(no subject)
Title: Bleeding Truth 3/?
Rating: Pg-13
Warnings/Spoilers: Violence. Set in season 1.
Summary: Merlin is outed as a sorcerer and Arthur reacts violently. The Prince then tries to move on with his life but Merlin appears everywhere he turns.
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Arthur was angry.
It was a feeling magnified by the fact he had no real target for his fury. He was angry at Merlin for being a liar and a sorcerer. He was angry at him for being his friend and at the tight serpent of guilt wrapped around Arthur's gut that was now his constant companion. He was angry at Rolph, for taking an arrow meant for Arthur- he was the knight, damnit! What was with these servants and taking blows meant for him?
Merlin, drinking the poisoned cup meant for Arthur. Eyes meeting Arthur’s trustfully before they rolled up and he fell limply to the floor…
Arthur stubbornly ignored the voice in his head whispering that he would never have cared before. That servants were never people before.
Most of all, Arthur was angry at himself.
Did you kill your last servant, sire?
He grabbed up his sword and strode to the practice fields. He was momentarily disappointed when he saw they were empty, as he could have done with a handy knight to vent his frustrations on, but decided it was probably for the best. In his current state of mind goodness knows what he’d be delivering to Gaius afterwards.
God, Gaius. Therein lay another source of Arthur’s fury.
He set up a training pell and started swinging, punctuating each of his thoughts with a heavy blow. Gaius had lied to him as well. Two of the most trusted people in Arthur’s life, his manservant - friend -and his father’s trusted advisor had never been who he thought they were. But Arthur had to acknowledge in the quiet, private part of his mind that what he had done to Gaius was unnecessarily cruel. He knew the physician had looked upon Merlin as the son he had never had. Merlin's betrayal had left Arthur hurting and like a wounded animal he had lashed out, indulging a selfish and dark desire for the old man to suffer the same crippling pain. Gaius had betrayed him, yes, but the betrayal was equal on both sides. The prince had attacked, wounded and banished the physician's soul-son, a boy that had been entrusted to Arthur's care. Entrusted to his protection. Who was the true liar there?
Arthur's head hurt.
The pell splintered under the increasing force of the prince’s blows as he tried to drive his guilt and doubts away through brute force. Arthur huffed in irritation and went to set up another one, preparing himself for a long hard session. His head - heart -was far from settled.
Did you kill your last servant, sire?
Why had he let Merlin go? Why had he hurt him? Why had he trusted him, let him close, and believed in their friendship? Why was Merlin in Camelot in the first place? If he was evil, if he was plotting to overthrow Camelot - to know the heart of one sorcerer is to know them all - why had he protected Arthur, lied for Arthur, watched over Arthur when he was wounded, laughed and shared with him? Why had he said he believed Arthur would be a great King?
Why did Arthur care?
The thoughts chased each other round and round Arthur’s head, spinning faster and faster as he worked at bludgeoning the pell into splinters. His head and heart warred with one another as his breath came faster and faster, blows harder and more powerful.
Did you kill your last servant, sire?
The pell split in two, cleaved through the centre by a massive overhead blow. Arthur stared at it, his chest heaving up and down with exertion and his sword held limply in his hand. His mind continued to boil, a mass of twisting snakes of emotion, reason and the beliefs he had always held as true. His thoughts were as murky as when he had left Gaius’s chambers in the first place.
Arthur threw his sword away in disgust and gave up.
He did not sleep that night.
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It was two days before Rolph returned to work. Arthur came back from the practice fields to look for a forgotten gauntlet only to find the boy slowly collecting the prince's breakfast plates with one arm in a sling, balancing a tray precariously on one knee.
"What on earth do you think you are doing?" Arthur barked in astonishment in finding him there. He had expected the boy to be off work for a week at least.
Rolph jumped at the sound of the prince's voice. The tray and crockery went flying through the air as his knee jerked and he squawked and desperately tried to grab them out of the air with his good arm. The leftovers of an egg hit him in the eye as a plate upturned and the boy flailed desperately at the falling tray, but to no avail. The entire lot came crashing down around his feet, plates and glasses shattering of impact. A single saucer rolled its way to Arthur's foot.
Arthur gently put his foot on the plate to stop its progress and Rolph flinched. Arthur looked at him, taking in his hangdog expression and hunched-in shoulders. At the egg slowly dripping down his face as the boy stood in a circle of smashed crockery. It was the very picture of misery.
And he laughed. The sound was rusty, having been unused for the past month, but by God it was a laugh. The offended expression on Rolph's face as he guffawed was enough to set Arthur off again, holding his sides and bending over as he gasped for breath. The servant glared and the prince wiped tears of mirth from his eyes as he moved forward to clap Rolph on his good shoulder.
"I trust you will be cleaning this up?" he asked with an amused smirk. The boy nodded dumbly, and Arthur collected his gauntlet and headed for the exit, still chuckling.
"Honestly, the worst...almost the worst manservant I have ever seen," Arthur continued, pausing at the door. The boy looked at his feet and muttered something that sounded vaguely uncomplimentary as Arthur left. The Prince paused in the passageway, one hand still on the wall, before shaking his head and continuing back to the practice fields.
It had almost sounded like 'prat.'
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Things became easier after that, almost like some unnoticed weight had been lifted from the air. Rolph began to start talking as he cleaned Arthur's room; just little bits of servants' gossip, or asking Arthur about the progress this or that knight. And the prince, to his surprise, found he didn't mind. Rather, the inane chatter as Rolph collected the dishes or polished his armor seemed to release some of the tension tightly wound around ( his heart ) his muscles.
As the days turned into weeks and then into months an easy camaraderie began to grow. It would never approach what Arthur had shared with Merlin - the prince was too guarded and distrusting now to ever again overstep the barrier between master and servant.
But he didn't feel so alone.
One day Arthur was staring out his window, still dressed in armor from the patrol he had just returned from when Rolph entered his chambers. The servant immediately clucked in disapproval like an old housewife.
"Did you try to bring half the fields back in with you?" Rolph tutted.
Arthur turned around in astonishment. He almost expected to see a ridiculous red neck kerchief, brown hair standing on end from where hands had been dragged through it in frustration. The brown eyes would be glaring at him in disapproval, a tall gangly frame standing with his hands on his hips like a nagging fishwife. He blinked when faced by Rolph's blonde hair and shorter stature. The servant seemed to realize he'd made a mistake.
"...I mean, um sire," he tried.
Arthur shook his head in bemusement and moved forward, towering over the shorter servant.
"You really can't talk to me like that," he said in exasperation, staring down into sparkling green eyes.
"And how long have you been training to be a prat... my Lord?"
The servant seemed to see something in Arthur's face and a blinding grin crept across his face.
"But its good for you, Sire!" he returned cheekily.
Arthur swatted his head, not unkindly, and moved away. The boy continued bustling about the room, tidying up the weapons Arthur had dumped upon his return to his chambers.
"Here I thought I was getting a quiet and disciplined manservant," Arthur said, shaking his head in mock disgust as he watched Rolph clean. "Why is it always me who ends up with you recalcitrants?"
The servant paused from where he was gathering up Arthur's laundry and looked at the Prince. The firelight cast flecks of gold in his strangely serious eyes.
"Because we're good for you, Sire," he repeated softly, before hoisting the washing into his arms and leaving the room.
He left Arthur staring after him.
_________________________________________________________
Rating: Pg-13
Warnings/Spoilers: Violence. Set in season 1.
Summary: Merlin is outed as a sorcerer and Arthur reacts violently. The Prince then tries to move on with his life but Merlin appears everywhere he turns.
______________________________________________________________
Arthur was angry.
It was a feeling magnified by the fact he had no real target for his fury. He was angry at Merlin for being a liar and a sorcerer. He was angry at him for being his friend and at the tight serpent of guilt wrapped around Arthur's gut that was now his constant companion. He was angry at Rolph, for taking an arrow meant for Arthur- he was the knight, damnit! What was with these servants and taking blows meant for him?
Merlin, drinking the poisoned cup meant for Arthur. Eyes meeting Arthur’s trustfully before they rolled up and he fell limply to the floor…
Arthur stubbornly ignored the voice in his head whispering that he would never have cared before. That servants were never people before.
Most of all, Arthur was angry at himself.
Did you kill your last servant, sire?
He grabbed up his sword and strode to the practice fields. He was momentarily disappointed when he saw they were empty, as he could have done with a handy knight to vent his frustrations on, but decided it was probably for the best. In his current state of mind goodness knows what he’d be delivering to Gaius afterwards.
God, Gaius. Therein lay another source of Arthur’s fury.
He set up a training pell and started swinging, punctuating each of his thoughts with a heavy blow. Gaius had lied to him as well. Two of the most trusted people in Arthur’s life, his manservant - friend -and his father’s trusted advisor had never been who he thought they were. But Arthur had to acknowledge in the quiet, private part of his mind that what he had done to Gaius was unnecessarily cruel. He knew the physician had looked upon Merlin as the son he had never had. Merlin's betrayal had left Arthur hurting and like a wounded animal he had lashed out, indulging a selfish and dark desire for the old man to suffer the same crippling pain. Gaius had betrayed him, yes, but the betrayal was equal on both sides. The prince had attacked, wounded and banished the physician's soul-son, a boy that had been entrusted to Arthur's care. Entrusted to his protection. Who was the true liar there?
Arthur's head hurt.
The pell splintered under the increasing force of the prince’s blows as he tried to drive his guilt and doubts away through brute force. Arthur huffed in irritation and went to set up another one, preparing himself for a long hard session. His head - heart -was far from settled.
Did you kill your last servant, sire?
Why had he let Merlin go? Why had he hurt him? Why had he trusted him, let him close, and believed in their friendship? Why was Merlin in Camelot in the first place? If he was evil, if he was plotting to overthrow Camelot - to know the heart of one sorcerer is to know them all - why had he protected Arthur, lied for Arthur, watched over Arthur when he was wounded, laughed and shared with him? Why had he said he believed Arthur would be a great King?
Why did Arthur care?
The thoughts chased each other round and round Arthur’s head, spinning faster and faster as he worked at bludgeoning the pell into splinters. His head and heart warred with one another as his breath came faster and faster, blows harder and more powerful.
Did you kill your last servant, sire?
The pell split in two, cleaved through the centre by a massive overhead blow. Arthur stared at it, his chest heaving up and down with exertion and his sword held limply in his hand. His mind continued to boil, a mass of twisting snakes of emotion, reason and the beliefs he had always held as true. His thoughts were as murky as when he had left Gaius’s chambers in the first place.
Arthur threw his sword away in disgust and gave up.
He did not sleep that night.
__________________________________________________________________
It was two days before Rolph returned to work. Arthur came back from the practice fields to look for a forgotten gauntlet only to find the boy slowly collecting the prince's breakfast plates with one arm in a sling, balancing a tray precariously on one knee.
"What on earth do you think you are doing?" Arthur barked in astonishment in finding him there. He had expected the boy to be off work for a week at least.
Rolph jumped at the sound of the prince's voice. The tray and crockery went flying through the air as his knee jerked and he squawked and desperately tried to grab them out of the air with his good arm. The leftovers of an egg hit him in the eye as a plate upturned and the boy flailed desperately at the falling tray, but to no avail. The entire lot came crashing down around his feet, plates and glasses shattering of impact. A single saucer rolled its way to Arthur's foot.
Arthur gently put his foot on the plate to stop its progress and Rolph flinched. Arthur looked at him, taking in his hangdog expression and hunched-in shoulders. At the egg slowly dripping down his face as the boy stood in a circle of smashed crockery. It was the very picture of misery.
And he laughed. The sound was rusty, having been unused for the past month, but by God it was a laugh. The offended expression on Rolph's face as he guffawed was enough to set Arthur off again, holding his sides and bending over as he gasped for breath. The servant glared and the prince wiped tears of mirth from his eyes as he moved forward to clap Rolph on his good shoulder.
"I trust you will be cleaning this up?" he asked with an amused smirk. The boy nodded dumbly, and Arthur collected his gauntlet and headed for the exit, still chuckling.
"Honestly, the worst...almost the worst manservant I have ever seen," Arthur continued, pausing at the door. The boy looked at his feet and muttered something that sounded vaguely uncomplimentary as Arthur left. The Prince paused in the passageway, one hand still on the wall, before shaking his head and continuing back to the practice fields.
It had almost sounded like 'prat.'
_______________________________________________________________
Things became easier after that, almost like some unnoticed weight had been lifted from the air. Rolph began to start talking as he cleaned Arthur's room; just little bits of servants' gossip, or asking Arthur about the progress this or that knight. And the prince, to his surprise, found he didn't mind. Rather, the inane chatter as Rolph collected the dishes or polished his armor seemed to release some of the tension tightly wound around ( his heart ) his muscles.
As the days turned into weeks and then into months an easy camaraderie began to grow. It would never approach what Arthur had shared with Merlin - the prince was too guarded and distrusting now to ever again overstep the barrier between master and servant.
But he didn't feel so alone.
One day Arthur was staring out his window, still dressed in armor from the patrol he had just returned from when Rolph entered his chambers. The servant immediately clucked in disapproval like an old housewife.
"Did you try to bring half the fields back in with you?" Rolph tutted.
Arthur turned around in astonishment. He almost expected to see a ridiculous red neck kerchief, brown hair standing on end from where hands had been dragged through it in frustration. The brown eyes would be glaring at him in disapproval, a tall gangly frame standing with his hands on his hips like a nagging fishwife. He blinked when faced by Rolph's blonde hair and shorter stature. The servant seemed to realize he'd made a mistake.
"...I mean, um sire," he tried.
Arthur shook his head in bemusement and moved forward, towering over the shorter servant.
"You really can't talk to me like that," he said in exasperation, staring down into sparkling green eyes.
"And how long have you been training to be a prat... my Lord?"
The servant seemed to see something in Arthur's face and a blinding grin crept across his face.
"But its good for you, Sire!" he returned cheekily.
Arthur swatted his head, not unkindly, and moved away. The boy continued bustling about the room, tidying up the weapons Arthur had dumped upon his return to his chambers.
"Here I thought I was getting a quiet and disciplined manservant," Arthur said, shaking his head in mock disgust as he watched Rolph clean. "Why is it always me who ends up with you recalcitrants?"
The servant paused from where he was gathering up Arthur's laundry and looked at the Prince. The firelight cast flecks of gold in his strangely serious eyes.
"Because we're good for you, Sire," he repeated softly, before hoisting the washing into his arms and leaving the room.
He left Arthur staring after him.
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