WIP Amnesty
Merlin/Arthur, Canon AU: This was meant to be my Big Bang fic a couple of years ago. The story's set in a universe where royals/nobles often had companions known as "pets", whom they looked to for friendship and innocent physical affection. Merlin, of course, is a pet who is (::handwave::) somehow gifted or assigned to Prince Arthur, despite Arthur's fervent desire to have nothing to do with him, and it was supposed to be a sweet story about how Merlin slowly breaks down Arthur's walls and teaches him how to let *love* and *friendship* into his life. I don't even know. I mostly stopped writing it because I couldn't figure out how to make the concept of people as pets not skeevy. :/
“You're not taking care of him properly,” Morgana said.
She was leaning against the mantelpiece and Merlin was knelt beside her on the floor, soaking up the warmth of the lit fire as she stroked her fingers through his dark hair.
Arthur tensed, but didn't respond.
“I know you didn't ask for this, Arthur, but listen to him,” she continued. “He's practically begging for attention.”
Arthur had been listening, thank you very much. Merlin's soft hums of pleasure as Morgana scritched at his scalp were just about all he'd been able to hear since she'd come to Arthur's chambers.
“Well, I'm rather busy at the moment,” Arthur gritted out, shutting his eyes in irritation. Cendred may have gifted Arthur with Merlin as a token of the newly established peace between their kingdoms, but Uther was not a trusting man; Camelot's soldiers still patrolled the borders and Arthur still had to scrutinize every inch of the reports being sent back.
“You're always busy.”
Arthur could understand, if he put his mind to it, why Morgana insisted on having this conversation yet again, but he really wished she could've waited to have it in private.
“Yes, well, unlike you, I actually have things to do. Knights to train. Battles to fight. Borders to protect. We can't all just... brush our hair, gossip with our maidservants and call it a day. Besides,” Arthur gestured, trying for nonchalance, “Morris looks after him; he's fed and clothed and what have you, aren't you, Merlin?”
Arthur turned to Merlin then and tried to pretend he didn't realize exactly how briskly uncomfortable he sounded whenever he addressed his pet directly.
Merlin shrugged and made a face that clearly said, can't complain.
Arthur looked to Morgana and raised his eyebrows: you see?
Morgana was unmoved. She put her on hands on her hips and looked down at Merlin, face tight with annoyance. “And when was the last time you two spent any time together? Hmm?”
“Um. We're spending time together right now?” Merlin said, wide-eyed and looking a little annoyed himself at the sudden absence of fingers ruffling through his hair, but also a little afraid of making Morgana any more upset than she already was.
Morgana huffed in disbelief. “You see, Arthur? You've neglected Merlin so much that he thinks sitting in the corner while you don't so much as acknowledge him counts as quality time.”
“Morgana...” Arthur said, warningly.
“When you take the throne, the welfare of an entire kingdom will be in your hands,” Morgana continued, undeterred. “If you can't handle that of one person, you'll not be worthy of the crown.”
***
Arthur usually took Morgana's ominous warnings about as seriously as he did a paper cut.
For one thing, she gave them all the time: Arthur, if you keep making faces like that, no one will ever take you seriously as king. Arthur, if you deliberately step on my gown one more time, you won't live long enough to take the throne. Arthur, if you so much as breathe a word of this to Uther....
Her threats had mostly lost their power by now.
But for some reason, he couldn't seem to shake the thought that he really wasn't looking after Merlin as he should.
When Merlin first came to Camelot, Arthur had one stilted conversation with him (“Sire, would you like--?”, “No”, “But--”, “If I want anything, Merlin, I'll let you know”), followed by days of awkward co-existence in which Arthur forced himself to carry on with his daily routine as if nothing had happened. As if Merlin wasn't always there: poking listlessly at the fire or gazing out the windows, idly inspecting the masks and daggers that decorated Arthur's chambers and sleeping in his pallet at night, no more than a dozen feet from Arthur's own bed.
Soon enough, Arthur found himself staying out later and later, drawing out his training sessions with the knights, taking more of his meals with his father (who seemed bemused, but pleased at Arthur's sudden interest in dining together), and returning to his chambers only to bathe and sleep.
Arthur'd told himself he wasn't avoiding anything. He was just busier these days, trying to be a better prince, a more attentive son.
That had lasted for about a week. Then, after dining together for the third night in a row, Morgana waited until Uther was otherwise occupied (a messenger bearing news from the borders), before whispering, “I never took you for a coward, Arthur.” Arthur pretended he'd no idea what she was on about.
That night, he decided that it was, perhaps, time that he stopped avoiding his chambers like the plague.
Not that Morgana'd had anything to do with it, mind. It was just that his knights seemed to be veering on the edge of mutiny the last few days - Leon had very nearly snarled when Arthur'd ordered him up for a tenth round of macework - and Arthur was fast running out of topics of light conversation to divert his father with at meal times, seeing as how Morgana was refusing to help as of late. (She had a knack for redirecting Uther's inquiries into touchy subjects which Arthur sorely envied.)
So Arthur resigned himself to tolerating Merlin's presence, but still couldn't rid himself of the constant hum of awareness, the part of himself that tracked Merlin's motions from the corner of his eye, and heard every sigh and snore and shifting of sheets from Merlin's pallet at night. Try as he might, Arthur just couldn't seem to relax any time Merlin was near.
And neither could Merlin, from the looks of it. Now, whenever Arthur returned to his chambers to bathe and dress after training, or to have his midday meal, Merlin would startle terribly as soon as he opened the door, gasping and jumping and, once, dropping lit candles on himself as he lay on his pallet.
(“Were you... juggling the candles?”
“Ow! What?...No,” Merlin had said scrambling to stop the flames from catching on his shirt and bedsheets.
“....”
“I mean, yes. Yes. I, um, thought it'd be easy?” Merlin had smiled sheepishly, and Arthur had turned away, shaking his head in disbelief.)
It didn't make any sense.
Well, no, it made sense for Merlin to be disquieted by Arthur's presence. Arthur was the prince, after all, and Merlin was meant to be in awe of him or whatever.
But Arthur was the prince. He'd spent his whole life surrounded by people, by nursemaids and servants, noblemen and pages and knights. Practically every waking hour spent in the company of one or another of his subjects, and yet he'd never felt as uneasy in their presence as he did now with Merlin, his... pet.
And that, right there, was Arthur's problem: Pet.
Merlin was his pet and, try as he might, Arthur could not seem to wrap his head around it.
It was just that Arthur didn't really understand this whole master-pet business. Had always found it rather odd, to be honest: keeping a person as one would a pup, or a caged bird, simply for pleasure.
But Arthur could see that his distaste was, perhaps, due more to a lack of familiarity than anything else.
Uther'd never had a pet. He saw them as luxuries, signs of weakness, and Uther was always careful not to be seen as weak, wasn't one for extravagance or unseemly public displays of wealth. Yes, his clothes were rich, as was his food, but never extraordinarily so. Never significantly more than those of other members of the court, of the nobility.
So growing up, Arthur'd never really had the chance to observe, up close, how it all worked.
From the outside, having a pet seemed at times to be like having a child, someone doted on and treated with affection, but expected to behave, to not speak unless spoken to.
At other times, pets seemed more akin to servants, bound as they were to their master's whims.
But then Arthur remembers Lady Muriel, who used to take her morning walks in the gardens where Arthur played as a child. Every morning, she and her pet, Ellie, would stroll by arm in arm. Arthur can't recall ever speaking to them, but their voices joined in quiet conversation and occasional laughter were firmly lodged in his memory. They were, together with birdsong and his nursemaids' sighs of exasperation, the background to countless bright, sunny days spent climbing trees and play-fighting with wooden swords, rolling around in the snow or dirt and mucking up his clothes.
Arthur wasn't sure what kind of pet Merlin was yet, or what kind he would turn out to be. Maybe just another servant to order around, but ultimately ignore. Or, perhaps, something else altogether. He had a strange feeling in his chest any time he thought too closely on it, so he mostly tried not to think of it at all.
“You're not taking care of him properly,” Morgana said.
She was leaning against the mantelpiece and Merlin was knelt beside her on the floor, soaking up the warmth of the lit fire as she stroked her fingers through his dark hair.
Arthur tensed, but didn't respond.
“I know you didn't ask for this, Arthur, but listen to him,” she continued. “He's practically begging for attention.”
Arthur had been listening, thank you very much. Merlin's soft hums of pleasure as Morgana scritched at his scalp were just about all he'd been able to hear since she'd come to Arthur's chambers.
“Well, I'm rather busy at the moment,” Arthur gritted out, shutting his eyes in irritation. Cendred may have gifted Arthur with Merlin as a token of the newly established peace between their kingdoms, but Uther was not a trusting man; Camelot's soldiers still patrolled the borders and Arthur still had to scrutinize every inch of the reports being sent back.
“You're always busy.”
Arthur could understand, if he put his mind to it, why Morgana insisted on having this conversation yet again, but he really wished she could've waited to have it in private.
“Yes, well, unlike you, I actually have things to do. Knights to train. Battles to fight. Borders to protect. We can't all just... brush our hair, gossip with our maidservants and call it a day. Besides,” Arthur gestured, trying for nonchalance, “Morris looks after him; he's fed and clothed and what have you, aren't you, Merlin?”
Arthur turned to Merlin then and tried to pretend he didn't realize exactly how briskly uncomfortable he sounded whenever he addressed his pet directly.
Merlin shrugged and made a face that clearly said, can't complain.
Arthur looked to Morgana and raised his eyebrows: you see?
Morgana was unmoved. She put her on hands on her hips and looked down at Merlin, face tight with annoyance. “And when was the last time you two spent any time together? Hmm?”
“Um. We're spending time together right now?” Merlin said, wide-eyed and looking a little annoyed himself at the sudden absence of fingers ruffling through his hair, but also a little afraid of making Morgana any more upset than she already was.
Morgana huffed in disbelief. “You see, Arthur? You've neglected Merlin so much that he thinks sitting in the corner while you don't so much as acknowledge him counts as quality time.”
“Morgana...” Arthur said, warningly.
“When you take the throne, the welfare of an entire kingdom will be in your hands,” Morgana continued, undeterred. “If you can't handle that of one person, you'll not be worthy of the crown.”
***
Arthur usually took Morgana's ominous warnings about as seriously as he did a paper cut.
For one thing, she gave them all the time: Arthur, if you keep making faces like that, no one will ever take you seriously as king. Arthur, if you deliberately step on my gown one more time, you won't live long enough to take the throne. Arthur, if you so much as breathe a word of this to Uther....
Her threats had mostly lost their power by now.
But for some reason, he couldn't seem to shake the thought that he really wasn't looking after Merlin as he should.
When Merlin first came to Camelot, Arthur had one stilted conversation with him (“Sire, would you like--?”, “No”, “But--”, “If I want anything, Merlin, I'll let you know”), followed by days of awkward co-existence in which Arthur forced himself to carry on with his daily routine as if nothing had happened. As if Merlin wasn't always there: poking listlessly at the fire or gazing out the windows, idly inspecting the masks and daggers that decorated Arthur's chambers and sleeping in his pallet at night, no more than a dozen feet from Arthur's own bed.
Soon enough, Arthur found himself staying out later and later, drawing out his training sessions with the knights, taking more of his meals with his father (who seemed bemused, but pleased at Arthur's sudden interest in dining together), and returning to his chambers only to bathe and sleep.
Arthur'd told himself he wasn't avoiding anything. He was just busier these days, trying to be a better prince, a more attentive son.
That had lasted for about a week. Then, after dining together for the third night in a row, Morgana waited until Uther was otherwise occupied (a messenger bearing news from the borders), before whispering, “I never took you for a coward, Arthur.” Arthur pretended he'd no idea what she was on about.
That night, he decided that it was, perhaps, time that he stopped avoiding his chambers like the plague.
Not that Morgana'd had anything to do with it, mind. It was just that his knights seemed to be veering on the edge of mutiny the last few days - Leon had very nearly snarled when Arthur'd ordered him up for a tenth round of macework - and Arthur was fast running out of topics of light conversation to divert his father with at meal times, seeing as how Morgana was refusing to help as of late. (She had a knack for redirecting Uther's inquiries into touchy subjects which Arthur sorely envied.)
So Arthur resigned himself to tolerating Merlin's presence, but still couldn't rid himself of the constant hum of awareness, the part of himself that tracked Merlin's motions from the corner of his eye, and heard every sigh and snore and shifting of sheets from Merlin's pallet at night. Try as he might, Arthur just couldn't seem to relax any time Merlin was near.
And neither could Merlin, from the looks of it. Now, whenever Arthur returned to his chambers to bathe and dress after training, or to have his midday meal, Merlin would startle terribly as soon as he opened the door, gasping and jumping and, once, dropping lit candles on himself as he lay on his pallet.
(“Were you... juggling the candles?”
“Ow! What?...No,” Merlin had said scrambling to stop the flames from catching on his shirt and bedsheets.
“....”
“I mean, yes. Yes. I, um, thought it'd be easy?” Merlin had smiled sheepishly, and Arthur had turned away, shaking his head in disbelief.)
It didn't make any sense.
Well, no, it made sense for Merlin to be disquieted by Arthur's presence. Arthur was the prince, after all, and Merlin was meant to be in awe of him or whatever.
But Arthur was the prince. He'd spent his whole life surrounded by people, by nursemaids and servants, noblemen and pages and knights. Practically every waking hour spent in the company of one or another of his subjects, and yet he'd never felt as uneasy in their presence as he did now with Merlin, his... pet.
And that, right there, was Arthur's problem: Pet.
Merlin was his pet and, try as he might, Arthur could not seem to wrap his head around it.
It was just that Arthur didn't really understand this whole master-pet business. Had always found it rather odd, to be honest: keeping a person as one would a pup, or a caged bird, simply for pleasure.
But Arthur could see that his distaste was, perhaps, due more to a lack of familiarity than anything else.
Uther'd never had a pet. He saw them as luxuries, signs of weakness, and Uther was always careful not to be seen as weak, wasn't one for extravagance or unseemly public displays of wealth. Yes, his clothes were rich, as was his food, but never extraordinarily so. Never significantly more than those of other members of the court, of the nobility.
So growing up, Arthur'd never really had the chance to observe, up close, how it all worked.
From the outside, having a pet seemed at times to be like having a child, someone doted on and treated with affection, but expected to behave, to not speak unless spoken to.
At other times, pets seemed more akin to servants, bound as they were to their master's whims.
But then Arthur remembers Lady Muriel, who used to take her morning walks in the gardens where Arthur played as a child. Every morning, she and her pet, Ellie, would stroll by arm in arm. Arthur can't recall ever speaking to them, but their voices joined in quiet conversation and occasional laughter were firmly lodged in his memory. They were, together with birdsong and his nursemaids' sighs of exasperation, the background to countless bright, sunny days spent climbing trees and play-fighting with wooden swords, rolling around in the snow or dirt and mucking up his clothes.
Arthur wasn't sure what kind of pet Merlin was yet, or what kind he would turn out to be. Maybe just another servant to order around, but ultimately ignore. Or, perhaps, something else altogether. He had a strange feeling in his chest any time he thought too closely on it, so he mostly tried not to think of it at all.