Kink Me! #9
Kink Me! #9
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Welcome to Kink Me! Merlin #9!
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Closed to new prompts - go to the newest meme!
Welcome to Kink Me! Merlin #9!
Read the rules before you post anything. We freeze or screen anything that breaks the rules! Got a question? Ask the mods!
So you want to post a fill?
Your attention to detail helps make our archiving possible, and also tells us you've read the rules.
- Click ( Read more... )
Starting with the warnings now because verrrry shortly we will be entering reader-may-question-the-innocence-and-morality-of-the-author territory. ;D
Warnings: Prostitution, dub-con, collar, uh...Morgana’s obliviousness...Uther's a whore...?
Part 2a/?
It wasn’t often that Uther asked to see him, and when he did, it was only to ask about Arthur.
Kay was of the opinion that if the King wanted to take an interest in Arthur’s well-being he should perhaps speak to the prince every so often. One would think he’d show some sort of obligated affection for his one trueborn son.
He paused before the doors to the King’s chambers, knocked, and was called in by Uther.
“You asked for me, sire?” asked Kay, dipping his head respectfully.
“I did,” said Uther, not elaborating. He was pouring over some documents at the table, brow furrowed. “Please, sit.”
“I take it this is about Arthur, my lord?”
“Not exactly,” was the unexpected reply. “Not yet, in any case.”
Kay was taken aback. If Uther wanted to talk to him, but not about Arthur, then this couldn’t be good. The last time such a thing had happened, Bayard had been pushing the limits of his borders in a decidedly antagonistic way.
“An unexpected guest will be arriving shortly,” said Uther, setting aside the papers to look at Kay. “An emissary of Cenred’s.”
Kay stiffened. The peace between Camelot and Cenred was tense, to say the least. Really, it was just a lack of motive on Cenred’s part that kept them from war. Sending an ambassador in honour of Arthur’s birthday was a mocking show of respect. Cenred loved to mock them, and did it as often as he dared.
“Who does he send this time?” asked Kay. Their security precautions would depend on this.
“One of the sorceresses, I believe.” Uther leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. “We’ll need to take the appropriate safety measures for Arthur. I’d rather him left unaware of it, however.”
“Arthur’s too clever to miss anything like that, my lord.” They’d tried things like this before, even conning Arthur’s closest friends into taking on such duties, and he saw right through them every time. “I’ll think of something. How much time do we have?”
“Perhaps until his birthday, perhaps a bit sooner.”
“I’ll waste no time, then,” said Kay, standing. “By your leave, my lord.”
“Yes, you may go,” Uther said, waving him away. “Oh, and Kay-” The young captain paused at the door. “Send Mordred away. No need for unnecessary risks.” Kay nodded, and left. He was a good man, a good knight. He’d keep Arthur safe. Uther sometimes thought that if Kay couldn’t inherit the throne, perhaps it would suffice for him to tutor the son who would.
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Part 2b/?
Kay ran into Morgana in the corridor.
He paused to allow her past, and fell in step next to her. “Afternoon.”
“It is.” She smiled, but looked slightly frazzled. “What did you get Arthur for his birthday? I’m having the damnedest time finding something.”
“I commissioned Tom the blacksmith to make him a new sword,” he told her. “Worthy of a king.”
Morgana swore. “That’s good! He’ll love that!”
Kay laughed. “It can’t possibly be that difficult!”
Morgana wrung her hands. “It just needs to be perfect.”
“I’d settle for peaceful.”
“What?”
“Ah-” There was a good chance he shouldn’t have said that. Luckily, it was Morgana, always trustworthy with a secret. “We have an unexpected security hurdle to jump.”
She frowned. “What do you mean?”
“Cenred’s sending one of the sorceresses,” Kay told her, leaning in close. “Arthur won’t be pleased with extra precautions. If I could just find a sorcerer willing to guard him-but Uther’s so uneasy around magic, they avoid Camelot altogether as a general rule.”
Morgana bit her lip. This wasn’t the first time Arthur had been in potential danger, but it was never easy. Her mother was dead, Uther was distant…her brothers and Gwen were all she had.
“If there’s anything I can do to help…”
Kay smiled. “I doubt it, but I’ll let you know. Oh, and as for the gift-love, whatever you get him, I am sure it will be perfect. You have excellent taste.” He kissed her forehead and they parted ways; he headed down the south corridor, and, after a moment, she took the north.
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Warnings: Prostitution, dub-con, collar, uh...Morgana’s obliviousness...Uther's a whore...?
Part 2c/?
Morgana sat at her window, perched in the seat, brow furrowed, a forgotten book of poetry in her lap. From there she could watch the hustle and bustle of the stone courtyard below. The city was a madhouse, with merchants and traders and performers of all sorts congregating to play off the hype of Arthur’s birthday.
She saw a noblewoman sifting through silk scarves a merchant was selling, and a group of young girls cooing over some kittens for sale. There were even stranger things for sale as well, she’d heard, in the marketplace in the lower town; dragon eggs hardened into beautiful stone from the coast, and mirrors from Mercia that supposedly told the future if you held them at the right angle, and puppets from the north that would come alive and dance if you played them the right tune.
Other things-items so taboo one simply couldn’t speak of them in polite company-were available for the right price, the gossipers had told her. Dolls that held a person’s very life in their cloth, and amulets, and even-
“That’s it!” she yelped suddenly, scaring Gwen half to death.
“M-my lady?” asked Gwen, clutching the vase full of flowers she’d nearly dropped, she’d started so horribly.
“I’ve got it, Gwen, I’ve got it!” said Morgana excitedly, grabbing a purse of coins and a light cloak.
“Got what? Morgana, where are you going? The feast starts in an hour!”
“Just get my clothes ready, I’ll toss them on when I get back-Gwen, I’ve got it!”
“Got what?!”
Morgana spun in the doorway to face her handmaiden. “The perfect present for Arthur!” And she was gone.
“Well,” Gwen said to herself as she went to the wardrobe to find a suitable gown for the banquet, “I hope he likes it.”
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It's all making for a fascinating, different court.
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Anyway, great job, anon! Can't wait for more~ (Today...?) ♥
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Part 3a/?
Arthur had prepared for dinner with no enthusiasm whatsoever. He was so sick of banquets. Thank god it was nearly over. Life would soon return to normal, and he could stop being so moody all the time. It wasn’t as though he ever really stopped worrying about Uther’s activities, but whenever he was recognized as Uther’s child when there were so many others that were not, the guilt and resentment brought out the worst in him.
Morgana, on the other hand was at her best. She was the very life and joy of the place, in her deep green gown, with emerald flowers in her hair and that brilliant smile on her face the entire time. One would have thought it was for her sake they were all celebrating, not Arthur, blandly dressed in his red jacket and everyday brown breeches.
At one point, after letting it go for hours, Arthur tugged her goblet out of her hands and stole a small taste of it, prompting an “Arthur, what are you doing?”
“Is there ale in this? You know what you’re like.”
“Well if I didn’t who would?” she snapped, but she couldn’t stay mad at him. “No, there is no ale in it.”
“Then what is wrong with you?”
“Wrong? I’m trying to be cheerful enough for the both of us, Arthur, what’s wrong with you?” She shook her head-clearly, he was a hopeless case. “Fine, fine-are you ready to slip away?”
He opened his mouth to respond in the resounding affirmative, then shut it, suspicious. “Why?” Morgana always disapproved of his ducking out early, even if it was only by an hour or so.
“Because I want to give you your present; I really can’t wait to see your face.” She pouted at him. “Please, Arthur? Come on, practically everyone’s gone or passed out, no one will notice.”
Glad that he could blame her in the unlikely situation that Uther confronted him for skiving off the last few hours, he glanced about to check that the coast was as clear as it would get. Uther had disappeared hours ago with not one but two serving girls. Arthur cringed at the thought. “All right, let’s go.”
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Part 3b/?
Morgana, so very proud of herself, led the way, and she headed to Arthur’s chambers rather than her own. She must have had whatever it was brought it in after he’d left for the feast.
“I considered just leaving you to stumble in after the feast and find it yourself,” she told him as they neared the door, “but I decided I really did want to see your reaction. Well, maybe not all of it, but the initial bit anyway.”
Arthur laughed, pushing open the door. “What do you- Who are you?”
There was a boy standing by the fireplace, seeming very guilty. He had the look of someone who has just been caught in a place he was not supposed to be, and has just sprung up out of a chair to seem less in-the-wrong-place. In any case, he didn’t answer Arthur.
“Call the guard!” Arthur reached for his sword.
“Arthur, no!” yelped Morgana, grabbing his arm and jumping in front of him. “Gods, calm down!”
“What is going on?” It was now that Arthur noticed the boy was only half-dressed. No tunic, just breeches, and-a collar around his skinny neck? Was he a slave? But the Pendragons didn’t own any slaves, it wasn’t really Camelot fashion. What was he doing here? “Morgana?”
“Arthur, I’ve noticed-well, everyone’s noticed, actually-that lately you’ve been rather…well, a bit…”
“What?” demanded Arthur.
“Tense,” she said, emphasizing to communicate a much deeper meaning.
“What?!”
“Arthur you’re a young man, no one would expect you to abstain-”
Arthur couldn’t form words, he just sputtered incoherently. Clearly something was being very seriously miscommunicated, it had to be. There was no way… She bought him a boy? She bought him a boy?! She bought him a slave for his bed?! What kind of a sister was she?!
“I cannot believe you would insult me like this, Morgana!” Arthur forgot that he never raised his voice to Morgana.
“I meant no insult, Arthur,” she said calmly.
“‘Meant no insult’-?!” Arthur hissed. “You-you bought this boy-”
“I am seventeen!” the boy suddenly exclaimed in protest.
“This brazen boy,” Arthur amended, neither turning to glare at the boy nor acknowledging his interruption any further, “in a collar, and you meant no insult?! What do have to say for yourself, Morgana?”
“Happy birthday,” Morgana said with lame enthusiasm and a pathetic, dejected flourish of her hands.
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Part 3b/?
Arthur sputtered for a moment. He had never been so angry in his life, and certainly not with Morgana, his favorite little sister. “‘Happy birthday?’ ‘HAPPY BIRTHDAY?!’”
“He was supposed to have a bow of some sort-”
“This thing?” asked the boy, holding up a misshapen, knotted length of some scarlet fabric.
“Damn!”
“Morgana!” Arthur snapped, bringing her back to the true issue. He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself. “Morgana,” he repeated more evenly. “I,” He motioned to himself, as if dealing with a child, “cannot,” He made a sort of sweeping motion back and forth with his hands to indicate ‘NO,’ and finally pointed at the boy, finishing “keep him!”
“Arthur,” said Morgana in the same patronizing tone. “No one has to know. Do you know you’re half-mad a good bit of the time, fretting over Uther’s-exploits? And the righteous front you put up for the world? No one’s under any illusion, Arthur. You’re a man, you have needs, stop pretending you don’t. Frankly, trying to humour you your virtues is exhausting, and so, yes, I’ve bought you this boy.”
She gently pulled Arthur over to his chair and made him sit down. “Look, it’s perfect; you can let yourself go, relieve your stress; you needn’t be worried about bastards, and best of all, it’s an entirely private arrangement.” She perched on the arm of the chair and tilted her head to the side, observing the boy, who lowered his gaze and fidgeted uncomfortably. “He’s rather pretty, as well. Pale, like a lady. I’ll bet he bruises easily,” she added conspiratorially. Arthur inwardly died. “I think you’ll like him, once you beat your morality into submission.” Morgana pressed a kiss to the top of Arthur’s head and was off, bouncing across the room in that flighty, cheery way she had about her.
“We all know you prefer boys, you know, so stop worrying about it,” she added as she reached the door.
“What?!”
“It’s all right,” she assured him with a smile as she slipped around the door, and added, with a wink, “I don’t.”
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Warnings: Prostitution, dub-con, collar, uh...Morgana’s obliviousness...Uther's a whore...?
Part 3d/?
The door shut behind her with a clunk! and then Arthur was alone with the boy. Groaning, he pinched the bridge of his nose and set his elbows on his knees, hunched over.
“My lord…”
“Just be quiet,” Arthur moaned. “Damn her…”
“If you’re ill, sire-”
“Shut up, I’m fine!” snapped Arthur. “Just a headache.”
He heard a smile in the boy’s voice as he asked, “Too much wine?” and despite himself, he smiled in return as he answered, “Too many siblings.” Finally, Arthur sighed and dropped his hand, sitting up straight and studying this gift.
Morgana was right; he was pale. He seemed paler than he probably actually was due to the contrast of his dark mop of hair and the black breeches (and infernal collar) he wore. He was all gangly limbs and pointy angles, not enough meat on him, but just enough lean muscle to keep him functioning. And he had these ridiculous ears…
“What’s your name, boy?” asked Arthur.
The boy ducked his head in some small form of respect as he answered, “Merlin, m’lord.”
“Your accent,” said Arthur, “it’s slightly…foreign. You came from the north, didn’t you? Not recently, but didn’t you?”
Merlin’s jaw twitched subtly. “I was very young when I was brought south, sir.”
There were other things Arthur wanted to ask; where in the north was Merlin from? Did he have any skills (respectable skills)? How did he find himself in this…work?-but he didn’t want to invest himself in finding the answers. He’d be rid of the boy as shortly as he was able.
Merlin shivered; it was a bit chilly in the room, and without a tunic… Arthur became painfully aware of just how thin the boy was.
“How long has it been since you’ve eaten, Merlin?” Arthur inquired, pushing out of the chair.
“The Lady Morgana had a meal brought after I arrived,” said Merlin.
“That must’ve been hours ago.” Arthur went to his wardrobe, pulled out a nightshirt and tossed it to Merlin, who only just caught it. “Put that on. I’ll send for some food; the serving girls will knock before they enter, just go behind the screen.” Arthur went to the door and told the guard outside to send word to the kitchen.
“Where are you going?” asked Merlin.
Arthur frowned. The boy kept switching between respectful and casual; it was annoying. “I’ll stay in the Physician’s tower tonight. I need something for this blasted headache. You’ll stay here, and we’ll-we’ll figure out what to do with you in the morning.”
Merlin looked confused and-wary? as Arthur made his escape, but Arthur didn’t let himself think much of it.
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Part 3e/?
Gaius was still awake when Arthur knocked on his door, and was exceedingly surprised to see him.
“Arthur!” he said when he opened the door. “Is everything all right, sire?”
“I’m sorry to intrude at such an hour, Gaius,” apologized Arthur, “but I was hoping for some relief from a headache.”
“Of course, just a moment.” And Gaius was instantly bustling about, gathering the necessary ingredients and fixing the medicine for him, which was brewed into a sort of tea. As he worked, he chatted with Arthur, asking if the banquet was still going on (Arthur didn't know, but it was a distinct possibility), and how training was going and the like.
“Er, Gaius,” Arthur said as he sipped the hot brew, “do you still have that spare cot by the books?”
“At the moment it’s under the books, your majesty,” said Gaius, chuckling.
Arthur carefully avoiding Gaius’s eyes, looking purposefully at his tea. “Would you mind if I used it?”
The intimidating silence finally drew Arthur’s eyes away from the cup and he looked cautiously at Gaius. The old man was scrutinizing him, as if by looking hard enough, the very workings of Arthur’s mind would become apparent to him.
“Of course not, sire.”
After Gaius had gone up the stairs to his own sleeping quarters and Arthur had carefully moved the volumes to the table, the prince settled in for the night, drifting off into a restless sleep. He dreamt of caverns and fire and a voice speaking of destiny. Destiny? he thought bitterly. What destiny could await him with a crown without honour?
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Warnings: Prostitution, dub-con, collar, uh...Morgana’s obliviousness...Uther's a whore...?
Part 4a/?
Arthur clenched his jaw and forced even breaths, hand on the door. He was just going to walk in, change into fresh clothes, and walk out. Then he had meetings all morning, and lunch with Morgana-scratch that, lunch with the knights-and training all afternoon. He could avoid the boy-Merlin-nearly all day.
He realized that he was still standing there in the corridor, with a reluctant hand at the door. Had he really let a scrawny boy run him out of his own chambers? He was Prince Arthur, damn it, and the boy was nothing more than a slave! Gritting his teeth, Arthur shoved the door open, intent on running the boy right out of the castle, but he froze in the doorway.
The room was empty. Frowning in confusion, Arthur quietly shut the door behind him and looked around. The bed was pristine, no one had slept there. Not a single thing was out of place-no, wait, there; a gap in the bookshelf. Evidence that the previous night had truly occurred, perhaps? He spotted dishes on the table, empty and neatly stacked at one end. Further verification.
He stepped closer to the table, looking beyond it, and saw him. The boy, wearing Arthur’s nightshirt, was curled up on the rug in front of the dwindling fire, the missing book open on the floor next to him.
Arthur retrieved the book, looking to see which it was. It was just a little thing, describing the lay of the land. The boy had left it open to a map of the north. Closing the book, Arthur looked down at the sleeping youth. He was hesitant to nudge him awake. The boy looked so deceivingly innocent, so very childlike, with his mouth slightly open and his fingers twitching occasionally, like an infant’s. He’d said he was only seventeen. How long had he been…doing this sort of thing? How far had he traveled to come here? What sort of trials did slaves on the road face? Arthur could only imagine. Slavery was uncommon in Camelot.
It was the long dark eyelashes against the large dark shadows under the boy’s eyes that did it. Arthur couldn’t throw him out-it wasn’t the boy’s fault that Morgana was insane. Sighing, Arthur set the book on the table and bent down, gently gathering the boy up in his arms.
The boy shifted, settling his head against Arthur’s chest and absently gripping at Arthur’s shirt. Arthur felt something dangerously fond stir in his chest.
Pushing the feeling away, he carefully deposited the boy on the bed, and, as quickly as he could, changed behind the screen and left the chambers, locking the door behind him and breaking into a run.
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Part 4b/?
Arthur didn’t stop running, taking stairs several at a time and dodging servants and castle occupants as he went, until he caught Kay as he left his chambers.
“Gods, Arthur!” Kay exclaimed, clutching at his heart. “Where’s the fucking fire, eh?!”
“Kay,” panted Arthur, “you have to help me.”
--
“Stop laughing.” Kay didn’t. Arthur rolled his eyes and scratched at a spot on the table. He’d sent a servant to tell anyone who needed an excuse for his absence this morning that he was ill. “Stop. Laughing.”
Incapable of words, Kay shook his head, howling with mirth. His face was turning red; he was going to pass out any minute now.
“Kay, stop fucking laughing.”
“She-she got you-gods, and I thought the sword was good, I should-she bought you a boy!”
“Kay!”
“Damn her, she thinks of all the clever ideas!”
Arthur let out a groan that was half a whine and buried his face in his folded arms. “Come on, Kay-brother, I hate you, help me.”
“All right, all right,” said Kay, ceasing his laughter but unable to keep a smile from his face and voice. “Arthur, tell me what’s so horrible about it?”
“What?!”
“Well, as Morgana said-” Arthur groaned, digging his nails into his scalp; Kay’s smile widened, but other than that he ignored the interruption, “-as Morgana said, you’re driving yourself insane. You need an outlet, she got you an outlet. Quite thoughtful of her, actually.”
“It’s so…dishonorable, though!” said Arthur, finally sitting up to look Kay in his unnecessarily gleeful face. “He’s just a boy, and I never…” This wasn’t a conversation he wanted to have with Kay-or anyone, for that matter. “It’s always for mutual benefit. I wouldn’t take advantage of a-partner-that way.”
“Then ask him for consent,” said Kay, as if it was the most simple thing in the world. Maybe it was, but Arthur’s life had been far from simple for as long he could remember.
“I can’t know he’s not just saying what he thinks I want to hear-and this is completely irrelevant, because I don’t want him!”
“Really?” Kay looked skeptical.
Arthur glared at him. “I don’t want a slave in my bed, with no concept of consent or-or partnership. I want-” He froze. What did he want? “I want…” The feeling of Merlin’s warm body in his arms, the way Merlin’s pale hands grasped his shirt…it wasn’t horrible, if he could forget what Merlin was. Arthur met Kay’s gaze and saw from his expression that Kay might figure out what he wasn’t saying if he went on not saying it any longer. “I want him gone.”
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After that, Arthur didn’t say anything further on the issue and Kay didn’t press him. They spent the morning in the awkward aftermath trying to pretend the conversation had never occurred, Kay attending to his duties and Arthur tagging along with him due to skiving off his own duties. It was sort of comforting and familiar-this was how Arthur had come to learn how the castle worked in the first place, how much effort went into keeping everything running smoothly; as a youth he’d followed Kay around nearly every day when he wasn’t with his tutor. The routine helped to gloss over some of the awkwardness.
“Ah, wait-I have to go this way,” said Kay, stopping and backtracking to a corridor they’d just passed.
“Why?” asked Arthur, following. Kay stopped in front of one of the first doors on the left and knocked. Arthur grimaced. “Oh.”
“I’ll catch up if you like, I just need to-”
The door opened. A small, pale boy with dark, dark hair and piercing blue eyes stood there, not quite glaring at them, but definitely not smiling.
“Good morning, Mordred,” said Kay cheerfully. “Are you ready to go?”
Now Mordred was glaring. He scowled silently at Kay, then his unnerving gaze slid past the knight and landed on Arthur. It had been nearly five years since Mordred had come to the castle as a scrawny toddler with that uncanny stare of his, and Arthur would never get used to it. He didn’t understand how Kay was able to pretend Mordred was just another child, or how Morgana even coddled him on occasion-though in Morgana’s case he generally chalked it up to the fact that she was a women and so small children and babies made her think and do strange things.
“Mordred?” asked Kay, snapping both Mordred and Arthur out of their reveries. “Where’s your trunk?”
With a glance at Arthur, Mordred disappeared back into his chambers. Kay looked over at Arthur and shrugged, then followed. Before Arthur could decide whether to stay out in the corridor, where he was comfortable, or venture after them in Mordred’s rooms, where he was not, Kay was coming back into the corridor, carrying Mordred’s small trunk, the boy trailing close behind.
“Mordred’s paying a visit to Lord Godwyn,” Kay told Arthur conversationally as they walked. “He has a son about Mordred’s age who’s taken sick and could do well with a playmate.”
“That sounds fun,” Arthur said, looking to his young half-brother and trying to seem amicable.
“I don’t want to go to,” said Mordred shortly.
Arthur didn’t know what to say to that, so he just went “Ah,” and then faced resolutely forward.
There was an entourage of four knights waiting for them in the main courtyard with Mordred’s pony and four horses, one of which was pulling a wooden cart. Kay settled Mordred’s trunk in the wagon with the other supplies and Arthur helped Mordred climb up onto his little silver pony.
“I’m not going there to keep Lord Godwyn’s son company,” said Mordred in that soft little voice of his abruptly.
“Oh?” said Arthur, caught off-guard. “You’re not?”
“Father can’t keep me from my mother forever.” Mordred said, fixing his unnatural gaze on Arthur. It was so hard to believe that he was so young-his eyes were so old. “The longer he tries, the worse it will be. For all of you.”
Sometimes Mordred did this; the rare times he did speak, it was spout dark comments and ill-disguised threats against their father. Most of the court-Arthur included-thought the boy must be touched in the head.
“Mordred, your mother’s not here,” Arthur reminded him.
“Now,” said Mordred simply, and then the knights were moving, leaving, and Mordred with them, and Arthur was left standing there with that strange, shaken feeling he often had after conversations with Mordred.
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