I know I sorta said that I'd be getting this to you guys sooner but I have a really good excuse. I've become obsessed with the new series of books, well, new for me anyway. And since I have like another 11 books left to read in this series I think that my updating on any stories will be less frequent for some time. But that doesn't mean that I say no to bribes, really, if you just give me a bunch of wonderful and glittering reviews then I might just update faster then a week from now. No promises, though.
A little less than five years ago
"Prat," Michael heard that Merlin fellow call the prince. It wasn't uncommon, which just made it that much worse. It didn't seem to matter to the boy how many times the prince threatened to throw him in the stocks, he would still be as insolent as ever.
Though he didn't get quite as angry about the boy's rudeness as the other guards did he found that lately it was getting harder and harder to put up with it. It seemed that every day he would overhear some sort of insult or disrespect coming from him and it was starting to make his blood boil.
As he made his way to the usual gatherings of "the guards who had far too much boring, free time on their hands," he overheard some of them arguing. Apparently the verbal, and occasionally physical, sparring seemed to have begun without him. Which usually only meant one thing; someone had a black eye and no progress had been made in any of their "discussions." Unless, of course, Hemlock was leading it.
And as he opened the door he saw that he was perfectly right. Again. George, a man who was a bit fat and had a penchant for drinking, (much like his half-brother who was always with him,) had a black eye and was yelling at Hemlock. Though Michael could tell that he wouldn't be talking for very long, Hemlock looked like he'd just had an idea.
Hemlock was a rather scary man. Almost anyone who had even glanced at him would testify to that. His emerald green eyes, which were partially hidden underneath his bushy black eyebrows, seemed to be able to see into a person's very soul. Of course, Michael wasn't really afraid of him. Just as Hemlock had a talent for uniting people in a common goal, so also did Michael have a talent for calming people down.
His mother had always told him that he had powerful influence on people. That he had the ability to see reason and, perhaps more importantly, could help others to see it too. He tried to look at all sides of a situation; to find the truth and then make his decisions based on that. And people had a hard time shutting his voice out, in fact, most of the time he was the only person keeping the rest of the guards from killing each other when they argued or were simply drunk.
So he had to admit that he was a bit exasperated that they hadn't waited for him before getting into any of their less-than-intellectual debates. Someone always got hurt when these half men half animals got together without him.
Though these days he had a sneaking suspicion that he wasn't seeing things as clearly as he should, that he wasn't the voice of reason very much anymore. He believed that this feeling had started creeping up on him when he had become a guard and had begun spending his time around the snobs of the castle and the animals that gathered in the dungeons.
But despite the voice in his head telling him that he wasn't thinking reasonably anymore, he refused to change; he pushed the voice to the back of his mind and ignored it. It really is a shame that he would only realize the repercussions of his mistake far too late.
"It just keeps getting worse and worse!" Michael heard Hemlock say. "When will someone put a stop to it? When he insults Prince Arthur, when he doesn't follow his orders or does them poorly he is not just disrespecting the prince, but he is also making fun of all that Camelot stands for! He thinks he is above our rules and social laws! He thinks he is better than them, than us! Him! A puny, pathetic excuse for a man thinks that he is above all others and therefore doesn't need to show respect!"
At this Michael stepped in. "You're right, Hemlock, he doesn't have a whole lot of respect. But you have to remember that he wasn't born here in Camelot; he might not understand our rules and ways of doing things yet." Ever the peacekeeper. "After all, that may be all it is; some social misunderstanding, but here you are making him sound like some sort of rebel or criminal. All he is guilty of is being rude, which, unfortunately isn't a crime. You're right is saying that he doesn't have respect for Camelot, but have you ever stopped to think that maybe Camelot hasn't earned it? He's only been here for a few months; it's only natural that he wouldn't feel at home yet."
Michael walked over to Hemlock, being sure to glance at each man in the room along the way. Apparently his gaze had the ability to calm people down as well. Though, in this case, Michael suspected that his glance was more putting them to shame.
After he had looked at them all he came to a stop in front of Hemlock and finally looked at him. "He's one boy, what can he do? His annoying tongue is his only weapon, and, as much as I know you all want to, we shouldn't cut it out just for that."
Hemlock seemed to be sizing him up. The two of them only ever fought when they had different opinions, but they didn't normally have anything against the other. In fact, Michael believed that the dark man had a sort of grudging respect for him, which was the only kind of respect he ever had. They both had the ability to lead, just in different ways. Michael always took the peaceful and compassionate approach; he could get even a cruel person to help someone in need.
Hemlock, on the other hand, always tried to rile people up, unite them through rage and passion. Michael often had to calm some of the guards down after another one of Hemlock's speeches.
The foreboding man gave him a slight and nearly imperceptible nod of his head, as if to say "it's on."
He turned to the men that he had had enthralled by his words only a few minutes ago. "I never said anything about cutting out his tongue or debilitating him for life. No, I think that the only scars of what we do to him will be in his mind.
"Let me ask you," he looked around at the men, his tone changing to that of a teacher, "some of you have children. And we have all been a child at some point in our lives. Well, let me ask you…has any of you had a child that you told to never get too near fire, but insists on doing so anyway? But when the child pays for his mistake by touching the scorching flame he never does so again. He learns.
"Or what if your son or daughter called you "prat" and disobeyed you? What if, no matter how hard you tried, you couldn't get that child to show you some respect, to behave." Michael could tell that the men were getting angry again, and, unfortunately he was having trouble not following suit.
"Sometimes you have to punish that child, even though you don't want to, in order to get him to show you respect.
"And it's not just about showing you respect either, it's also about preparing them for life. Your child will never have any friends if he insults them like that. And annoying tongue, even if that's all it is, can cause damage, and trouble.
"So though you wouldn't want to harm your child you would do it to share him or her from further pain. There are some who would love to hurt anyone they can, and if someone comes along and insults them then that just makes them more of a target.
"And what of Uther? If he should find out about Merlin's disrespect and impudence what do you think would happen to him? He might get beheaded. So by teaching him a lesson, by showing him where he belongs, what is appropriate of him, we may end up saving his life. All he needs is to be shown the way. Sometimes that's all it takes, he merely needs to see what happens when he's disobedient once, and then he will never make the mistake again. By giving him a few bruises we can save him from much worse."
Hemlock stared pointedly at Michael. "Isn't that what you're always telling us to do? If we can save his life, prevent great pain, then isn't it our obligation to do so? Would you disagree with me and quite possibly end his life?" He smirked; he knew that he had made an argument that was next to impossible to counter effectively.
Michael stuttered. For the life of him he couldn't think of much of an objection to what he was saying. Normally it was him who won the arguments, not Hemlock. But Merlin had been so annoying and disrespectful. He really did need to be shown his place. Should they really allow him to continue like this? Especially with the threat of Uther's temper?
The part of him that knew what was wrong with all of this still protested, though. Just not enough. Michael merely said, "I understand what you are saying, Hemlock, but I don't believe that it is time for such action yet. Perhaps the prince is right now taking care of it. Besides, who are we to act like the servant's parents? Give him time."
"Time? Time when any moment he could get killed or at least gravely injured for his insolence? If he doesn't deserve our ways of teaching then surely he doesn't deserve Uther's?" Michael couldn't think of anything to say.
Seeing this Hemlock sighed. "We all know that you have a kind and noble heart, Michael, so how about we grant you this: we promise not to take any action this night or by ourselves. Let's sleep on it, we shall be able to think and see things far more clearly after some rest." All of the men nodded.
Michael simply sighed and left; he wasn't sure what he thought.
That night Michael had a dream, most of which he couldn't remember the next morning.
His dead mother was standing in a field. He ran to her and suddenly he was a little boy again.
"My son," she said as she put her arms around him, "You have a wonderful power of persuasion, but be careful for you're not the only one who possesses it. Be wary of those who would love to make you see their way of thinking. If you ever forget what you think or believe, then simply remember who you are and the kindness within you. You know what's right and what's wrong, never lose hold of that. You have the power to make people see the way you see things, never abuse it or underestimate it." It was something she had said to him as a boy.
Then he saw an image of Merlin beaten, bloody and broken.
He saw many more things in his dream, but none of them he would ever remember clearly. And as it was the only thing he could recall when he woke up was that image of a bleeding servant. And that picture filled him with dread and disgust, which he would soon forget as well.
He was on his way to his post with Hemlock, Gerald, and Tymund when they all heard something that made them abandon their reason. Merlin.
"I just don't see why you can't take it off yourself? We both have hands so I can't see why you don't use them. If you simply helped me take your armor off then it would go twice as quick."
Arthur rounded a corner with Merlin a step or two behind but quickly catching up, which in itself was impressive since he was carrying his weight in Arthur's armor.
"Merlin!" the prince said, sounding quite indignant. But the boy continued on as if he hadn't heard.
"And you could also help me carry some of this stuff; after all, it is your armor. What kind of king are you going to make if you can't even carry of few of your own things?" Little did Merlin know that it was those words that pushed the men who were hearing this over the edge.
Arthur didn't even seem to notice the guards or how they looked ready to pounce. He spun around to face Merlin, nearly knocking him over in the process. "Merlin! That's what you are here for! I have enough duties being a prince as it is, and when I become king they are going to be even greater. I have you so that I can focus of the more important things, like, oh say, protecting this kingdom and the people in it! If I spent all my time doing trivial and menial tasks like carrying and polishing armor then I would neither have the time or the energy to complete the rest of my abilities.
"Now, I have another dinner, apparently some nobles are visiting in order to pay their tribute to my father and—"
Merlin interrupted him, something that nearly ended his life right there. "I don't see why you have to attend all those horrible dinners, those nobles are usually bigger prats then even you can be."
Arthur glared at Merlin but secretly shared his opinions about the lords he was going to be dining with. When he was sure that the boy was done he resumed where he had left off.
"Like I was saying, I need to have a bath before then so, after you drop off my armor at the armory of course, I want you to come and prepare one for me. You can polish it later." He began to turn away but then stopped himself. "Oh, and since you hate the dinners so much then you don't have to go. Instead you can clean my armor and muck out the stables, I'm sure you'd prefer the horses' company."
Merlin looked like he was going to respond to that but Arthur walked away before he had a chance. The boy huffed.
Once again if anyone had been playing close attention they would have noticed that though some of the exasperation was real, none of the anger was. Even the annoyance was partially fake.
Unfortunately for Merlin, none of the guards who had seen this had noticed the smiles that had been playing at the corners on the mouths of both boys throughout the entire "argument."
As Merlin turned to dump his load in the armory he saw the four furious faces glaring murderously at him.
Uh oh, he thought as the guards came at him with a blood-lust in their eyes.
I'm almost entirely and completely possitive that the whump will come next chapter. Please review? *gives puppy dog eyes*