Everything was hurting so much, the pain of his wrists twisted behind his back made sobs burst from Merlin Pendragon's mouth. He tried to wiggle his wrists around, but he could have sworn every twist of his wrists only made the ropes tighten. He was sure his wrists were chaffed raw, feeling as if they were almost on fire from how hard he was tugging, his shoulders straining as he kept trying to jerk himself forward. But the knights of Camelot had made the pyre to be as strong and as steady as it was meant to be, no mistakes had been made, there would be no risk of him escaping from this accursed witch trial that had found him as the next victim to Uther's crusade against him and his kind of people.
"Please! Don't do this! I didn't do anything! I don't deserve this! I'm not a…I'm not a sorcerer!" Merlin screamed as loud as he could over the chaos and noise loud enough to shatter eardrums worked all the way around him, the lie tasting as ashy as his grave was going to taste at any moment now. A self proclaimed grave that would leave Merlin as nothing but dust for people to walk all over as they passed by, already forgetting what was happening today….there was more sobs bursting from his throat, and it ached so bloody much. Tears streamed in rivers down his face, getting into his mouth until he felt as if he could've been drinking it, leaving burning tear tracks in their wake. He sagged forward and allowed the ropes binding him to hold up his whole weight, his entire body was shaking and the sun felt like hot daggers pressing against the vulnerable back of his neck. It would turn red and blister until it popped if he was made to stay out here for much longer, but a witch burning never cared much for giving the witch any comfort in their last moments. "Why won't anybody listen to me? Do none of you have a heart…"
Another sob made him feel as if he was choking, drowning to death beneath the weight of his sins, each tear shed carrying another time he had used his magic even when he knew it was wrong. The shimmering of wetness across his cheeks reflecting off the dozens of people that were surrounding his pyre, just waiting for his burning to commence. As if the smell of rotting flesh and heart stopping screams are meant to be something entertaining…his eyes darted all around him madly. Desperate. Pleading. Begging. But nobody was coming and rescuing him. Nobody was going to come tell him this was just some major and messed up mistake, before untying him and allowing him to flea before there's a chance any of them realize they really did have a sorcerer tied to the pyre in the middle of the courtyard. Nobody was even giving him a sympathetic look, feeling sorry for him but not brave or confident enough to step in and demand he be cut down from his bonds. Though very few people could probably have gotten away with that, and all that could were also the very same people who had put him here in the first place.
",..Please." Merlin's voice had died down into lost whimpers, his lips pressed to the other as tight as they could be, to try and muffle the fiftieth son that would have came from him after he had been manhandled from his bed by these two overly muscled guards just that morning. Hell, Merlin was still in his nightshirt and his underwear, bare feet balancing on the tip of his toes against the wood surrounding the bottom of the pyre. Merlin couldn't even feel embarrassed by the entire kingdom seeing him in his underwear. He was only ashamed that all this was happening to him, and Merlin hung his head. Squeezing his eyes shut so tightly, he could see the black spots bursting behind his eyelids. How had everything gone so wrong…how had they found out about what he was…why was their paranoia so strong, he was going to burn just to allocate their fears of something different being in their midst. "Why…why won't anybody help me now?"
But Merlin didn't dare open his eyes again, to try shaming these people into an action that might save him…nobody had bothered saving him before when he'd been brutalized in front of half these people by Arthur when the prince went all crazy and attacked him for cheating on him. So why would they bother lifting a single finger that would drag attention to themselves, a single finger that may be enough to have them dragged up to the pyre and bound down with another set of ropes right beside him, joining him in death as a witch sympathizer. The Consort 'knew' some of the people that were standing around his pyre, doing absolutely fuck all while sobbing his little heart out. Some of them he liked and thought he was somewhat friendly with…like Knight Derrick and Knight Justin or even that Kitchen Servant Mary and his Once Manservant George. And then there were people he didn't like…like Arthur's best friend Markus, and Arthur's manservant Morris, and a couple of less than friendly knights Merlin refused to learn the names of just because they liked shoving him into walls…a torrent of upending sobs broke from him again. The rivers coursing down his cheeks felt as if he had cried too much, leaving his cheeks burning and stinging, and that it shouldn't be possible to keep crying as he was.
But good god, he was going to die in front of people he hated.
He was going to die in front of people who would grin as the torch was finally flung at the bottom of the pyre.
He was going to die in front of a crowd who would cheer-perhaps one or two would give him enough dignity to look away from his seizing body as the bright flames caught in his skin and started working their way up the path of his legs in agonizing swiftness-and pretend they couldn't hear the screams he would shout to the heavens as he was being burnt alive for their pleasure. Though he supposed it would be easier to tune out his pain, if everybody thought he was nothing more than a toy, meant for their entertainment and sacrificed as a way to prolong that joy.
Sick bloody fucks…who enjoyed watching somebody die.
Brutally.
Painfully.
Slow enough to feel as if it would never end.
"LET ME GO!" the screaming whipped itself out of his throat before he could just stop and think for a moment, his panic overwhelming him as his head was whipping up. Merlin would usually never feel the way his eyes changed from his standard blue to his vivid gold, the shift came as natural to him as it did to breathe. But this time, he could feel it. Could feel the power burning through his veins, feel the molted gold centered around his eyes, proving the charges against him, leaving the people without a sliver of doubt about who and what he was. But nobody shrunk back from him in fear…it was almost as if they had expected for him to do it at some point. And the people all mingling together kept talking without pause, the noise level increasing as both peasant people and nobility mingled, joining forces for the first time in generations. And there was still no sign of Gwen or Gaius or Morgana standing among the crowd…had they abandoned him here to his fate? Had they given up on him and decided to not waste their time on him anymore? Right after Merlin had started thinking a place could be forged for him in this godforsaken kingdom…not even Merlin's husband was here to see this. And that was the one person Merlin would have thought wouldn't have missed this, being the first in line to see his troubling spouse combusting in a shower of flames that would go sky high before it was done eating him. "Just…just let me go…"
Merlin's voice had died back down into a whisper, and he once again sagged against his bindings. The ropes pulled under the full of his weight, and there was a flickering in his head that made Merlin realize his blazing gold had just turned back into stormy blue. His throat clenched up so tight, he wasn't able to swallow the expanse of tears still catching on his lips…he knew that this is it. This was his time. Everything he had done, and everything that had already been done to him, had led straight to this moment. The moment where he was going to end. No more mystery on how it was going to happen, not being able to wonder if it would be because somebody found out who and what he really was…no more cycling through the pain as people got sick of him and moved on with their lives, forgetting all about the clumsy fool of a boy who seemed to always have his foot permanently stuck in his mouth.
Merlin's throat convulsed as he tried to swallow, and he shook his head to get his sweaty bangs out of his face, before tilting his head back against the wood post he was attached too. He could feel the sun against his face, burning him, and it only reminded him that it wouldn't be long now. Soon, somebody would get too anxious or overexcited about the show, and decide they would throw a torch onto the woodpile before the actual executioner got a chance to arrive to do it himself. But he must truly be evil, he must have done something that was truly awful, or they just wanted to make a big show out of proving not even the consort was safe from the unfair laws that ruled this kingdom, to have put him on the burn pile as nothing more than kindling.
Merlin had learned more than he had thought possible in the four months or so he had been in Camelot now, and one of the things his uncle had taught him in one of their many talks, was the punishment for witches. Warnings, Gaius had been trying to give him, to caution him against using his magic outside of even the most dire of circumstances…sometimes it was better to die from whatever situation he had found himself in. Then the death that would be given to him if he was proven a witch and caught by the soldiers that stomped throughout the village as if they were the gods amongst men. And as always…Gaius had been right, and Merlin still didn't know what he had done to get caught, and now he was here with no explanation…
Most people who were accused as being witches were lucky, they often didn't have proof that they were or weren't. But they had been accused and that was often enough to bring them to the execution's platform. Those were the ones who were allowed the chopping block…it was a quick and painless death. Just a quick swing of the executioner's ax, and all the pain and the fear that could make a grown man shake in their boots…would be over. The spirit leaving the body as the head rolled, often off the platform itself, to the feet of someone-random, unassuming, traumatized-watching the show as if they were at some theater watching the act in a play. Lucky might be the people who'd be given a punishment such as this, but not everybody was granted the same mercy of a quick death.
The next level of punishment involved a hanging…those were meant for people who had actually been caught using their magic. Rather it be to encourage the life of a seedling so their garden could grow, cheating people called it, since it was not all that could grow their food so easily, rare as a talent that could have been. Or if somebody had actually used their magic against somebody…even if it was in defense after that person attacked them in an effort to rob them from their belongings or planned to do something much worse. A death given from the hangman's noose was not nearly as painless…maybe one would be lucky if the rope snapped the neck in an instant when they dropped through the hole in the platform. But not everybody got that, some people could hang there for minutes at a time. Clinging to life as the rope pulled tighter and tighter, having their feet kicking and spasming as they tried to find something to step on, and their face turning blue and purple. Eyes bulging as if they were about to start popping right out of their head…not a pretty sight to behold. Gruesome.
And then there were the really unfortunate ones…the children that had ended up accused using witchcraft, sometimes simply because their own parents had gotten caught and the king hadn't wanted to risk them growing up to carry the same evil within them. Even some as little as newborn babes wouldn't have the chance at being spared such a fate. They were the ones that got heavy stones strapped to their ankles before being thrown into the river…the king decided it was a way of 'cleansing them from their sins', so they could find peace behind the veil and in the afterlife. People also often claimed a drowned child meant it had been saved, and they could all go home knowing they had done this great deed in the name of their god. Although the unfortunate children who had got free of their bindings by wiggling about against ropes not tied properly, who'd managed to swim back to the surface…still weren't spared their death. Coming back up meant the devil had saved them, it meant evil was rooted inside of the heart and could not be cleansed. So wicked that even the river itself had spat them back out, refusing to accept them in the land of their forefathers…
That was when the stoning came in. Children being dragged into the middle of the courtyard by a raging angry mob, being held by people much stronger and much bigger than they were. Thrown to the ground as the angry mob would be growing in both numbers and force. Surrounding the child like vicious wolves being drawn to their dinner…until somebody threw a stone. And then another…and then another. Again and again, stones the size of a fist smashing into this frail being. Bones started to splinter and crack until they broke completely and blood flowed free, spit flying at them from the rage of the crowd…hands held up to cover themselves even as their ribs cracked. Until they were nothing but a pit stain across the stones, empty eyes staring at the shining sun, bright and happy that another one of the devil's children had been taken care of by all the good people who lived on the earth their god had gifted them with.
But for the people who were put on the pyre and set to burn…like Gwen had almost been that one time two months ago, like Merlin was now…this was the punishment meant for those who were truly evil. The ones who had hurt others with the gift they had been given, for those who had used it to cause heinous crimes of mass destruction, for those who had caused terror and fear and just even upset feelings to ran rampant across the kingdom. If somebody wanted to cause an unrest in his kingdom, then Uther wanted to make sure they lived just long enough to regret it. Make sure their last moments on this earth was as painful as possible, enjoying the sight of their skin starting to blacken and crack under the heat of the flames. Watching his victim shriek and scream and beg for mercy as the dry wood caught alight. If people were going to play with the fiery temptation that was magic, then it was only right for them to face the fire for themselves..
Merlin's lips trembled, tugging weakly at his bonds in order to free himself out of the ropes, but his body was too weak. He had been eating better in the last few days, still not full meals but at least he was eating a bit better. Half bowls of soups or quarter of meat to get him going, it was a mark improvement from the earlier days. But he still wasn't at the same body mass he had been when he had first came into Camelot. And even if he was…no man could snap ropes like this. Not unless there was something faulty with the rope itself, and trust him…there was nothing wrong with these ropes. Merlin blinked rapidly in order to stem the tears, his magic stirring inside of him…weak after the majorly bad explosion of force he had used to scream at the people who mocked him for his predicament. His magic wasn't usually this weak after one simple show of magic, but maybe he wasn't doing as good as he thought he'd been…he had been struggling with his magic because of his poor health before. Maybe this was just another side effect of his issues, but for all times for his magic to fail him now …
Footsteps.
Merlin sucked in a huge breath, his heart pausing in his chest as the crowd of on-lookers finally fell silent. And the people started to split into two rows, just to create a pathway between them for the newcomer to walk through. He had not been able to see them at first, his eyes too blurry from the excess of tears blinding him, but he knew he must have been somebody quite powerful. If he had managed to make the crowd shut up in a way not even Merlin's magic had been able to do….he blinked. Several times to try and clear his vision. But he only saw who the newcomer was when he stopped just shy of the woodpile…
His breath hitched again.
Arthur Pendragon
But this wasn't the Arthur Pendragon he knew…there was something darker about him, something that eerily reminded him of the day the prince had lost his mind and hit him in the village. But he didn't know why…Arthur looked as if he was remarkably composed for once. Expression carefully blank as he was casually looking over Merlin's tied form, checking the rope to make sure they were secure enough, perhaps? Maybe it was the dark steel boots the prince was wearing that made him look more sinister, maybe the black breeches and the black cloak…he was dressed as if he was going to a funeral. And maybe he was…Merlin's funeral was going to be right here on this pyre. The last place he would stand before leaving this mortal coil…
Maybe it was the empty look in his eyes that made Merlin's breath catch.
Looking at Merlin in that familiar way he did, when he thought Merlin was only a bug that needed to be squashed beneath his fancy boots. Somebody who'd need to be eliminated, instead of treated like a decent human being. With the thoughts and the feelings and the desires and the hopes that every other man, woman, and child on this entire planet held inside of them. But Arthur wouldn't know what those were for Merlin….he had never even bothered asking. Merlin had been the one to bring it up, and had been the one to scream what all he'd wanted at him…maybe that was why he was here. Because Arthur just couldn't handle being told how inadequate he was as a husband. How much of a failure he was…Merlin had known he himself was. But it had probably been this major shock for the prince to hear not everybody was willing to kiss his boots to win his favor…a heart wounded Prince made for a dead Merlin.
How pathetic…only somebody truly sickening would go this far in order to get revenge. It was like a woman going out to the tavern, and turning down some guy she wasn't interested in, only to be followed and later killed because his manly pride couldn't handle being rejected. Merlin was the woman stuck in the scenario, and Arthur was the man who would rather kill his rejector than allow them to walk free, and find somebody who might actually want whatever hell Arthur would give them. Merlin angled his neck, trying to wipe his tears along his shoulder, stop Arthur from seeing him cry…he had sworn he would never cry in front of Arthur again, and he intended to keep that promise to himself…all he had managed to do was smear it around his face. But no matter…Merlin still forced himself to look Arthur in the eye.
At the torch he carried in one hand.
Merlin swallowed hard, knowing all at once why Arthur was making a big show out of his arrival…he wasn't here to watch Merlin's death. He wasn't here to be some kind of silent spectator to witness a member of the Pendragon family the royal archive keeper could scratch off the family tree. He wasn't here to carry on his 'woe is me, my true love is a sorcerer' bull crap he and his father would always sprout off when they needed him. Putting on a show for his people and make them think he was mourning for the loss future he would never be able to share with the one he intended to spend his whole life with.
He was here to be Merlin's executioner.
To throw the torch down on the dry wood himself.
And watch Merlin burn.
"Hmmm, I suppose I really am going to be yours from now on, aren't I? Can I be called that…a victim of spousal abuse. A victim of domestic violence. One you get to keep for the rest of your days." Merlin murmured, low and his voice aching raw from his earlier pleading. And the consort, for the first time since he had been strung up, smiled. Bitter. The prince had tried so hard during the last argument they had to make sure Merlin knew he was his, could still feel all the indentions of Arthur's fingers holding his chin still as he breathed this out for him. Could still feel his slimy tongue in his mouth if he tried hard enough to think back on that moment…Merlin didn't like thinking back on that moment at all. The consort leaned his head back, allowing his head to thunk back against his post and ignoring the welling of angry and unfair tears trying to force their way past his own stubborn determination, "I guess I was right to refuse your bullshit apology to me that day, wasn't I? If you were just going to turn around and do this to me. Tell me, Husband. Are you going to place my ashes inside of an urn and keep me in your room, a laughing joke for the time you finally made me yours? Or will you just leave me scattered here in the pit of my own tomb."
Arthur didn't say anything for the longest time, his face lit up with a continued blank expression as the torch flickered vibrantly. Merlin did his best to not look at the cause of his soon to be death, wondering if Arthur had heard him or was just ignoring him…perhaps he just didn't want to engage in one more argument between them. Just for old times sake. If Merlin was going to go out with such a huge bang, the least Arthur could do was explain to Merlin why he was such a horrible, awful being. Oh, that's right, Merlin already knew why. Because he 'wanted too', so that meant he could do whatever he wanted too. Just like the time the two had their last argument, when Arthur's piss poor excuse for all of his awful behavior was because 'he didn't want to be married to a man.' So it apparently gave him free range to act like a monster…god. The best thing the consort had ever did was not accepting the many times Arthur had pleaded to have his apology accepted. He hadn't given into the creep then, he shouldn't give into him now…
Even if that simply meant not showing the man his fears of death…
His desire to live awakened after his last near death experience with his near poisoning…
"…Like I ever wanted to apologize to a horrid boy like you." Arthur spoke up in a way that had Merlin's limp body stiffening, his hands twisting from where the goons that had grabbed him that morning had twisted them behind his back to give him maximum discomfort. Arthur took a few small steps closer, the tips of his boots touching the wood that would burn Merlin…Prince and Consort…two people who should have never met yet alone ruined the other as they did…did nothing more than stare at each other contemplative. And Merlin couldn't help but wonder what Arthur saw when he looked at him, strung up like the doll the man had tried making him. A boy fearful of what was to come…or a fighter who would spit at Arthur even as his body was torched… "My apologies were only a means to placate you. Make you soft so I could manipulate you into doing all the things we wanted our way. But then you just had to rewrite the script when you refused me, didn't you, sweetheart." Arthur had this patronizing grin along his face, and Merlin knew without a doubt, even as his insides squeezed in this painful resistance against a term meant for affection, that the prince would've been patting his cheek if Merlin had been tied any lower. Like one might if they had a dog. "Perhaps you should have taken my apology when you had a sliver of a chance at surviving, shouldn't you?"
I'll take that into consideration, Merlin thought with sarcastic abandonment, just knowing Arthur thought he had won the four months of hell they had gone through with being stuck together. But there was no point in saying that…they were always going to end up here. Merlin not accepting Arthur's lack of taking full responsibility for his actions, had only given the prince a reason to get him brought here. Nobody should deny a prince if they wanted what another had in their possession, even if what the other wanted was their body and soul. Such things that couldn't be taken unless given willingly. Merlin had learned that the hard way, and it was Arthur he should thank for that. It was how he knew that the prince was never going to own him. Even if Arthur really did throw a torch at the woodpile surrounding his feet right here and right now, Merlin wouldn't ever belong to him. Even if murdering somebody left a piece of the murdered victim behind in the soul of the murderer, claiming a piece of them…Merlin was never going to be his. Arthur might as well throw the torch down now though…he would rather get this over with than listen to his husband try justifying what actions he took.
"You have been nothing but a burden upon both me and my father since your arrival in my city. Forced upon me like a stain sent out to wreck my existence with your presence." Arthur continued to speak, pacing slowly in front of the tied consort as if he truly thought he was something else. Standing there with all his glory, as if he was a god amongst gods. And Merlin should've been laid down on his knees and worshipping said god's very feet. Merlin's hands went into tight fists behind his back, but this only caused the rope to cut far deeper into his wrist. He could feel something wet…had the ropes finally broke apart his skin…was he bleeding. Blood was powerful, right? Something that could be used in magic…dark magic, maybe. But magic was magic. And should be used when the situation called for it…his powers flickered as the blood pooled right in place between his fingers. Sticky and hot. And Arthur's talking made Merlin feel as if he was unable to concentrate properly, "But now, I have finally been given the opportunity to be rid of you. You are after all, a sorcerer. And that is exactly why you will never mean anything to me."
Arthur stopped walking in mid-step, his entire body turning so that he could face Merlin, looking like some kind of war general about to march into nothing but the calmest battle he had ever faced in his life. And Merlin gritted down at his teeth, his fingers curling tighter to make the magic flow of his blood move all that much faster. Forming a large sticky puddle in his hands, the blood was starting to drip. One drop hitting the post and staining a small streak of red on the wood, followed by another a few second later. He had to do something, the consort thought, feeling his magic flickering again. This was his chance to try and wipe that smug look away from Arthur's face, his chance to prove he was not the same scared little boy he'd been this last month. His magic flickered a bit stronger this time, fueled by Arthur hitting Merlin's soft spot.
'You are, after all, a sorcerer. And that is exactly why you will never mean one thing to me.'
That was exactly what Arthur had told him, picking apart a scab Merlin'd been carrying on his heart for many years. Long before he had ever met the prince and been ruined by him. Back in the days of his childhood, when he had been finally old enough to recognize and realize how incredibly difficult it was going to be to find a man who loved him. And how incredibly difficult it was going to be to find a man who could accept all of him. Maybe Arthur didn't realize how effective his words were, still painful despite Merlin's fiery nature telling him to drag Arthur down into the pit of hell he was being with him, but there were just some insecurities nobody should touch. Whether they knew they were there or not. And Merlin's failure at getting the grand romance he'd once dreamed of, is definitely one of them.
"You've made your choices clear the moment you decided to practice the evil that is witchcraft. It is you that have forced my hand into this, Merlin." Said the prince in that calm and detached voice of his, as if he hadn't been wanting this for months now, and Merlin's wrists jerked against his bonds, the blood flowing through his clenched fingers dripping onto the wood post at a faster and more steady rate. He wanted to tell the prince that this is a lie, he wanted to scream to the heavens that there was nothing wrong with him just because he was different. That he didn't 'choose' to practice witchcraft, it was a skill that came to him without his consent. But there was also no point in trying…not when there were still days where he wondered rather or not his gift was a sign of him being evil. Besides…Arthur was still going to kill him. And as Merlin predicted, Arthur raised the torch as high above his head, calling out as loud as he could so their audience could hear his official proclamation, "This is my duty, to follow my father's law. And see to it that the WITCH SHALL BURN!"
Merlin's magic roared to life inside of him in a rush of power that took even his breath away, following the will of the old religion he'd been thrown into, just as Arthur threw the torch onto the wood surrounding Merlin's feet. It was as if the power of magic swirled all around Merlin, everything happening so fast as the fire grew out of control, a mix of colors blurring his vision as the flames went dancing up his body. His legs caught fire first, spasming against the heat and the smell of his own burning flesh, his head flew back hard enough to bash up against the post holding him hostage…his legs felt as if they were tied way too tight, tighter than the ropes should have been holding him.
And then he shrieked to the heavens.
This feral, maddening shriek that would fit better coming from the throat of a wild animal vowing vengeance and death on the one that destroyed him. And the flames coursed up his entire body, all the way up to his head faster than an eye could blink, sucking him into the burning pit of crackling hell. And even as Merlin felt his skin starting to melt from his bones through the sheer heat of all the flickering flames, the only thing the people watching him could see, was all the gold of his eyes. Shining brighter than the moon on the darkest night, and showing more power than the strongest of lightning bolts shooting through the night sky during the worst of storms…vowing to come back from the grave and wreck havoc on the impassive Prince Arthur's perfect little world.
Before his eyes were melting out of his skull, the smoke billowing up around him, shielding him from their unworthy eyes…
X
Magic billowed all around Merlin in a surge of power as he threw himself up in his bed, grasping onto the covers with white knuckled fists. Breathing rapidly as his chest heaved up and down, coated in a thick layer of pouring sweat and still feeling the phantom burn of-his-scorching flesh high in his nose in a way he thought would never leave him. His magic swirled out in response to feeling his fight or flight reflexes kicking in, still caught in the midst of his nightmare…his burning golden eyes brighter than molten lava the only thing to light the room, until his magic blew out the shutters in a gust of wind. The two pieces of wood that covered his windows smacking against the stone wall to allow some of the sunlight to stream into the room. But the light only reached just shy of the bed, Merlin staring down at where the light stopped on his floor, trying to calm his breathing as he stayed hidden in the shadows of his room.
A nightmare, Merlin thought, forcing himself to loosen the fingers holding onto his blanket…it was just a bloody nightmare. Nothing was happening to him just now. He hadn't been wrestled out of his bed this morning by knights that were too grabby for their own good, he was still in his bed. He hasn't been tied to a pyre in the middle of the courtyard, there WAS no pyre standing in the middle of the courtyard. Nobody knew he was a sorcerer, or his nightmare would have already came true. Arthur hadn't shown up for the first time in weeks, and had not thrown a torch to set him alight. It was just a bloody nightmare, he slowly repeated in his head again and again. Feeling as if he was saying some kind of mantra, until his fingers grew looser, the magic swirling around Merlin like it's an untamed hurricane calming to a stop, his eyes fading back into blue as the beating of his heart started to slow to a more manageable pace.
Just a nightmare.
Nothing more than a nightmare…
Merlin groaned, and brought one of his hands up to cover his eyes in shame at how this kept happening to him, his sweaty bangs flopping over onto his slim fingers. He would have thought he would have been better by now, since it had been almost a full month since he had decided to make a change within his life and his future. But it was like his mind refused to allow him to move away from the fears that had haunted him, refusing to let him rest and move onto greater pastures that would be filled with happiness. Merlin hadn't had nightmares like this since he had first came to Camelot, when he used to dream about Arthur discovering what he was and taking the executioner's place so he could be the one to cut off Merlin's head. While the fire and the flames were new, it wasn't a different nightmare. He would still die from Arthur's hand.
And these nightmares had been a recurring issue for weeks now.
Ever since he had told Arthur to get lost and never bother him again. It was as if his subconsciousness had taken a strong dislike to the idea, and was trying to rebel against him by reminding him 'why' it was a good idea to keep the man away from him. Lest he really turn out to be the kind of petty little man that the consort always saw in his nightmares. He just needed to do what he had been doing ever since the nightmares had cropped up again, and that was…ignore it all. They couldn't hurt him if he acted as if they didn't disturb him, right…?
Merlin barely noted the rapid tapping-one, two, three, four, five-that was going on against his knee. One, two, three, four, five. One, two, three, four, five…this little trick he had learned at some point really came in handy when he needed to push back the nightmares. Just like whenever he had his panic attacks, they kept him grounded. Steady. Made him remember he was in his bed-with both of his legs somehow tangled in the sheets, constricting him tighter than a boa constrictor wanting to make Merlin his next meal-and not currently suffering from the pain of skin melting off his bones…Merlin heaved a large breath and got to work on untangling his legs. It took more effort than it should have, but he did eventually manage to get free with only minimal curse words beneath his breath when he felt like he was only making things worse for a second.
The wooden floor beneath Merlin's feet was icy cold to the touch, contrasting quite nicely against the heat of his skin when he finally managed to swing his legs over to freedom. And with help from the streaming sunlight coming into his room, he was able to see the space around him…a space that had definitely not been caught on fire. Perhaps he was still expecting to see flames bursting to life in every direction he looked, but no. There was nothing more than a nice and clean looking room that greeted him…Uncle Gaius had mentioned to him one time that a clean room could often help with somebody's mental state. Merlin often had a dirty room, with clothes flung in every which direction and the small bits and items he managed to get his hands on scattered about. But he was willing to follow whatever little tricks or pieces of advice to jumpstart his healing…the sorcerer wasn't entirely sure if it was working. But at least he could stride into his room without tripping over everything in his wake, so there was some kind of benefit to it at least…
And with the lack of Arthur's presence in his life during the last few weeks, he had plenty of time on working on his cleaning skills. Just one of the few things he had taken up in order to keep himself busy so he wouldn't give up and just climb in bed and decide a day was over with. Before the sun had even dropped beneath the horizon…Merlin had already vowed not to spend his days falling in bed anymore. And being reminded of this vow, encouraged himself to push off the bed, raising to his legs that shook violently under him. He felt as if he was walking all bowed legged, stumbling his way over to the opened shutters…and he grabbed onto the edge of his window, allowing himself to stand there for a second to feel the cold breeze of fresh air against his face. Cooling his sticky cheeks…Merlin dug his nails into the window frame for traction as he leaned out a bit more, eyes fluttering closed to enjoy it for a brief moment…
Four months, Merlin thought in some dark place in the back of his mind. Today marked the beginning of the fourth month he'd been within Camelot City. Four months of living within the castle, two months since he had been living in this tower with his uncle. Four weeks since his and Arthur's last argument before the prince had disappeared-thankfully-on him completely. It had been a nice little break, nightmares none-withstanding, where he'd taken the time to heal and work on himself. Filling his days with hobbies and the like to keep him in a more active state. Trying to read more like he did when he first got here, he'd gotten pretty good at it now, and rarely needed to ask his uncle what a word he came across meant anymore. Doing little experiments his uncle set up with his equipment for Merlin to play around with in a way that wouldn't disturb the potions he was actually working on. Pushing himself to eat a little more during his meals, slowly trying to expand his stomach…he wasn't a concove shell any more, so some progress was being made there, at least. He still had a long and difficult road ahead of him, but he was trying.
He really, really was.
But these nightmares of his! They always seemed so determined to throw him back into the state he'd been in before. Trying to push whatever progress he'd made that day back two steps so he would have to start all over again. He just could not decide on what these dreams meant. If it was just his subconscious playing at him, telling him to tread carefully because there was no telling what Arthur would do next, and how suspicious it was to have heard from him only a few times but never saw hair nor hide of him. Or if his dreams was some kind of strange warning, telling him he should still try making an escape while there was still a chance…running away, this time. Instead of trying to kill himself. But out of all the powers Merlin had, seeing the future wasn't one of them, so that was probably an unlikely theory…
But…
Merlin glanced cautiously over his shoulder back into his room, as if he feared somebody would burst in and immediately realize why he was looking directly at his small wardrobe. Or more specifically, where he could see his bag barely peeking out of the open door…the bag he had arrived in Camelot with was one of the very few possessions he had. And it had sat at the bottom of his closet, empty, ever since his arrival. It wasn't so empty now, though one could hardly tell there was anything in it. Pretty much only a fresh change of clothes-there wasn't much he could spare so he alternated the outfit he kept in it every few days-and a water skin and a few pieces of bread in a smaller case stored away inside. Once again, something he switched out for something fresher so he did not end up forced to eat moldy food the day he finally ran from this place.
Merlin wasn't entirely sure if he wanted to leave yet, don't get him wrong, he'd have no problem walking out the gates of the kingdom at the first chance that presented itself and never coming back. But there were so many variables that he needed to think of…like what would happen if the guards caught up with his fleeing body before he got too far. What if he wasn't healed enough to make a long journey? He wanted to escape, he didn't want to end up dead during what would be his first attempt. But Merlin had learned from Arthur that he couldn't allow himself to get too comfortable in one place, so he had his to-go bag just sitting there at the ready. For him to snatch up and take off at a single moment notice. He didn't want to waste any time if he decided to go through with it…
Merlin Pendragon ruefully shook his head, already knowing that today was not going to be his day for running, and pushed himself away from the window. He should probably get dressed and start the day, the sun was already itching up higher than he usually wanted to get up…staying in bed for too long made him paranoid and made him think he was about to fall into another depression and not want to get up at all. It was best to not even look at his bed, he thought as he was stretching out the window to grab onto the shutters so he was able to dress with some feeling of privacy…the shutters felt as if they were stuck. And Merlin clenched his jaw, tugging on the wooden frame a bit harder, good god, he really hoped his magic hadn't stuck the shutters to the wall. He was going to have a real fun time explaining that to Gaius. And an even funnier time when he tried fixing it before giving up and having Gaius contact the carpenters by trade to fix it, probably blaming it on a stuck hinge or something so there was no questions asked…knowing Gaius, he would probably want to call the Royal carpenters instead of the family business that lived in the lower town. Merlin was consort and deserved to use the resources given to him with the title and all that…Gaius sure did love to remind him he had full advantage of what that dratted (yanking) prince (pulling) had (crack)…
Merlin froze where he was, though it wasn't because he feared he might have just broken his windows, though the large cracking sound made Merlin almost sure it was going to start closing crooked now. No…he froze because he had just seen somebody down below his window. There was a man there, this very familiar man standing at the mouth of the alley that one needed to walk down in order to reach the bottom of Merlin's tower. Merlin's lips thinned with a dark and suspicious distaste, even though the knight wasn't looking at him. He had his back turned away from the tower, leaning against the stone wall. It looked as if he was simply observing the crowd as people hustled and bustled down the streets.
Knight Derrick…
One of the few knights Merlin was on a semi-friendly basis with. He wouldn't go so far as to call him an actual friend, but he was also one of the very few knights in this kingdom that hadn't tried hurting him at one point or the other. Not even a cruel word. He was kind of a chilled out, stoner kind of guy…but he had been hanging out in that spot a lot in the last week or two. He didn't seem to do anything but watch the crowd before leaving a few hours later, but that's exactly why it was so suspicious. Because Knight Derrick wasn't the only one that had sat at that one spot, observing the world going around him.
Knight Justin…
Knight Tristian…
Knight Gregory…
Even Knight Dorian had sat out there for a few hours one time.
As if they were on some kind of rotating shift scheduling…
And god help him if he ever found out Arthur was the one behind this certain strangeness. It would definitely explain his lack of showing up. Why bother if he knew Gaius would just send him straight out the second he tried coming in through the door. Why bother trying to bother Merlin again, when he could just send his squad of men to spy on him instead and report all their findings to the precious Prince Pendragon. Merlin hoped Arthur liked what he was learning on him, all about how Merlin spent all day fiddling with Gaius' equipment…it must be 'so' fascinating to hear about it. But Merlin was definitely not giving any of Arthur's men a free show here, and the door swung closed easier than it had been moving…
And it was most definitely crooked…
Merlin Pendragon got himself dressed in silence, each movement of his body as mechanical as the last, stripping himself of his sweaty nightclothes before dropping them in a puddle at the foot of his bed. The spot that reminded him of which clothes he needed to wash later that night before he went to bed. He continued getting dressed, one leg at a time in his pants, one arm at a time in his burnt orange shirt, foregoing his neckerchief simply due to how sweaty his neck already was without the ragged cloth he usually favored…it was almost a tad neurotic, almost. The way he got dressed. He dressed the exact same way each and every day, slipping his boots on the same way he had the day before …he found keeping things the same was also meant to be better for someone's mental state. No more surprises or falling over his own feet in his haste to get dressed because he couldn't wait to begin his day…before his beginning would usually end with running into Arthur.
This was another thing Merlin was sure wasn't exactly helping…
He almost missed the disarray and chaos of what his normal life had been like before he started becoming so rigid about certain things. But again, he would be willing to try anything to see how it worked for him. Even if he did find it to be quite strange missing how he would trip over a stray tunic or have to spend minutes searching every nook and cranny for where he had kicked away those boots of his. But sacrifices did need to be made, if one wanted to focus on his recovery. And that was the only thing Merlin was concerned about nowadays…getting recovered.
Oh, don't get him wrong. Merlin had been declared fully recovered from his bout of poisoning just a few days ago. Gaius was positive of it, and all of the lingering side effects were no longer in his system. But his mental state had needed a little…polishing, Merlin thought grudgingly as he reached down to grab a small cloth out of the water bucket situated by his door. He gingerly wiped the sweat from his face, releasing in the cold of the water before he realized…there's not one reason for him to be ginger anymore. Merlin had gotten used to being very careful when he cleaned his face, because of the bruises that decorated along his skin had stung something fierce. But those bruises had healed completely by now, not one trace of it remaining. It was almost like it had never happened, whenever pale flesh would greet him when he caught sight of his reflection.
But it had.
And it not being there anymore didn't change anything.
Though he couldn't say all things had healed so easily, and Merlin dropped his cloth back into the water bucket…he straightened back up and circled around his wrist to test its movement. It was another leftover injury from Arthur, given to him the same time Arthur had bruised his face…his fractured wrist. It's gone and healed as well, as the days had passed them by, but its healing was a bit more recent. Uncle Gaius had only just taken the splint off him last night but he could feel how significantly weaker it was than the other. The bone was back in the right place, but he hadn't been able to do anything proper when that splint had been holding him back. Gaius had told him he would need to do some kind of strength exercises-physical therapy-in order to get it back to where it should be. But as of right now, his hand felt weaker than a drenched kitten…
And then there was…
Merlin felt so stupid as he allowed his hand to slowly drift down his stomach, a finger brushing along the tunic till he reached the hem of it. He hesitated to talk himself out of it, but he knew it would bother him if he didn't try it just like he had tried it every other morning for the last few weeks. It was one of those many compulsive obsessions Merlin tried keeping too-keep his days the same so there would be no surprises and all that-but this was the one thing he had done every morning without fail. It had started nearly a week after Merlin had seen Arthur last, at the goodbyes for Mercian, that he had tried it for the very first time. And he had failed. So he had tried again. And again. And again. And he knew he was going to fail this morning as well. But that was the thing about compulsive need-his need to control things in this healthier manageable way-was that some thing's couldn't be helped.
And this was one of them…
Merlin slid his hand, fingers still so soft against his pants now that he seemed to be having a hard time feeling them at all, before he slid his hand in between his legs. He hissed, his legs spreading a bit wider as his fingers ran along the insides of his thigh. Easily finding that one spot Arthur had tormented on him during the banquet meal. It was another, more invisible, mark of shame Arthur had left him with. A mark that made shame fill him up, because he shouldn't have been here trying to replicate whatever it was Arthur had done to him that day. He shouldn't be trying to feel the surge of warmth, and the nerves, or the anxiousness, or the fear of wanting it to stop but wanting it to continue on as well…
But it was probably one of the few things Merlin had truly felt in a long time.
And he just wanted to feel again.
And maybe he wasn't doing such a good job at healing his mental state, if he was still hiding in his room doing something 'Arthur' had done to him…
But no matter how much he prodded at that spot in his leg, there wasn't any surge of electricity coursing through him. Nothing to suggest it would've been anything more than the inside of his thigh…Merlin's face dropped into a sneer before he snatched his hand away from it. He knew he was going to try again tomorrow, and the next day, and probably the next as well, but god help him if it turned out to be some kind of strange, intense reaction from Arthur trying to touch on him when Merlin was sensitive and not wanting it. He wasn't sure he would be able to deal with only 'Arthur' pulling such a strong reaction out from his body, as if he really did own it and could make it react to something Merlin didn't know was possible…the consort pushed these thoughts far from out of his mind as he could. Snatching his jacket from inside the wardrobe before he slammed the door shut, shielding his runaway bag within.
Once Merlin was dressed, he took himself a steadying breath as he rearranged his jacket to fit properly around his shoulders. He and Gaius had talked with a great detail on what he was going to be doing today, they had discussed it for almost weeks at a time…perhaps that was why he was more anxious than he'd been this whole time. Because today was the day he was going to reinvent his whole self. The day he was going to change his luck around. The day he was going to march into hell, look the devils in the eye that taunted him, and then tell them to fuck right off. He just needed to walk down those stairs right now, eat his breakfast, and march out that door…one walk around the entire town is a good start, right? His first steps to leaving his safe space inside the tower he had sequestered himself in all this time. One quick walk around the town just to prove he could do it without having any problems or panic attack. And then tomorrow he could do it again, and the day after, and the day after. Extending how long he spent until he could go an entire day without any problems…
That was the goal, at least.
One step at a time, as Gaius had reminded him each day when he felt like he'd not healed enough. He had gone through significant trauma in the last four or so months he'd been here, as his uncle had pointed out. Not only from feeling out of his depth by moving to an entirely new and much larger city than he'd grown up in, but also the consort duties that had been heaped on him were a major factor, plus all the 'actual' trauma of what's been going on within all his day to day activities. It had been bound to get to him sooner or later. But now that he recognized what was going on, and actually 'wanted' to take his steps towards healing…he could do it.
Just one step at a time…
One step to prove he was worthy of himself.
One step towards living FOR himself again, and not just for what others would want him to live for.
His first step towards an entire new lease on life!
So…why didn't his new lease on life feel much like…a new lease on life?
X
Merlin Pendragon headed down the stairs, purposely making as much noise as he could as he jumped down it two steps at a time, the handrail making a loud and ominous creaking sound that indicated it could break at any moment as he held onto it…it was just one more thing he did to reclaim his old self. The Other Merlin would have jumped down those stairs with a practiced ease thinking not a single wit about the railing breaking beneath him. But the New Merlin that he was now…he was insanely aware of these things. Even as he portrayed his part as the same innocent and carefree Merlin that had arrived here in Camelot. He wasn't that boy anymore, but…he was trying to be. Even if he wanted to walk a bit more calmer so he wouldn't end up snapping his neck should the railing be giving away beneath his weight…
"Morning, Uncle Gaius." Merlin announced as cheerily as he could, practicing putting on his 'I'm normal and everything is as good and as easy as it should be' when he strode off the staircase. Gaius glanced up from where he'd been working on one of his many potions that needed to be made weekly, raising up an eyebrow at him. Merlin smiled innocently, knowing Gaius could see through him already. The old man knew what he had been doing since he'd asked for his help all those weeks ago when they'd been sitting in this very room after having seen Mercia off, but it was often hard to see the difference between a truly healthy Merlin and one that was pretending everything was normal. The consort liked to think he was getting better at his acting skills though, Gaius just simply knew him too well for it to work on him completely. Merlin walked further into the room as Gaius was stirring the thick liquid in the boiling pot he was working over, "What are your plans going to be for today?"
This was another thing Merlin had been working on, starting up conversations like he used too. During his depressive state, he had gotten into the habit with letting other people do the talking, or other people coming up to him and start a conversation. When Old Merlin would've walked straight in and somehow got five people dragged into the most random of topics…Merlin did stop only long enough to cast a glance towards the front door that would lead to his very first steps of freedom-Gaius had insisted he'd been making great progress, and the next step would have to be making his way outside-before turning back his full attention on his uncle. He almost felt like an agoraphobic, one of those people who were too afraid or unable to step outside their front door, rare as it was to hear about such a person in this day and age. But he wasn't one. He just had a strong…aversion to changing and possibly disrupting the progress he made in the last few weeks. He didn't want to return needing to start his progress over completely because something had happened to upset him.
"I'm afraid I'm going to be working on this potion for a good few hours as of yet. It's almost ready to set though, so that will free up a bit of my time to work on my other projects." Gaius continued up their little charade of what could be a normal conversation if Merlin was a healthier man, purposely not mentioning the way he had seen Merlin glancing towards the door. "Though, since you do ask, I might have a little project you could do for me. I need to be here to look after this potion or it might explode on me like the last one did. Or I would do it myself." And Merlin winced as Gaius started fiddling with the little flame under the potion that had been boiling it for quite some time, turning the little knob on the end that controlled the flame so it was nothing but a shimmer…he had been the reason the potion had exploded last night. He had asked Gaius for a bit of help pertaining to a certain plant he had been asked to fetch from one of the jars, and Gaius turning away had been enough time for the potion to go up sky high. Merlin had to use his magic just to get a rag to the ceiling to scrub all the gunk away. "Though I will tell you in a moment. I've got breakfast all ready for you, so I want you to eat before you go. Breakfast is the most important of meals for a growing boy. And before I forget, you also have a gift that's waiting for you."
Merlin had been eyeing the simple bowl of porridge Gaius had left sitting out for him on the next table, filled to the brim with honey and sugar and berries to add taste and flavor, an incredible step up for Merlin who had been eating his breakfasts plain for quite some time, trying to work his way up towards a time where his stomach could handle richer foods. But the irritation in Gaius' words at the mention of his last 'gift' immediately set Merlin's teeth on edge, leaving him eyeing the square package sitting beside his bowl where Gaius had left it for him. Good lord, if this gift was as terrible as the last gift from Him had been then Merlin didn't think he was actually going to make it through that door on this day. The last gift had almost upset his progress so much…Merlin had went and spent that day repairing Gaius' chair after he flung it at the wall in his fit of temper when he had been demanding to know who the hell Arthur thought he was for sending him such a gift…
"You would have thought he would have gotten the message after what we did with his gifts the last time! But then he goes and sends me another one? I truly believe his brain is not attached to him sometimes, honestly, uncle." He spoke up with a tinge of agitation that was equal to his uncle's as he snatched up the square package, testing for its weight. It had been nearly four weeks since the consort had demanded Arthur not to come near him again, and other than that one time with the Mercian's, Arthur hadn't graced their doorstep. But it did not mean he didn't find other ways in order to communicate with Merlin. This was not the first gift that had been delivered to their door in the morning's light by one of the servants, usually so early that Merlin wasn't even awake yet to turn them away. And Gaius wouldn't do it because it was Merlin's mail and he was the one who should decide what to do with it. "If this gift is just as bad as that last one was, then we might need to invest in some sturdier furniture. I cannot be held responsible for how I react to something that's as similarly gross as he had been for the last one."
Gaius let out a humph of agreement, thinking the exact same thing, though the consort did feel a shiver of apprehension rolling through him now that the gift needed to be open. He spread his fingers out over the square package, as if to try seeing if it was something he should just toss in the flames without having to see what was in it. This gift would mark the real 'third' gift he had received from the prince. He'd had other gifts, mostly in the presence of food, but this is the third gift that wasn't meant to be eaten. Really though, it almost felt as if Arthur was trying to stuff him full when a dozen servants had shown up only a night after the Mercian's had left, carrying trays and trays of the richest and thickest piles of food Merlin had ever seen in his life. Piles of it that would not be possible for Merlin and Gaius to eat in a single night, not even in an entire week. It was truly a meal fit for an army. But Merlin had flung into such a huge tailspin when he realized the delivery was from Arthur, throwing Merlin's own progress back ten fold considering he was still learning how to eat with much healthier portions, that the servants had rushed out of there in a hurry. Gaius had to explain Merlin was on a strict diet and could not eat any of the foods he had been given to make sure the delivery would never happen again. The next night had been a better affair, with Arthur sending only a single servant with a small bowl of fruits and slice of beef…still too much for his progress but it was far better than the circus of before. Such meals usually appeared around when it was dinner, and Merlin always fed them to Morgana the next day, refusing to touch anything Arthur had given to him.
Morgana and him had finally restarted their 'daily lunch sessions' as a means of getting things back to how they had been before everything had fallen off to the wayside. It was one of the highlights of Merlin's day, even when Morgana is spending half of it attempting to shove more noble stuff down his throat. Now, it was appreciated because it was things he might need to know in order to be more prepared for the next council session he ended up at. Facts like…Sir Cale liked to act dignified, but was liable to spout off state secrets if he had a little too much to drink. Or how Sir Kyle respected a man who knew how to respect himself. Sir McAllen had three illegitimate children he refused to claim as his own, but was secretly sending their mother's money unknown to his wife. And Sir Kalen was a weepy sort who put up a brave face, but wasn't opposed to go hiding his sorrows in his room, something he'd done since the death of his son during the last Great War before any of them were born. And those were just a few facts and tidbits Morgana had fed him, he was sure there was more he had not remembered. He wasn't entirely sure how these facts would help him out-especially Sir Luke being partial to sweet tarts and was willing to do anybody a favor if they went out of their way to bring him some-but she had insisted that any fact could help him. And learning more about the people who frequented the castle could hardly hurt him…
That only meant Merlin enjoyed their meals more when Gwen was able to join them, when she wasn't running off to finish some odd chore she hadn't gotten too, or running to help somebody she had promised earlier. Gwen joining them meant less shop talk and more grinning and enjoying each other's company or just plain having fun. Merlin still hadn't gotten the hang of all this 'having fun', business-he was still getting used to smiling again-but he liked to think he was getting more familiar with it. He could tell though, that Gwen often felt as out of place as he did, still not fully recovered from her time in the cells. But she's made more progress than Merlin had, talking more and smiling more and just acting as if it had never happened. She seemed to be well on her way to have gotten her life back together. Though sometime, Merlin would catch her with a far off stare, and he would know she was drifting back into those troubling and awful times. Morgana had became a steadying force for the both of them, as it was like she knew when one of them needed distracting and would say just the right thing to fully direct their attentions too. Usually something ridiculous and humiliating that had involved a 'noble member' who wouldn't appreciate such a story being told but had them grinning for days.
But anyway, back to what Merlin had been getting at before he had gotten side tracked…his gifts. Three of them, to be exact, had been delivered to him when it was the beginning of the week. Like clockwork, almost. The first of the gifts had confused Merlin tonight heaven, being that they were a pair of boots. And not just any boots. But leather riding boots, thick and glossy and black, meant to replace the scruffy up ones he had worn for over a year and walked into the city wearing. He had honestly not known what to think of them at the time and had shoved the box into the back of his closet. Content to forget them being in there. Happy to pretend Arthur sending him 'fancy noble riding boots, a pair of boots Arthur himself would have worn' hadn't been the weirdest thing to have happened to him since realizing his dreams about Arthur in the caves seemed to be true. He just figured this was probably Arthur's way of trying to buy him off, or make him happy so he wouldn't start yelling again, or a means of giving him something so Merlin would be more willing to participate in the next event he had too…
And then the second gift had arrived…Merlin suppressed a disgusted shiver that roiled its way down his spine at the thought. He didn't even want to think for a single second on what the second gift had been. He'd only opened it out of his idle curiosity, wondering if there would be something to explain Arthur's weird behavior and sudden interest in sending gifts. He had only needed to see one brief glimmer of the red fabric inside before he had dropped it with a horrified yelp. Gaius had immediately came running up the stairs at the sound, and the physician had even been disturbed by the gift. It was with Gaius' help, that he had shoved that gift into the box with his new boots, slapped a big and hearty FUCK YOU across the top of it in thick black scrawled letters so it couldn't be ignored or missed. And per Merlin's request, Gaius had left it on Arthur's bed when the physician knew the prince was out on the training grounds.
Merlin would have loved to be a fly on the wall when Arthur returned and had finally realized how sorely rejected his gifts had been. Merlin would have done the same thing with the food deliveries, but the servants refused to stop since the orders had came from Arthur himself. And only Arthur could command that they stop. But for that to happen, Merlin would've had to actually track the guy down and demand he make them stop…it wasn't worth the effort of dealing for one second with Arthur. But anyway, he and Gaius had hoped the returning of the gifts meant they would have stopped coming altogether. But it seemed, as Merlin was now holding a new one, the prince had no intentions on stopping it.
"Don't worry, Merlin. I do not believe this gift will be nearly as explicit as it was the last time. It appears to be a book of some sort, which is already a marked improvement and a different strategy for whatever he's doing." Gaius said, as he nodded down to the package in Merlin's hand. Merlin pressed his lips tight together and tilted the package some, he supposed it did look very shaped as a book would. A solid rectangle. But…Merlin pressed his lips tighter, turning all the pink color nearly white…he supposed it depended on the book itself, for if it was an appropriate gift to receive. Well, no gift from Arthur would've ended up well received by him. But a non-inexplicit book would be, as Gaius had said to him, a marked improvement from the other choices. A book was something tangible that Merlin could put his hands on, at the very least. Not something to be worn that would only make him seem flashy or like he was showing off all of the gold his husband had spent on him. "Why don't you go ahead and open so we can find out. I can hardly see us standing here all day just staring down on it. At least if it's an inappropriate book, I can take it directly to Arthur himself this time and make it known how little we appreciate his constant interference in your life."
Merlin snorted, an almost sadistic thrill of pleasure going down his spine at the sheer imagery that had produced in his head. He could just imagine his uncle storming across the entire castle in his search for Arthur, spitting madder than a bull in heat as he waved about whatever offensive item Arthur had sent to his sweet nephew this time. And he would give Gaius props if he got the chance to cause a major scene in front of all the oh, so important people Arthur would be willing to put ahead of his own husband. Throwing whatever item it'd been directly at his feet, making it impossible to hide the deviance of what hid away in the prince's mind. The pure depths of insanity that lurked inside of Arthur's mind as he picked and chose clothing he wanted Merlin to wear. But Merlin did suppose the book would only be as bad as the second gift had been, if it was a book on how to please one's husband with different styles of kissing…the little consort had a feeling, after being subjected to Arthur's godawful mouth, that there were more styles than he had been aware of…
Merlin preferred thinking Arthur just didn't know what the hell he was doing.
Or just hadn't cared much on pleasing Merlin.
Merlin wrinkled his nose in distaste, but he obediently started ripping open the brown paper on the gift…another thing about nobles he didn't understand. The commoners didn't have such expensive and light weight paper to use when it's just something that's gonna end up ripped apart anyway. It was such a waste of resources…wrapping a gift in an old rag that could be used in the kitchens for many years to come was the way to go. But Merlin was so done with trying to question the way nobles did things, letting the paper fall through his fingers to the floor where it would be thrown away later. Merlin almost didn't want to look at the title at all, absolutely positive that it would be something disgusting and crude and…political…?
Merlin stopped, blinking a few times as he read the title-BASIC POLITICS FOR THE AVERAGE BEGINNER-again and again to make sure he was really seeing it for what it was. Tracing the faded gold letters over a well worn book that had clearly been passed down through many hands before it had landed within his own hands. As far as gifts go, Merlin thought slowly as he started to flip a few of the pages and being overdriven by his curiosity, it definitely wasn't one that he would call the worse. He could see chapter titles flashing by his eyes-how to properly greet a foreign dignity, how to secure a deal for the benefit of your kingdom, how to make a noble guest feel welcome and amicable while in your presence-and a dozen others he couldn't quite read between flips of one page to the next. He could actually see himself reading such a book. Not because it was anything he was actually interested in. But with all the legal obligations he had to deal with due to his status as Camelot's consort, then yeah. If he had to research a bit, and came across this book on the shelves of the library, then he might have brought it home with him to study more seriously.
If he was going to do things his way around here, then he needed to play this game and figure out the rules.
But the book itself was already tainted with Arthur's mere presence. He could just imagine Arthur picking out this book for him-had he known exactly what to get or had he needed to look around for a bit before deciding-and then having it delivered via servant. Oh, who was he kidding…Arthur had probably not ever seen this book a day in his life. He had probably ordered his servant to grab a book pertaining to something a consort might need to know and then decided he was done with it. Arthur probably didn't even know what book Merlin would be opening. Probably wasn't interested in knowing what his consort would be reading in his spare time…Oh.
Oh.
OH.
Arthur did know what Merlin was holding right now. He had picked and chosen this book for him specifically, taking delicate care to decide what would be the best thing to offer him. And he knew this because he'd just flipped all the way to the front of the book, and he could see a note had been scrawled into the front cover of the book-Merlin would accuse Arthur of ruining such a perfectly good reading material, but Merlin didn't have no room to talk. He was known for scribbling in the margins of Gaius' books, writing down his own notes or questions or stray thought that had hit him in the moment-and this note was addressed to Merlin himself. Signed by Arthur. And each word of the note made Merlin's fury start to grow and ignite, infuriated even when Arthur wasn't here to face his wrath or be punished for such brazen material.
Dear Merlin,
(Arthur Pendragon had agonized for over an hour on how he was supposed to begin his letter. He had tapped his ink stained quill against the top of the page several times-ink stains Merlin now ran his thumb over as he read-as he tried to figure out how he wanted to put his thoughts into words. But the second he started, he regretted it, which was why there were several harsh slashes of the dark ink crossing this out. Because heaven forbid somebody intercept this gift, find the letter written inside, and deduce Arthur was-sweet-on the boy, simply for using a word like 'dear' to address him. That sounded too much like Arthur was trying to say dearest, or dear heart, and that last word actually sounded like it was meant to say 'sweetheart' instead. Arthur would never live it down if people thought he was writing his consort love letters, hidden within the pages of a book)
Consort Merlin,
(The attempt at writing the note had started anew, and Arthur had once again scratched the words out in a more violent manner. The slashes of dark ink that went across the words went deeper into the paper, hard enough that he could have ripped the paper in half if it wasn't so thick and sturdy. This new start to his letter had sounded too clinical, too much like he was trying to talk to just a consort that could've came from any number of lands, and not necessarily his own. Arthur had put Merlin through much in the last four months. The least he could do was make it sound as if he was at least familiar with the boy, fond, in a way. Okay, maybe fond wasn't the best word to use. Desperation, might have been better. Arthur's desperate need to connect to Merlin on some level, more desperate to rid himself of this 'I'm pure shit' feeling that Merlin had awaken in him.)
Merlin,
(The letter started anew for the final time, and it still didn't feel as if it was the right choice to land on. But Arthur could only watch in grim satisfaction at the smooth way he had scrawled the jagged letters of Merlin's name along the top of the page. It didn't seem to carry the same punch Arthur was wanting it too, but there was only so much time he could spend agonizing over something like a name. How was he supposed to get through the rest of the letter, if he ended up stuck like this. How was he supposed to explain what he wanted to his little consort without feeling like a fool, if he spent too much time thinking on what Merlin would want to be addressed by. Simple though, was probably the better choice than the others had been, at the very least.)
I know that you told me all about how you don't know what you're actually doing because nobody's bothered giving you an education. That was quite the oversight on my part, one that's been pointed out several times before and I'd dismissed it because I thought you couldn't help no matter how much I tried to pour an education down your throat. I do wish I could just give you some kind of handbook that details all the duties of a consort, but alas, I don't believe a book such as that has been invented. Or it would have been the very first thing I opted to give you upon your arrival in my kingdom all those months ago.
(Arthur Pendragon would curse himself violently upon reading the paragraph he had just written ten times over, indicated by the several large black stains from dripping ink as Arthur violently threw his hand about in an effort to stop himself from throwing his ink pot against the wall. He had basically just called Merlin stupid! For not being able to help even after Arthur had him instructed by the best tutors money could buy. When this 'uneducated boy' had managed to do something none of his 'educated' men could do. It wasn't any of his men that had stepped forward in order to secure their treaty from Mercia-the first round of grains had just been delivered to them a few days earlier and traffic reports on Arthur's desk said many Mercian's were seen traveling the road the Camelot kingdom had opened up for them. And then he had followed behind it with a joke! A very poor joke on how nobody thought it important to write this book on Consort duties. When his consort could probably write the very book himself! There might actually be people who could benefit from the experience of what Merlin had managed to get under his belt in such a short time. Though Arthur would definitely read it, if only to get some insight into Merlin's brain for himself.)
But after your success with the treaty, and Bayard wanting to continue keeping notice of your future accomplishments, I've finally come to the conclusion that you can help far more than I ever dreamed of. You only need a little direction in refining what you have already done. And that is something I could help with in doing, though I hardly expect you to accept. I understand that I've done much to wrong you, and you were right to not accept my original apology. I can't say I would have accepted it either, had our roles been reversed. But until the day comes where we can no longer be antagonistic toward the other, I hope that a book like this will be a good start in my absence. Study hard, Merlin, and I will warn you not to overwork yourself too much. I hear you've made full recovery since we last saw each other, but don't exert yourself so soon afterwards-
(Arthur had cut himself off abruptly, a humiliated blush staining his cheeks as he realized he had written far too much and more than he wanted and he could hardly black out the entire page in order to hide his embarrassment. He'd tried to start off so good, he had done the whole flattering thing. Trying to load the praises onto Merlin to weaken his hard resolve against Arthur, had tried to just soften him just a bit with his sweet words…maybe Merlin would even blush to think of Arthur considering him higher than normal. But then Arthur had gone and did what he always did when it concerned Merlin, and went above simple flattery. He had soared straight past that, and straight into the territory of his mother hen. Acting like some kind of nursemaid needing to tuck Merlin inside his bed and see to all his needs, even when he was no longer sick. Merlin was REALLY never going to let him live this down after such a humiliating letter)
Prince Arthur Pendragon, future Crown Prince of the Kingdom, future King of Camelot, first in line to the throne of the dragons
(Arthur would stop right there, and furiously scrawl out the insane amount of titles that were usually attached to his name, thanking the gods above him for making him realize his mistake before he had added the next ten or so titles he would usually have accompanying them. He wasn't writing a letter to a prince in the next kingdom over, or to a famous general that had sought his advice on something, or to a visiting princess that had sent him a note asking him to go with her for tea. This was his HUSBAND, he was writing too. Humiliating as this all was, the least he could do was finish the letter as if he actually knew who it was he was writing too.)
Arthur
(Arthur would spend another agonizing hour staring dumbly at his one name on the page, tilting his head sideways as if he was trying to examine how the name looked on its own. He had never written his given name by itself before a day in his life, not even when he was learning how to write it as a very small child. Even back then, he had always been taught to put Prince in front of his name. For a time, he had even thought his name was Prince, before he became old enough to realize it was a title. Just as King was his father's title. It almost looked…lonely…sitting there on its own. Unassuming and plain. Nothing special about it at all, and the thought stirred up a strange excitement deep inside his gut. The idea of HIM being unassuming and plain and just like everybody else in the world, should not have given him a chill of excitement, the goosebumps rising on the flesh of his biceps. And for a second, as Arthur bit down upon his bottom lip, he played around with the idea of adding another name that would be just as plain and unassuming as his own. Just to give his name the proper company. But he ultimately nixed the idea, deciding Merlin might be confused if he saw his own name next to Arthur. And deciding he had already done just enough damage with his note, Arthur would close the cover of the book with a weary and relieved sigh. Pleased to finally be done with it…before a suddenly stray thought hit him out of the blue. And Arthur threw the book open, nearly knocking over his belongings and his ink pot as he furiously dunked his quill in the dark goo before scribbling hastily on the bottom of the page as an added note.)
Shit! You're a peasant, or were a peasant, and I can't believe I actually forgot you probably can't even read this book! I'm so sorry, forgive my slight if I have just offended you! Perhaps Gaius could read a few chapters to you? Or let me know if there's a problem and I can bring somebody to you! Maybe like a tutor for reading to start you off with! I can hardly have a consort that doesn't know how to read. NOT THAT I'M SAYING YOUR DUMB! OF COURSE NOT! I'm very sure you will be able to pick it up quickly once you've gotten somebody to get you started. I could even help you if need be! I just…perhaps I should stop this now. Before I say something else to insult you…
Arthur