached.
He would let himself feel his emotions, even if he couldn't name them. They weren't a weakness. They weren't his downfall. They were his boon. They would save him. Maybe even, if he was lucky, save his kingdom. He didn't know what kind of king he would be. If he'd be able to live up to the expectations layered upon him. If he could be the king Camelot needed to fix his father's mistakes.
But by god would he try.
As soon as the pair entered the citadel, he let go of Arthur's hand, mourning its loss immediately. But he was the prince. He had to be strong. And while his love made him strong, he couldn't rely solely on Arthur, here. Not at that moment. One day he would show his love for the world to see, naysayers be damned. But until that day, he'd hide it. For now.
As he entered the castle, he smiled at Arthur and gave him the rest of the day off. Arthur had complained, but Merlin shook his head.
"I have to conduct the interviews and overlook the searches of quarters. You can't be there, besides. Take the day off. Enjoy yourself. Maybe help Gaius out, if your workaholic self can't stand being stagnant. And… make sure there is nothing that might condemn you in your room. Please."
Arthur smiled roguishly at him.
"I would never. Just as long as you don't look under the floorboards."
Smiling, Merlin nodded, relieved that his servant was smart enough to have a hiding spot. He didn't distrust Arthur, but he knew the man had swords and daggers, possibly even chainmail. All of which wasn't strictly illegal, but would have been confiscated had it been found, per his father's orders. And Merlin knew that the sword, at least, belonged to the man's father. Like the ring he wore around his neck. He couldn't bear taking such an heirloom from his servant.
The two parted ways after that, Arthur reluctantly agreeing to meet him later, after dinner. From there, Merlin began the interviews, half the servants looking terrified, half looking vacant. Like they truly didn't care. Those were the ones that scared him most. A man who had nothing to lose was often most willing to risk it all. If any were the ones to join the rebellion, it was them.
Merlin didn't mention it in his report, though he knew he should have. He just mentioned their listlessness, their vacant eyes. He didn't mention his suspicions, though. Let the king make from his observations what he would. He wouldn't be the one to raise alarm.
Of course, it would have been impossible for him to interview every servant in the castle, even if he had several days to spare. There were hundreds of servants in the castle, after all. So, he delegated the task out between his most trustworthy Mages. At the end, he'd read over their reports and add them to his own. He'd then reinterview anyone found suspicious.
It was a tiring task. Thankless. He tried his best to be soothing, to assuage fears. But nothing he did made the servants at ease. Christ. Was this the way the castle was run? Servants afraid to talk to their master?
It sickened him. But he didn't blame them. After all, he rarely showed them kindness in public. Sometimes he'd gift them things, like leftover food, or he'd hand out sweets amongst the youngest. But it wasn't much. Not nearly enough.
When he finally slunk into his room, far passed the time he normally arrived back, he groaned and fell headfirst onto his bed. Arthur was by his side in a second, hand rubbing soothing circles on his tense back. He'd interviewed Arthur himself an hour earlier, eyes bleeding apologies as he asked the questions his father had informed him to ask. Arthur hadn't said anything about it, had kept up his defiant appearance since there were guards in the room, but his eyes shone his acceptance and forgiveness. Luckily nothing was found in the man's room, though he had found a bottle of oil in the bedside table that had piqued his interest for completely unrelated reasons.
Now he was beyond tired, a stack of reports on his desk that he'd have to review before the night ended. Fuck.
"Hmm. You should eat something, Merlin. It'll make you feel better."
Merlin couldn't help the laugh that he released, flopping over onto his back, Arthur's hand caressing his abdomen as his hand hovered where it had been earlier. It tickled, but he carefully didn't laugh. He knew the torment he'd face if he let that weakness be revealed. No thanks.
"You are such a mother hen," he chided, his thankful grin belaying the annoyed words. Arthur just sniffed.
"Is it a crime to care about my master?"
Merlin smiled, even as the word made his stomach clench. He sat up and shrugged lightly, Arthur's hand retreating to his side.
"Fine. I have to read the other Mage's reports, though. Can you bring them over to the table?"
He ordinarily wouldn't have trusted a servant to handle the reports about possible servant rebellion, but he trusted Arthur exclusively. If the man betrayed him, he'd honestly rather fling himself from the rafters than live with such pain. He wouldn't be able to bear it.
Arthur just nodded and headed for his desk, grabbing the papers as Merlin headed to the table the dinner was placed at, where he did most of his work, setting about to read endless, boring reports.
And it was. Boring. It took him over an hour to slog through the reports, most of them saying the same thing he'd noted. He complained to Arthur, knowing he shouldn't but unable to help it. The man just hummed in sympathy, at one point coming over to lightly kneed at his aching shoulders.
"Mmm," he moaned softly, head tilting back against Arthur's toned stomach. Arthur hummed in response, digging his fingers in deeper, getting the aching kinks out of his neck. It felt so good.
It made it hard for him to concentrate, though, arousal flooding him, so he reluctantly asked Arthur to stop. The man did, immediately, but he hummed softly in response.
The only anomaly he found was in Mage Morgana's report.
It gave him pause. He trusted the woman, of course he did. She was Freya's lover and Arthur's sister. She was also an incredible mage, powerful and mighty.
Which is why it was odd that her report was rather… lackluster. Bland. Oh, don't get him wrong, all the reports were boring. But hers... it was too neat. Clean. Taciturn. Like she hadn't been trying.
Like she was hiding something.
For example, for one of the servants she interviewed, all she wrote was "he seemed nervous but answered every question honestly."
She didn't say what he said. Didn't say how she knew he answered honestly. The other reports had some explanation for the report, but hers didn't. He was willing to chalk it down to the woman coming from lower status, that maybe her grasp on written language wasn't as good as some of the others. But he'd read reports by her before. They were always super detailed and careful to explain her reasonings. Maybe that's why the lackluster report bothered him. It was out of character for the woman.
But he wouldn't question it. Merlin knew the woman cared for the servants, spending more time around them than the other Mages. The others treated her poorly, he knew, despite his demands they treat her equally. For one, she was the only woman. For another, she was the only non-Noble. It had taken him ages to get his father to agree to let him train her, but even after he did, the woman faced opposition. She cared more for the non-magical servants than her fellow Mages, he felt.
So it made sense she wouldn't be happy about the task. He'd asked her because he trusted her impeccably, but maybe he should have asked another. Perhaps it had been cruel. He'd apologize in the morning, he decided, pushing the unease out of his mind. Morgana was a good person. She felt things deeply, like him. She probably was just uncomfortable with the task. That was it.
Finally done, though, he groaned as he stretched, the meal Cook had made long since gone. It had been delicious, he was sure, but he barely remembered the taste. Arthur had tried to engage him in conversation, but he had barely had the mind for it.
That's why he couldn't be in a relationship, he thought sadly, looking up at Arthur's sympathetic eyes. He wasn't emotionally available at the moment. He'd just hurt Arthur. Like he'd unwittingly hurt Gwaine.
It wasn't fair. But what could he do?
He allowed Arthur to strip him of his clothes, though, suddenly noticing the tub in the room. Oh, right. He'd forgotten it was one of the days he usually bathed. He knew he was odd, bathing so much, but he liked the feeling of being clean. Plus, the warm water with his various, expensive oils was heaven after a long day.
He felt his body heat even before he stepped into the water, breath hitching at the heated look Arthur gave him, eyes trailing slowly down his naked body, lingering on his steadily hardening crotch. The man said nothing, just licked his lips before looking away in a faux display of privacy.
Christ. He was a goner.
On slightly shaky legs, Merlin stepped up to the tub and hissed as the warm water assaulted his sore muscles. His hand ached as he submerged it. His body had healed it enough that he no longer had to cover it, but it still was a little raw when it was assaulted by the oils and heat, the scar aching.
Arthur wandered over then, holding the bar of soap. Not a word was exchanged, but Merlin felt his stomach clench as Arthur began to bathe him, scrubbing the grime away. It wasn't even an unusual requirement of a servant, many Nobles requiring their servants to bathe them in such a way. But he'd never asked that of Arthur. This… this was more than just simply duty. He was sure of that.
He felt his breath catch each time Arthur's hand dipped below the water, fingers trailing his wet, warm skin as the soap travelled. He kept carefully away from the hardness between his legs, though sometimes his knuckles would brush his length by accident, causing Merlin to moan wantonly. It was so goddamn erotic and he wasn't even being jerked off. Honestly, if he hadn't learned some restraint from Gwaine and his teasing, he'd have cum so hard by then.
As it was, he suffered (ha!) through Arthur's ministrations and allowed him to carefully wash his hair, cock so painfully hard it wasn't funny. He'd never realized how erotic it was to have someone else wash his hair, but Gwaine had enjoyed doing and it Did Something to Merlin. So, Arthur wasn't his lover, but Christ.
Finally, the bath was done, both men breathing heavier than before it began. Merlin stood without shame and adored the look of heat Arthur gave him, though the man carefully didn't look below his waist as he held out a towel. Merlin accepted it, only slightly disappointed.
After that he dressed himself, body too wound up to handle Arthur's warm fingers trailing his body anymore. He'd only embarrass himself if they did. So he quickly got changed, allowing his thoughts to land on his worries for the kingdom in order to calm himself down. Sadly, it worked all too well, and instead worked him up in a less pleasant way.
Sighing, Merlin sat on his bed, groaning, hunched over the edge. He noticed that the room was impeccable again. Arthur must have cleaned up while he had worked. God bless that wonderful man. He didn't know what he'd do without him. Probably spontaneously combust from the suppressed rage and anger and fear. Arthur brought out the best in him. He loved him for that.
"Get some sleep, Merlin," Arthur muttered, sitting beside him carefully, hand landing warm on his mid back. It was glorious but he couldn't find it in him to muster up the arousal from earlier. He was just so tired. Merlin unconsciously leaned his head against Arthur's shoulder, humming in contentment when he felt fingers run through the wet curls. His hair was getting long again. He should probably have it trimmed soon.
"Stay?" He whispered, moments later. He wished he could say it was unbidden, but it wasn't. He meant it. He really wanted Arthur to stay. Arthur hummed in response, nodding against him.
"Okay. I, uh. Already informed Gaius it was a possibility," Arthur admitted, tone low and embarrassed. Merlin just laughed, pressing his nose against Arthur's chest. He smelled faintly of his cinnamon perfume, but also of sweat and grime. It should be disgusting.
It wasn't.
He watched as Arthur went over to his wardrobe and picked out another old pair of his sleep attire, stretched and loose enough for the broader man. Merlin had hummed as the expanse of sun kissed skin was on display. Arthur didn't spend all that much time in the sun these days, especially in the winter, but it was certainly tanner than his pasty, white skin, so he figured the descriptor fit.
Dressed and significantly pinker, Arthur entered the bed and held his arms open in welcome. Merlin didn't waste a single second and snuggled closer to the man.
Sadly, even this wasn't that unusual a request of a servant. Some Nobles, he knew, used servants as bed warmers in the cold winter months, particularly the unmarried men. He had always hated the thought of it and would rather freeze than abuse his power (not to mention the fact that his magic could heat the bed more than enough, thanks), but he kind of understood the logic here. No amount of magic could replace the overwhelming heat of being held by thick, sturdy arms.
He hoped Arthur was doing this for pure reasons. Because he wanted to, because he desired it. Not because Merlin asked. Because he thought that Merlin wanted it. Merlin did, but only if Arthur did, too. He didn't think Arthur would suffer for him, but he might push aside his discomfort to please him. He was that good of a friend.
Regardless, he felt Arthur relax against him, sighing a happy sigh as he buried his nose in Merlin's damp hair. He could have magically dried it, but it always made it frizz out, like that strange creature he'd seen a picture of once, the porcupine. He regretted his decision not to, now. But Arthur didn't seem to mind. He just hummed and tugged Merlin closer.
If this was their new normal, Merlin thought sleepily as he closed his eyes, impossibly comfortable, then he'd die a happy man. To go to bed each night, held by the love of his life… hmm.
Maybe they weren't in a relationship. Maybe they weren't 'together.' Maybe they were never destined to be in a romantic relationship.
But this? Right here, being held, being loved; this? Was worth more than anything else he'd ever had. Even sex with Gwaine, which had once been his paramount experience of intimacy and love, paled in comparison to being held by Arthur. This was better than sex, he realized, awe filling him even as his mind wound down and began lulling him to sleep. He hadn't realized that was possible. Though… he had always thought, privately, that being held afterward was the best part of sex. Part of him ached inside, to remember Gwaine, but he couldn't deny how happy the man had once made him. The feelings he had (and still did, to some extent) inspired.
He could only hope he was good enough to hold onto this, he thought, as sleep overcame him. That the coming tide didn't wash his happiness away.
God. Please.
Let him keep this.
Please.
A/N: Original summary from ye olde Draco who wrote this story: So, Merlin goes into Court and is dismayed to hear that the Older Court Members (TM) (OCM) are plotting to get revenge for the attack and the Younger Court Members(tm) (who are still at least forty) agree and also want to kill some innocent townspeople for no reason. Merlin is like, what the heck, what is wrong with you people? And tries to be all "heyyyyy, how about we -don't- do that?" But in a Respectful way.
The OCM are like, dude, why are you raining on our parade? We're like eighty and you're just a dumb kid. Expect Merlin's the crown prince so they have to be all Polite, even though Merlin knows they're seething in rage.
Merlin refutes, is able to get a coherent argument out about how mercy would be a good option, and manages to impress an OCM. But he still gets refuted and treated like a dumb kid.
The king is all, why should we be merciful? Merlin is all, what is wrong with you? Gaius is a bro and helps Merlin out, but because he isn't a Noble his opinion doesn't matter. Merlin gets fed up and yells at one point, before feeling like a dumb kid.
There's a lot of back and forth until the king is all "good point, my son! Still, no." And decides to put all the non magical townspeople, even women and children, into the "reform camps." Even though they have no idea if the town was involved in the attack or not.
Merlin wants to kill someone but has to be Respectful and just sits in his seething rage. Once the meeting is over his father calls him back. While waiting for the room to empty he gets told he did a Good Job by an OCM, then by Gaius, which means more.
Then he yells at his father. Like, straight up scene from Thor, like "I'M NOT WEAK, YOU'RE WEAK!" Or that scene from Avatar the Last Airbender, where Aang is all "no Firelord, YOU'RE not wearing any pants!" So drama.
Anyway, internally he's like, welp, I'm screwed, and waits to be sent to the dungeons. Instead, he gets shocked when his father sheds a Single Man Tear (tm) and says "dude, you remind me of my dead wife."
Merlin is all "dude. That's my mom," and is conflicted whether to forgive his dad or not. In the end he decides to show his father mercy, practicing what he preaches, and says that he thinks, if they were indeed similar, that Hunith would forgive Balinor if she were alive. Basically alluding to the fact he kind of, maybe forgives his father. Kind of. Not really. But he's trying.
Then he gets told his duties and heads out to have his romantic picnic lunch with the boytoy.
Scene.
(Also, I was looking at my page count for this story. Over 1,000 pages. Dear lord.)