Mark of the Beast
Author: archaeologist_d
Title: Mark of the Beast
Rating: PG
Pairing/s: Merlin&Arthur
Character/s: Merlin, Arthur, Uther, Gaius
Summary: A birthmark wasn’t a problem usually but Arthur’s was too brightly coloured, too detailed, and people whispered about it being the mark of a beast.
Warnings: none
Word Count: 1189
Camelot_drabble prompt 541: Strange
Disclaimer: I do not own the BBC version of Merlin; They and Shine do. I am very respectfully borrowing them with no intent to profit. No money has changed hands. No copyright infringement is intended.
o/o/o/o/o/o/o/o/o/o/o/o/o/o/o/
When Arthur was thirteen, he stopped bathing. It wasn’t the pimples or the way his voice wobblied in a way that was supremely embarrassing or even Uther’s intensity about Arthur needing to be perfect all the time.
No, it was because he would have to get naked to bathe. Some dour-faced servant would fill up the tub, then watch him sink into the water, eyes staring at him as he scrubbed and ducked, trying to hide the birthmark on his back.
He had heard the whispers. It was strange, they said. The mark of the beast, they said.
It hadn’t been so bad before that. The splotch of red had been formless, running from his waist, down his backside and into the inside of his thigh. Arthur didn’t think much of it. After all, he had it since birth and people, other nobles and knights had them, just not as big. It didn’t mean anything, just a bit of discolouration, not even scratchy or a patch of skin rough enough to worry about.
But when he hit puberty, started growing hair in new places, started dreaming of hands and mouths against his skin, the thing changed. Suddenly, there was colour and distinctive shapes and if Arthur squinted, he could see a dragon there, all scales and wings and power.
The whispers started then, servants gossiping, looking at him sideways, never directly confrontational, but as the chatter grew, even his father must have heard, and Uther wasn’t happy about it. For a while, there were whips and exile for those who spread the rumours. The gossip died down, but Arthur knew that people were avoiding him.
Arthur grew angry. It wasn’t as if he’d done it on purpose, but servants were supposed to remain silent about such things, supposed to understand that he couldn’t change it, maybe even sympathize. And yet he seemed to be blamed for it.
Uther ordered that something must be done. Gaius began to give Arthur unguents and then scrubs that seemed to tear into his skin. But no matter what he did, the dragon-mark remained, seemed to intensify in colour and complexity as his father pushed for perfection.
It finally stopped when Gaius’s latest attempt caused scarring and Arthur’s back bled so much that Gaius feared for his safety.
But by then, Arthur was done with everyone’s censure. His reaction was to bully anyone under him, attack everyone before they could mock him, and it worked. The servants would attend him with lowered eyes and silence, the knights never mentioned it, and his hangers-on seemed to revel in his mistreatment of lesser beings. His father was happy, the gossip was over, and Arthur could bathe in peace.
Until Merlin.
No matter how much he told Merlin to shut up, the idiot kept on blathering about the most inane things. Arthur sacked Merlin a few times, for idiocy mostly, but like a bad penny, Merlin kept coming back.
Still, he didn’t let Merlin see him naked for the longest time. It wasn’t because he was beginning to enjoy Merlin’s company or listen to his suggestions or even feeling a friendship for him that was almost untenable.
At least that’s what Arthur told himself.
But finally, he ran out of servants to intimidate and Merlin must have realised that he was supposed to help bathe Arthur because one day, there he was, smiling over a tub full of hot water, and pointing to it. “I’ve been informed that I’m supposed to wash your stinky self. I thought it couldn’t be as horrifying as your socks, but I might be wrong about that.” He waved his hand in front of his nose and made a face. “And I thought Gaius’s remedies were bad.”
Arthur gave him a glare, hoping to scare Merlin off, but no such luck. Finally, stomping behind the changing screen, tossing his mud-splattered clothes aside, suddenly shy and angry about it, Arthur shouted, “You are dismissed.”
Any other servant would have scampered away, but Merlin was too much of a buffoon to know better.
When Arthur came out from behind the screen, Merlin was still there, soap in one hand and a bath cloth in the other, his face breaking out in a grin. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”
“Why are you still here?” Arthur snarled at him.
“Worst servant in Five Kingdoms, remember?” Merlin pointed to himself, then grinned. “Apparently, I’m supposed to bathe you. Although why you can’t do it yourself is beyond me. But you are pretty hopeless at a lot of things so here I am.”
“I am not hopeless. Any idiot can take a bath,” Arthur snapped, trying to edge toward the tub, not hiding but yes hiding his birthmark.
“Here you go, then.” Merlin tossed him the soap, but it was wet and slipped out of Arthur’s fingers. Without thinking, he tried to catch it, twisting to one side, then straightened up as the soap bounced and slid into the tub.
Merlin let out a quick noise, sounding startled and a little horrified.
Reluctantly, Arthur glanced toward him, only to find Merlin staring at him with wonder, and a beginning kind of awe.
“Can I touch it?” Merlin said, breathless. He reached out. “It’s-.”
“No, you can’t touch it. And if I catch you gossiping about it, I will have you flogged, you idiot,” Arthur said, feeling both naked-which he was and furious.
“No need to be such a prat about it. I’ve never seen such workmanship is all. Who was the artist? I’ve never seen tattoos that elaborate before,” Merlin said, still looking as if he wanted to touch Arthur’s mark, then he must have thought better of it because he nodded toward the tub.
Merlin’s words finally caught up with Arthur’s head. “You… you like it?”
Nodding, Merlin said, “It’s beautiful. Mine isn’t nearly so intricate.”
“You have a tattoo?” Arthur said, staring at him.
“Some of it is. My birthmark is a dragon, too, but Will, a friend of mine from Ealdor, dared me to get it embellished. Mum wasn’t happy about it.” Merlin started pulling up his shirt. “You want to see?”
“No, I don’t want to see, you fool,” Arthur started to say, then relented when Merlin’s face fell. “Fine, if you must.”
Merlin’s birthmark wasn’t so detailed, mostly red and gold, and if Arthur didn’t know better, it looked like the Pendragon crest. But there was a bird nestled between the dragon’s wings, looking right at home, as cheeky as Merlin often was.
It was perfect.
Arthur must have smiled because Merlin grinned back, his face lighting up in delight. “See, even us peasants can have nice things but yours is a work of art.”
And in that moment, Arthur felt something let go, a pain that had strangled him for years. He wasn’t a monster after all. He hadn’t been marked with the sign of a beast but something more, something beautiful. Something that he could share with Merlin.
It might be strange, it might be different, but it was his and he’d never be ashamed of it again.
Title: Mark of the Beast
Rating: PG
Pairing/s: Merlin&Arthur
Character/s: Merlin, Arthur, Uther, Gaius
Summary: A birthmark wasn’t a problem usually but Arthur’s was too brightly coloured, too detailed, and people whispered about it being the mark of a beast.
Warnings: none
Word Count: 1189
Camelot_drabble prompt 541: Strange
Disclaimer: I do not own the BBC version of Merlin; They and Shine do. I am very respectfully borrowing them with no intent to profit. No money has changed hands. No copyright infringement is intended.
o/o/o/o/o/o/o/o/o/o/o/o/o/o/o/
When Arthur was thirteen, he stopped bathing. It wasn’t the pimples or the way his voice wobblied in a way that was supremely embarrassing or even Uther’s intensity about Arthur needing to be perfect all the time.
No, it was because he would have to get naked to bathe. Some dour-faced servant would fill up the tub, then watch him sink into the water, eyes staring at him as he scrubbed and ducked, trying to hide the birthmark on his back.
He had heard the whispers. It was strange, they said. The mark of the beast, they said.
It hadn’t been so bad before that. The splotch of red had been formless, running from his waist, down his backside and into the inside of his thigh. Arthur didn’t think much of it. After all, he had it since birth and people, other nobles and knights had them, just not as big. It didn’t mean anything, just a bit of discolouration, not even scratchy or a patch of skin rough enough to worry about.
But when he hit puberty, started growing hair in new places, started dreaming of hands and mouths against his skin, the thing changed. Suddenly, there was colour and distinctive shapes and if Arthur squinted, he could see a dragon there, all scales and wings and power.
The whispers started then, servants gossiping, looking at him sideways, never directly confrontational, but as the chatter grew, even his father must have heard, and Uther wasn’t happy about it. For a while, there were whips and exile for those who spread the rumours. The gossip died down, but Arthur knew that people were avoiding him.
Arthur grew angry. It wasn’t as if he’d done it on purpose, but servants were supposed to remain silent about such things, supposed to understand that he couldn’t change it, maybe even sympathize. And yet he seemed to be blamed for it.
Uther ordered that something must be done. Gaius began to give Arthur unguents and then scrubs that seemed to tear into his skin. But no matter what he did, the dragon-mark remained, seemed to intensify in colour and complexity as his father pushed for perfection.
It finally stopped when Gaius’s latest attempt caused scarring and Arthur’s back bled so much that Gaius feared for his safety.
But by then, Arthur was done with everyone’s censure. His reaction was to bully anyone under him, attack everyone before they could mock him, and it worked. The servants would attend him with lowered eyes and silence, the knights never mentioned it, and his hangers-on seemed to revel in his mistreatment of lesser beings. His father was happy, the gossip was over, and Arthur could bathe in peace.
Until Merlin.
No matter how much he told Merlin to shut up, the idiot kept on blathering about the most inane things. Arthur sacked Merlin a few times, for idiocy mostly, but like a bad penny, Merlin kept coming back.
Still, he didn’t let Merlin see him naked for the longest time. It wasn’t because he was beginning to enjoy Merlin’s company or listen to his suggestions or even feeling a friendship for him that was almost untenable.
At least that’s what Arthur told himself.
But finally, he ran out of servants to intimidate and Merlin must have realised that he was supposed to help bathe Arthur because one day, there he was, smiling over a tub full of hot water, and pointing to it. “I’ve been informed that I’m supposed to wash your stinky self. I thought it couldn’t be as horrifying as your socks, but I might be wrong about that.” He waved his hand in front of his nose and made a face. “And I thought Gaius’s remedies were bad.”
Arthur gave him a glare, hoping to scare Merlin off, but no such luck. Finally, stomping behind the changing screen, tossing his mud-splattered clothes aside, suddenly shy and angry about it, Arthur shouted, “You are dismissed.”
Any other servant would have scampered away, but Merlin was too much of a buffoon to know better.
When Arthur came out from behind the screen, Merlin was still there, soap in one hand and a bath cloth in the other, his face breaking out in a grin. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”
“Why are you still here?” Arthur snarled at him.
“Worst servant in Five Kingdoms, remember?” Merlin pointed to himself, then grinned. “Apparently, I’m supposed to bathe you. Although why you can’t do it yourself is beyond me. But you are pretty hopeless at a lot of things so here I am.”
“I am not hopeless. Any idiot can take a bath,” Arthur snapped, trying to edge toward the tub, not hiding but yes hiding his birthmark.
“Here you go, then.” Merlin tossed him the soap, but it was wet and slipped out of Arthur’s fingers. Without thinking, he tried to catch it, twisting to one side, then straightened up as the soap bounced and slid into the tub.
Merlin let out a quick noise, sounding startled and a little horrified.
Reluctantly, Arthur glanced toward him, only to find Merlin staring at him with wonder, and a beginning kind of awe.
“Can I touch it?” Merlin said, breathless. He reached out. “It’s-.”
“No, you can’t touch it. And if I catch you gossiping about it, I will have you flogged, you idiot,” Arthur said, feeling both naked-which he was and furious.
“No need to be such a prat about it. I’ve never seen such workmanship is all. Who was the artist? I’ve never seen tattoos that elaborate before,” Merlin said, still looking as if he wanted to touch Arthur’s mark, then he must have thought better of it because he nodded toward the tub.
Merlin’s words finally caught up with Arthur’s head. “You… you like it?”
Nodding, Merlin said, “It’s beautiful. Mine isn’t nearly so intricate.”
“You have a tattoo?” Arthur said, staring at him.
“Some of it is. My birthmark is a dragon, too, but Will, a friend of mine from Ealdor, dared me to get it embellished. Mum wasn’t happy about it.” Merlin started pulling up his shirt. “You want to see?”
“No, I don’t want to see, you fool,” Arthur started to say, then relented when Merlin’s face fell. “Fine, if you must.”
Merlin’s birthmark wasn’t so detailed, mostly red and gold, and if Arthur didn’t know better, it looked like the Pendragon crest. But there was a bird nestled between the dragon’s wings, looking right at home, as cheeky as Merlin often was.
It was perfect.
Arthur must have smiled because Merlin grinned back, his face lighting up in delight. “See, even us peasants can have nice things but yours is a work of art.”
And in that moment, Arthur felt something let go, a pain that had strangled him for years. He wasn’t a monster after all. He hadn’t been marked with the sign of a beast but something more, something beautiful. Something that he could share with Merlin.
It might be strange, it might be different, but it was his and he’d never be ashamed of it again.