Title: The Prince in Waiting
Author: M.E.
Fandom: Merlin (BBC)
Summary: Blood may not make us who we are, but it certainly can be blamed for a revelation of royalty. And when your family, your land, your people need you, what would you give up? Everything?
Disclaimer: I own nothing but my laptop. Actually, no. I own the battery for the laptop.
Characters/Pairing: Merlin, Hunith, Uther, Arthur, OC, eventual Arthur/Merlin (if I ever get that far)
Warnings: none
Rating: PG
Word Count: 525
A/N: Sorry it's so short. At least it's something, eh? Not sure when this may be continued or if it will, but there's always a chance. I never thought I'd continue from the first chappie.
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The Prince-in-Waiting
Chapter II
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I'm going to gut him, was all the response Arthur could manage half an hour later, even in his own mind.
After his manservant had left the room with his father's consent, he had stood frozen upon the dais, unable to move or think. He was actually a little disgusted with himself for that reaction; he had been trained better and dealt with far worse. But just the thought of Merlin leaving him—
Wait. That wasn't right. He was upset because obviously Merlin had been keeping secrets from him and…and what? What right did he have to know everything about the man? He was just his master, perhaps at best, his friend. There was no logical reason for him to be behaving in this manner. Merlin had a right to his privacy and just because he couldn't be bothered to inform his friend that he was a bloody Prince…did not mean—oh, the hell with it!
Arthur stomped down the corridor and gave up on reasoning for the moment. With a low growl, he allowed his fury to build and consume him. He marched for the training grounds at speed with the single-minded attention he typically took to battle. Wrenching his sword from the scabbard at his hip, he set to taking out every last ounce of frustration in his bones on invisible opponents and the weathered trees.
The sun sunk lower on the horizon and almost against his will, he felt himself beginning to relax into the familiarity of movements he had rehearsed a thousand times over the last decade and some. There was nothing complicated in training. There was just your body and your weapon. He couldn't even consider it 'clearing his mind' as Gaius always described meditation. In this state, it was like he had nothing to clear. He could no more think or worry than he could stop breathing.
Hours later he felt he was as close to peace as he ever got and slowed to a halt. Slumping to the ground, he considered what he could glean from his father's reaction to events, since even thinking about Merlin made him tense. Uther had shown no sign of surprise or unhappiness to the inexperienced eye, but Arthur had spent years studying his father's body language. The king was not happy. Uther did not enjoy surprises of any kind and, damn, if this wasn't a surprise.
He panted a sigh, shaking himself all over like one of the castle hounds to rid himself of excess sweat and detritus gathered in his mock battles. He still wanted to gut Merlin…but felt that he could at least wait for an explanation first. And he would be getting an explanation if he had to tie his infuriating manservant to his bed. There's a thought, a sly, leering voice whispered at the back of his mind. He shook himself again, very deliberately not attempting to interpret that comment…or wonder when he'd started hearing voices.
Just go find Merlin so you can hear him out…and beat him to a bloody pulp. Arthur grinned. That was an excellent suggestion. And Gaius said hearing voices was a bad thing.
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