this one turned out lengthy. i'm not very happy with it, but i had it sitting in my folders so i decided to post it and get it over with. hee.
disclaimer: i do not own merlin.
total words: 2974 words
Readily Spoken, Dearly Remembered
Chapter Two
The power of one man doesn't amount to much, but however little strength I'm capable of, I'll do everything humanly possible to protect the people I love, and in turn, they'll protect the ones they love. – Roy Mustang {Fullmetal Alchemist}
All in all, the day started with a beautiful sunshine cascading down on the stone streets of Camelot. A sunshine that was perfect for waking up Arthur with. So with a little jump in his step and a happy tune whistling through his lips, Merlin strutted out of Gaius' chambers. Already, the orange rays were beginning to reflect off of the castle's windows.
As Merlin walked closer and closer to Arthur's chambers, he swore he could feel a sort of tension striking through the air. It wafted through the corridors like the smell of freshly baked pies from the kitchen. He wondered if something had happened while he was gone. Last night, a shaky sort of servant had told Arthur that the king had requested his presence. Arthur's face had a sour look on it when he told Merlin that he had the rest of the evening off. As much as he wanted to know what was going on, he was also tired to the point where it hurt to stand, so he gladly took the leave and fell asleep before his head even hit his pillow.
Now, though, as he saw servants walking cautiously and very dutifully through the corridors, not sparing one glance at him, he wished he'd figured out what was going on. Each servant's face was screwed up in concern. Not even Gwen, a bubble of pure happiness and joy, looked the slightest bit happy. When she glanced at him, he swore that her eyes winced in pity. There was nothing but that and a tiny nod before she made her own way in the opposite direction, her long stride echoing in the hallway.
Taking a little hint from the whole atmosphere in the castle, he knocked sharply and carefully unto Arthur's door, something that was completely unheard of until now. No noise could be heard from inside the room, so after counting to ten, Merlin eased the door open and carefully shut it.
When he turned around, it looked like all hell had broken loose. Papers were strewn across the floor, most of them ripped to shreds. Clothes were draped here and there. The large drawer holding the clothes had been knocked over in disdain, the corners chipped and splintered. The table and chairs were crudely pushed against the wall, as if someone had kicked it in pure anger (which it probably was). In the midst of the mess sat Arthur Pendragon himself, back against the foot board of his bed. His knees were slightly pulled up to his chest, and his hands were gripping through his hair. And his eyes… his eyes were wide open, crinkled with a load of anger and hurt, and possibly a hint of betrayal (his gritting teeth were also a testament to that).
"What do you want?" Arthur's voice was husky with the after effects of a total breakdown.
Merlin gulped. "Arthur… it's me. Merlin."
Almost immediately, Arthur's head snapped up to look at him. The anger was replaced with sadness; the hurt replaced with pity. The manservant's eyebrows shot up at the change in the air. Why did everybody pity him today? What had happened last night?
As quick as it had come, Arthur's eyes hardened to the look of a war-brewed prince. He looked away from Merlin, finding more interest in a tiny bit of stone on the floor.
In all honesty, right now, Arthur felt like shit.
He felt like he'd let Merlin down. Despite their roles, they truly cared for each other. Both of them knew it. The whole entirety of Camelot knew it, for fuck's sake. Merlin had felt like family. They could bicker, they could throw hollow insults at each other, but they understood each other. Or, that's at least what Arthur hoped. There were few who really understood Arthur; there were even fewer who could stand to listen to his rambling and deal with his anger. In fact, there were really only three people: Merlin, Gaius, and Gwen, with Merlin getting the brunt of it. He and Merlin sure as hell never had the same situations, but they cared enough about each other to know when to listen and when to give advice.
But, goddammit, he just felt like he disappointed Merlin – no, scratch that, not just Merlin, but everybody he cared about. Merlin was as gentle as a dandelion, no one could deny that. Not even the manliest of men or the mightiest of knights could deny that Merlin had this sort of effect of everybody, where your mood brightened just like that when he was around. Arthur and many other knights were a true testament to that.
Smiling, gleeful Merlin. Arthur had only seen the boy go into a sort of mopey mood twice. It was unnatural for him to be sad. It was as if the universe had been turned backwards and inside out when Merlin was sad. Nothing felt right. Merlin was one of the kindest people he'd ever met; despite his smart mouth, he was truly concerned about Arthur. He didn't give fake bouts of concern like so many did. He truly cared, and that was something Arthur was grateful for.
So in return, Arthur had decided that he would look out for Merlin's mother, along with the whole of Ealdor, of course. Cendred was nowhere to be found, which left his cities under a questionable rule. Ealdor was literally sitting on the border between Camelot and Cendred's former lands. Neither Merlin nor Uther knew anything about this, and he wanted to keep it that way.
Gwaine, Lancelot, and the other knights were more than happy to do sweeps in and around the tiny village every third week. The first sweep was conducted by Gwaine and Percival. They rode without their flowing red cloaks, as they didn't want to cause a commotion with those who were still loyal to Cendred. Merlin's mother had been very kind to the two of them, once she knew who they were. She had lent them a place to stay for the two days they spent in the village. After that, they rode out to the other villages within two days' worth of horseback riding from Ealdor. There were only five villages, most of them just as tiny and homey as Merlin's hometown.
When the two had gotten back to Camelot, their reports contained mentions of starvation and unfertile lands. A near-draught had also been affecting a certain village west of Ealdor, in Cendred's lands. Needless to say, when the next third week rolled around, Arthur sent Elyan and Lancelot with a load of goods that took another two horses to carry. Most of the goods had been distributed to the people in Ealdor, where they thanked them for their kindness. The rest still took the weight on one horse, and was evenly distributed between the five other villages, who also thanked them profusely for their kindness. The near-draught city had cheered when the large tub of water was sitting in the middle of town near the well.
The reports brought smiles to Arthur and the knights. Merlin was left absolutely in the dark about it, and when he asked about the knights that were missing for a few days, they just told them that they were doing patrols around the more southern parts of Camelot. He bought it with a surprising ease, which was, to Arthur, a good sign that he should continue keeping check on the villages. The whole let's-take-care-of-Merlin's-mother project had been going on for six months, with eight visits total. Each visit after the first was filled with reports of gratitude from the citizens, especially Hunith.
But on the ninth visit, something was terribly wrong. When Percival and Leon had come to Ealdor, a plume of smoke had Hunith and many other villagers wide-eyed and fearful for what was to come. Determined to see what was going on, the two traveled out immediately after distributing their goods. They found nothing but charred ruins upon where Ferrien, the near-draught village from so long ago, once stood. The wooden houses had burned down easily, catching fire from each other. Some buildings were still smoldering, and a thin layer of the putrid smoke had yet to clear. Leon began poking through the houses' blackened remains for survivors, or at the very least, bodies. The only building that hadn't been completely burnt was the little half-stone half-wooden tavern the knights had stayed in many times. Seeing as Leon was quite busy, Percival started towards it. He found that a strip of cloth pinned by an arrow was attached to the door. When he looked down, the bright, hazel eyes of the innkeeper's daughter met his. She was under the fallen flag of the tavern, lying horizontally with the wall. If he hadn't seen her eyes glancing fearfully up at him, he wouldn't have noticed her. Her dress was torn in the back, and she was trembling from head to toe. Her face, still chubby from her baby fat, was covered in soot and specks of blood streaked by tears.
The girl whimpered, and Percival's heart broke.
The giant of a knight knelt down to look at the girl. She had flinched away now, curling into a ball and pulling the flag tighter around her. Her whimpers had grown louder now, and she was shaking harder than ever before. Tears were flowing down her face.
"…Please…don't hurt me…" Her voice shook with a lost innocence that ripped the remains of Percival's heart to complete shreds and pounded it into a fine dust. He felt a lump growing in his throat. She was so innocent, so carefree before all of this had happened.
Now, she was broken and crying, her innocence long forgotten with the dying screams of her family.
"Do you remember me?" Percival asked softly.
The girl nodded. "You're one of those people with swords. You gave us food. You stayed at the inn."
"Do you trust me?"
The girl gulped back the sobs stuck in her throat. "Mister Gwaine trusts you. So I trust you. He said that you're one of the good guys. Daddy said that, too."
And then, with a cry full of anguish and despair and an inward curl of her lips, the toddler launched herself at the knight. She sobbed into his shirt, staining it with tears and snot, screaming herself hoarse, but Percival couldn't care less. Leon came bounding around the corner, and upon seeing the sight, motioned that they should leave for Camelot. On the ride back, Fiona – the girl – spent the entire time either clinging to Percival's back or riding on Leon's shoulders.
Arthur was distressed when they'd told him of the destruction. Within two days' time, they would most likely reach Ealdor or another nearby village, and burn it down to ashes, just like they did Ferrien. Fiona was left in the care of Gwen and the other female servants of the royal household. Most of them had children, which meant experience (something that Gwen and Arthur lacked, quite frankly).
As it stood, Arthur's only available option was to tell his father about it. When Arthur had expressed his concern, Uther's face stood a tad bit confused. But it quickly changed to a stern look as the king launched into his they're-not-as-important-we-won't-have-a-repeat-of-last-time speech. Although, Uther did not expect his son to shout back at him, tell him that everybody's equal. His son was in a frenzy, wildly using gestures, and even managed to give a guard a black eye when he was sent away. This left Uther sighing sadly. When would Arthur ever understand? Some people were just worth more than others.
He decided he would try to drill it into his son's thick skull later that night.
Arthur was yet again, torn by his father's lack of compassion for the people. It had gotten so bad that Arthur had considered using the you-could-gain-more-land tactic, but he didn't want to have to stoop so low.
"Thousands will die! Villages will be burnt down to the ground! Children will lose their family and friends! Why don't you care about any of that?! Why can't you see that we're the same, father?! There are so many lives at stake, and yet we're standing here in your chambers, having a petty argument about whether people are equal or not when we could be packing provisions to save these helpless people! Dammit, people are going to die! Does nobody else's life matter except for yours anymore? If I dropped dead right now, would you even care? Would you even bat an eyelash? I'd bet everything that you wouldn't! You're a greedy, mislead, horrid excuse for a king! I'll never be like you! Ever!"
Needless to say, they were both furious. Uther had backhanded him and yelled at him to get out (which Arthur was more than happy to do).
That is why Arthur now sat in the middle of a mess spawned from his own anger. And when Merlin had walked in, his voice was nothing short of concerned, which left Arthur feeling even more like shit, even more disappointed in himself.
" – thur, Arthur, are you alright?"
The prince snapped out of his angered daze and glanced at Merlin, who was much closer now. He had knelt in front of Arthur, and was eyeing the small, but deep, gash that Uther had inflicted on him.
"Turn your head. I need to check the cut for infections." Somehow, as if Arthur had been out of it for more than a few seconds, he saw the water bucket and cloth that had been laid beside Merlin. Doing as he was told, Arthur turned his head the slightest bit. With the gentleness of a butterfly crawling on a windowsill, Merlin dabbed at the little cut. Once it was clean and patched with a bit of bandage, Merlin's shoulders slumped and his hands fell to his lap.
"You shouldn't get into arguments with your father, you know. It's bad for your relationship."
Arthur glanced up. "How'd you know?"
"Only Uther backhands people, and he has a mean ring on his hand." Merlin said it as if Arthur had asked him what day it was.
Silence rung in both of their ears for a short while.
"Merlin, I have to tell you something." Arthur's eyes held a pained expression.
A little taken back, Merlin answered. "Go on, then."
"There's this group of bandits."
"There are bandits everywhere, Arthur."
"No, Merlin, you don't understand. These bandits – they're not normal. They burnt a village to a crisp. We only found one survivor."
"I don't mean to be rude. That is a terrible thing, but I'm afraid I don't understand the nature of this information."
Arthur gritted his teeth. "…We think they're going to target Ealdor."
In that instant, Merlin turned pale. He was trembling slightly. "Eal…dor? Oh gods…"
Arthur cleared his throat. He couldn't bear to see his friend like this. "Merlin, Merlin, I tried. I tried so hard, but my father wouldn't listen. He said that we shouldn't care about those villages, because they're poor and far away. Merlin, I tried, but my father, he's furious and blind, oh Merlin, I'm so sor – "
"I have to go. It doesn't matter whether or not you go, Ealdor's where my mother lives. I can't – I can't just very well leave her to die! She's my mother, and I love her, and I – I can't just abandon her – " He broke off into a crumple of sobs. He felt so weak, so helpless.
"…I'm going with you. I don't care what my father says; he has no sense of loyalty to the people. He doesn't understand. I'll come with you, because you need me, because we're friends, and you care for me and I care for you. It's just… difficult, because my father can't get it through his thick skull that everybody's equal. Merlin, I'm going. We're going to ride out together at the moon's peak, and we're going to save Ealdor."
The fight was brutal and hard upon the knights and the servant. They had arrived just as the sound of yelling and the clanging of swords began.
They couldn't save everyone, but they did their best, and it paid off. To see Merlin's face light up, even when covered in soot and blood, at the sight of his mother safe and sound, was worth every little cut and scrape and bruise upon the knights' bodies. It was worth every curse, every clang, every twinge of pain, and every burning muscle to see that smile upon their friend's face.
Never in a million years did they think that watching a simple, lengthy hug would bring them to tears.
But when it came to Merlin, anything was possible.