NOTE: I know...I said this next one was for Fran, the AU to a Servant of Two Masters. I still haven't quite figured out how I am going to do it, so I thought I'd throw in a filler so you're not waiting too long – I watched a couple of scenes from Parked and the violent, Merlin-whumping plot bunnies started to do a jig I could not ignore. So here is a little one-shot that wouldn't leave.
Disclaimer: I do not own Merlin or Parked – I am merely playing. I cannot guarantee returning characters to their rightful owners unharmed.
WARNING! Blood, cruelty and vicious men!
THE ADVENTURES OF MERLIN
Going Under
They have been watching the serving boy for some time now. He is clumsy, incompetent and he speaks to the King as an equal – to the watchers, this is abhorrent behaviour, the kind of behaviour he should have been executed for many times over. This confuses them; that Arthur tolerates it, even laughing along with the boy as they partake in childish banter.
It is treason of the highest level, and the boy needs to be dealt with.
Severely.
They keep an eye on him for several more days, as he does his rounds – noting what he did and how long it took him. It keeps them fairly busy with the melee going on, but they usually take it in turns.
It is when the sun sets on the last day, they take their chance.
The evening is chill as heavy dark clouds blanket the sky, obscuring the moon and Merlin hastens across the courtyard, barely suppressing a shiver as he moves. It isn't just from the cold. No, his skin is crawling uncomfortably, as though he is being watched from the shadows. He shifts Arthur's armour so it sits more comfortably in his arms, and continues on, bounding up the stairs two at a time.
Two large shadows flitter closely behind.
The dark haired youth quickens his pace, the feeling of unease rising in his chest as his cobalt eyes flicker nervously around the empty corridors. A feast was currently being held for the closing ceremonies of the melee, but Arthur had excused Merlin so that he could attend to the chores he had missed while preparing the King for his rounds.
Merlin rounds the corner and quietly unlatches the door to the armoury, pushing the door open further with the tip of his boot.
No sooner does he place the armour upon the table, when two meaty hands grip his neckerchief and pull it tight, causing him to gag. Warm breath tickles his ear as he gasps for oxygen, but he can no longer draw in a breath.
'Not so cocky now, are we boy?' The owner of the hands growls, lifting him off his feet by the scrap of cloth around his throat.
Merlin tries to speak, tries to remain calm – but panic and unadulterated fear bubbles at the surface and he can feel tears prick at his eyes.
The man lets go for a second, only to slam the boy bodily against the stone wall and turn him to meet their gaze. The thick fingers grasp at the neckerchief again, and grips it tight, a scowl upon his ugly features.
'We've been watching you, little shite,' he hisses, the alcohol on his breath making Merlin gag. 'You prance around by the King like he's your friend, and yet you insult him to his face! You are a treasonous fool, and seeing as His Majesty has not the stomach to punish you, we will,'
The brute holding him draws his fist back and drives it into Merlin's nose. Hot blood bursts forth, coating his face in gore, but the men do not stop.
The warlock sees stars as his head slams into the stone behind him with the residual force of the blows, and he tries not to whimper.
He didn't dare reach for his magic. If they discover his power, they will likely use it to their advantage, and that is the last thing he needs.
Suddenly, the man lets go and Merlin crumples to the floor with a pained cry. Tears are threatening to fall, but he will not allow the jeering men the satisfaction of seeing him break.
Thick strands of crimson drip from his bottom lip as he drags himself towards the door, but the cruel hands are upon him again, turning him roughly and gripping him by the jacket.
'Where the fuck do ya think yer going ya wee lit'l bastard,' demands the other man, driving his foot into the side of his skull.
The young man cries out again, tears now falling unbidden as their heavy boots slam time and again into his wiry torso.
Two, three...Merlin counts miserably as he feels each rib snap. Five, six...
'P-please...stop,' the young man begs, hating himself for sounding so small and vulnerable. They ignore his pleas and continue to kick him viciously, ensuring they have covered every inch of their victim with their boots.
Merlin groans as blood from the deep gashes on his temple and cheek bone mingle with the thick gore that sits on his tongue.
One of the men, Merlin was no longer sure who was who anymore, give him once last kick in the stomach, before fleeing the room.
The breath whooshes from his lungs as he curls into the tender spot. The burning agony that pulls at his chest forces silent screams from his bloody lips, and he cries silently – pain threatening to pull him into oblivion.
But he can't give up. He's bleeding a lot and it is so damn cold in here, he won't make it through the night if he loses consciousness now.
Weighing up his options when he is finally able to breathe, he drags himself slowly into a seated position and bites back a scream as he pulls himself to his feet with the long oak table as an aid.
Arthur...he has to find the King, whether his decision took him further into harm, he has no idea – he just stumbles along the dim corridor, one arm gripping his belly while the other used the wall as a guide.
Stairs present a particular problem, and he resorts to crawling, ever so gingerly – stopping every once in a while to empty his stomach of the blood that leaks down his throat.
A shriek of horror catches his attention and the sounds of breaking crockery make him flinch. A flash of white, a quiet soothing voice, and very pretty green eyes filled with concern tell him that he will soon have what he needs.
Merlin grips the girls wrist gently, his consciousness wavering as he fights hard to find his voice.
'The K-king,' he manages thickly. 'G-get Art-hur,'
The maid nods, wiping her eyes as she reluctantly let go of the beaten young man before her.
'H-hurry,' he gasps, his arms finding the next step as he continues to drag himself to the landing. If he passes out now, he will surely roll back down the stairs and break his neck.
He reaches the landing after five slow and agonising minutes – new tears mingle with the sticky blood as he weeps, not caring who can see.
Merlin places the flat of his palms against the wall, and with great difficulty, manages to get to his feet once more.
He can hear the sound of boots now – several pairs, gaining on his position. For a panicked moment, Merlin thinks the men have come back to finish the job, but Arthur and Gwaine round the corner and although he is relieved, all he can managed is a groan.
The young warlock manages a few more steps, before a sharp pain in his knees brings him to the conclusion that he has finally fallen.
Strong, gentle hands grip him under the arms, and turn him gently so that he lies on his back, staring upwards. Two faces, both holding much fear, Blue eyes, brown eyes – a humourless smile.
'I can't leave you alone for one minute, can I Merlin?' Arthur asks in gentle exasperation.
Merlin just blinks. He knows what Arthur is saying, but his mind is so fuzzy it takes him several minutes to respond. The young man blinks slowly. 'A-attacked,' he manages with a slur, and now Arthur and Gwaine are more worried.
Black dominates the majority of his cobalt irises, and blood still drips from his chin in thick strands. Merlin blinks again as Arthur unconsciously weaves his fingers through Merlin's unruly raven mop...he is confused. Why do they look so scared?
'Art-hur?' Merlin gasps, feeling more blood rise from his stomach.
The King settles him with a hushed breath, a gentle touch upon the brow. 'You c-can't see...you wouldn't know,' he whispers tremulously, tears intensifying his cerulean gaze.
Gwaine is there too, holding his hand – looking like he has seen a ghost, and still Merlin is confused.
'Oh my dear boy,'
Gaius is here, he's going to help. Merlin looks up at the two men that sit by him and gives them a reassuring smile.
''M ok,' he promises as the Physician crouches down to inspect the damage.
'He has taken quite a beating,' he admits gravely, but sights and sounds are swimming now.
Merlin blinks sluggishly, and hears Arthur say something in the distance. The youth looks up at the King. His eyes a red and it looks like he's screaming.
But there is not sound. He feels Gwaine shake his body, but he is so far out of it that it barely registers. Then the darkness creeps in, from the corner of his vision, and within moments – he is blissfully unconscious.
When he awakens next, it is light, and hunger claws at his belly. Merlin lets out a slow moan, and two figures stir from in front of the fireplace.
The King and Gwaine. It looks like they have not left.
'H-how long?' Merlin asks, his voice rough with thirst. He is pleased that he can no longer taste blood.
'About a week, mate,' Gwaine admits, ruffling his hair gently.
Merlin smiles at the gesture of endearment. He turns to Arthur.
'I-I'm sorry for disrespecting you, sire.' He says gently, his eyes refusing to meet his.
'You've never been sorry before – why the change of heart?' The King asks softly, his eyes watering.
Merlin doesn't answer, but it doesn't take a genius.
'Somebody heard you call me a clot pole?' he asks incredulously.
The young man nods, his eyes at the floor. 'Something like that, Your Majesty,'
Arthur grips the young man's chin and lifts it so their eyes can meet.
'Don't ever apologise for making me feel like a person.' He says gently, noting the fear in his friend's eyes. 'Don't ever stop being who you are, because then you would be like George, and I would have to fire you for being a dull boot-licker.'
This makes Merlin grin. His cobalt eyes sparkle impishly and Arthur punches him gently on the shoulder.
It might take a while, but Merlin knows he'll be alright.
Hope you liked! You're next Fran!