Fic Promises and scars 1
Title Promises and scars 1
Rating: Nc-17 (just in case)
Warning: Non/con Whipping Slavery
Summary: Arthur must live with the consequences of his rejection of Merlin's magic while Merlin must try to live.
Author's note. First ever fanfic.
Word Count 2498
For Merlin, revealing his magic had not gone well.
“Get out” said Arthur
“But, Arthur...”
“Get out”
“If I promised? If I swore that I would only use my magic with your permission? I do. I swear. I give you my oath....... Please Arthur....”
“Get out before I change my mind and tell my father”
And Merlin went.
Taking nothing.
Into the night.
It took a day for Arthur’s rage to subside. A week for him to overcome his father’s conditioning and start to decide for himself what he would hate and what not.
That’s when the search began. At first it was just a casual swing around the local area, not a real search - not at all. Then it included a journey to Ealdor. Arthur did not say why Merlin had left but Hunith’s eyes haunted him and her fear reached out to him and made the search more urgent.
Eventually the King intervened.
“It is not appropriate for the Crown Prince of Camelot to spend his days searching for a runaway servant. Cease this ridiculous quest or I will have you flogged”.
Arthur looked at Uther and for the first time saw, not his father, not the King of Camelot, but a man consumed by terror, seeking to confirm his position, his power, in every action, every word and doomed to a life of eternal fear and loneliness.
“So be it” he said, and left to search again.
When he returned, empty handed once again, he submitted himself to the King’s torturer for flogging.
This became a pattern.
Arthur searched for months, each search marked on his back, each one fruitless. He did not speak to his father but took his place in council, offering cogent and careful advice which was usually rejected by the King, but noted by others. He continued to train with his knights but remained remote, isolated, ignoring even their devotion.
And then the snow came.
Searches were no longer possible. Camelot was blanketed in snow which stayed and froze. Ordinary life was suspended. Food was scarce, except for the King and his Court. Arthur rationed his allocation and shared with the people of the lower town, quietly. The people wondered at the change in their arrogant prince but ate the food nonetheless.
Arthur continued to train with his knights - sparring in corridors, challenging in the great hall but his light was stilled.
When the snow went, it was replaced by harsh winds and driving rain. Uther sought to discover how the country had fared under the three months of snow and so patrols were sent out to the outlying districts to assess the remaining food supplies for the next few months. Arthur, Leon and Gwaine were assigned an outpost on other side of the moors. Their journey was uneventful, though the weather made it miserable and cold. To their surprise they found that the outpost was well supplied and did not need help from Camelot. Relieved, they set out for their return journey.
Wrapped in their serviceable black cloaks rather than the distinctive Camelot red, the trio rode through the wind and biting rain. Even their horses seemed to hunch down against the biting cold and the little pack horse in the rear whickered her distress as the day progressed. Coming over a swell in the moor, Gwaine called to the Prince.
“Sire?” (he had stopped calling Arthur Princess some months before) “Our planned camp is about three hours that way” He gestured emphatically into the wind.
“But there is an inn about a half an hour that way” He pointed into a slight valley to their left.
“It’s not much of an inn and after that winter I doubt if it will offer much in the way of hospitality but it will have fires, and food and ... walls”
Gwaine tried not to sound pleading but he had lost the feeling in his fingers some time ago and really longed for heat. Or at least for not being out in the freezing rain and bitter wind.
“And ale?” said Leon
“At this stage I’d settle for gruel” replied Gwaine crossly. For the first time in ages he was not seeking to go to an inn for the ale and resented being called on it. The two knights looked to Arthur for a decision.
Arthur took a moment to reply, then said.
“We’ll head for the Inn”
Gwaine sighed with relief (as did Leon - though he hid it better from long experience)
As they entered the courtyard of the tiny inn the landlord stepped out to greet them He was a stout, jolly man with a ready smile and he welcomed them warmly.
“Ah my Lords, Welcome! Welcome! Come inside out of the wind!” He turned towards the stables, “ Geraint! Geraint!” An ancient man appeared from a stable and moved towards them. “See to the gentlemen’s horses! And you! ” This was directed at a figure moving out of a distant outbuilding “get down to the stream and start filling the main copper” he turned back to the frozen knights, “For baths, you know” he said. “Baths!” exclaimed Gwaine delightedly. “I knew this was a good idea!” “Indeed my Lord, it is a speciality of the house - I had a bath house made just for guests - the moors are cruel cold at this time of year”
“We thank you sir” said Arthur, “but...” Gwaine whimpered and Arthur relented and left the rest of his thought unsaid.
The inn was bare but warm, with a good fire in the great hall, flickering warm shadows across the room. Gwaine sprawled on a bench by the fire and gloried in the warmth. Leon unbent enough to reach out his hands towards the flames. Arthur stayed in the shadows but looked benignly as his knights thawed out. The landlord bustled in with food - a simple stew with some cold meat and bread but a feast in this season. The meal was served with full tankards of ale and the three soon ate and drank their fill of the simple fare. Arthur went so far as to overlook Gwaine’s contented burps and Leon’s drowsy nodding. When the landlord returned to tell them the water for their baths was ready they were almost reluctant to leave the comfort of the warm room but their aching muscles demanded relief and they moved to the bath house with many groans.
“There’s nothing like a bath for relieving the stresses of the day” declared the landlord, pompously as he opened the door to the steaming bathhouse. “I wouldn’t say nothing” leered Gwaine gesturing lewdly.
“As to that” said the Landlord “I regret to say my whore died two months ago and I have not yet replaced her - but some of my gentlemen have availed of the outdoor slave since her absence. Now I can’t say he is able. Nor willing for that matter - but tied up, the gentlemen say, he does give good sport.. and he is young. I can have him brought round if you like..”
“Thank you” said Arthur, “But we will not require those services tonight”
The Landlord did not seem disappointed and left them to the warm water.
There were two sleeping rooms beyond the great hall, both small. Arthur and Leon took the main room and Gwaine took the garret over the kitchen. As he made his way to the ladder leading to his sleeping area he passed through the passage near the kitchen. The landlord was speaking.
“The quality say they don’t want you tonight but that big one has a gleam in his eye and I won’t have no more difficulties. Take this and prepare your arse in case he calls for you”
“I won’t”
The voice was husky with a harsh rasp but the tone was firm. There was the sound of a flesh hitting flesh.
“You will. I won’t have no screaming like the last time, shaming me before the quality, making it seem I can’t control my property. These folks are right grand and I won’t have you spoiling things. Stay in the kitchen tonight and if you are called for you will go willing and open and take all that you get. Is that clear!”
Another blow and a spate of coughing made Gwaine wince to hear. He decided there and there that he would not be taking a bed mate this night. He had never (to his knowledge) taken an unwilling partner and this was not the time to start. He climbed the rough ladder to his sleeping area feeling sympathy for the unwilling slave.
His sympathy was sorely tested as the coughing continued through the night, a rasping ratcheting cough that echoed through the wooden walls. He felt guilty at his relief when, at some point in the night the landlord rose and with a muffled curse and a blow and a slamming door, stopped the noise and allowed Gwaine sleep.
Arthur wanted an early start and even before the sun was fully up Gwaine was readying the horses and preparing their packs. The wind and rain had eased but there was sharp frost making the ground treacherous. Gwaine still preferred it to the weather of yesterday. The pack mare was skittish and delayed things but they set out as the sun rose over the moor, trotting quickly to make the most of the still air.
As they moved on Gwaine looked back at the little inn, huddled in the dip of the moor. In the distance he could see a solitary figure, carrying buckets towards a distant pigpen. He was halt, dragging one leg as he walked over the slippery ground. Gwaine thought of the life of a slave in such as place as this, worked and used and ignored. He wondered what his life would have been had he not come into Arthur’s company. But it was Merlin who had opened that door.
Merlin.
Still lost.
Gwaine looked at Arthur as he rode ahead, remote and alone. Gwaine had gone with him on every search and stood with him at every flogging, walking the proud prince back to Gaius, feeling his determination not to show pain in public. Every day his respect for this prince, this man, had grown until now, he knew he belonged to Arthur as securely as any slave. Gwaine knew he would champion his prince, fight at his side, die in his place in the knowledge that his liege would do as much for him. For the first time Gwaine understood nobility. Uther may be sitting on the throne of Camelot but Arthur was his king.
Caught up in this reverie, Gwaine did not notice when the little pack mare dug in her hooves and, with a violent toss of her head, wrenched the leading rein from his hand. In a moment she was galloping back towards the inn. Gwaine swore loudly as he turned his horse. Leon was laughing.
“Someone in that stable must have given her an apple” he called.
“Catch her Gwaine, or we will never get on” ordered Arthur.
But the little horse did not make for the stable, Instead she by-passed the inn and galloped towards the pigpen where a limping figure was now returning with empty buckets, oblivious to the charging horse heading for him. Her arrival caused him to fall awkwardly but the horse stopped and nuzzled at him gently
Gwaine was puzzled. Was this the bad tempered beast who had tried to bite him this morning? He had barely thought this when he heard Arthur give a low cry and saw him spur his horse to the fallen man. Gwaine followed, arriving just as Arthur roughly dismounted and walked hesitantly towards the shabby figure on the ground.
“Merlin?” The sound was more a plea than a question.
The figure on the ground looked up. His face was covered with a rough beard and his hair was long and unkempt. His eyes were infinitely old and definitely Merlin.
“Arthur” he said
In a moment Arthur was beside him.
“I searched” he said. “Until the snow. I searched everywhere”
“m’here” said Merlin slightly muffled by Arthur’s mail coat.
“Arthur?”
“Yes”
“You’re hugging me”
“Mm?”
“I am sitting on frozen mud, spelling of pigpen and you are hugging me”
“Yes”
“Wouldn’t you like to be hugging me somewhere else?”
“Merlin, I have searched for you through most of the kingdom and you just happen to wander in to a random inn I stayed at. This is a good place” Arthur laughed; a sound Leon and Gwaine realised they had not heard in months.
“I didn’t just wander in. I....” Merlin stopped
“You’re the slave” Leon’s words dropped like stones into the air as in an instant they all recalled the awkward conversation of the night before. Arthur’s arms withdrew and Merlin pulled his knees to his chin as a bright blush of humiliation appeared beneath his beard.
“Right then” said Arthur decisively, standing up. “Leon, go back to the inn and tell that bastard we are taking his slave. Give him something to stop him complaining. Give him half of Camelot if you have to, we are not going back there.” He reached forward and pulled Merlin up into his arms, holding him as Merlin’s weak leg caused him to wobble. “Gwaine help me get Merlin on to my horse”
Merlin searched his face for any sign of disgust or rejection but saw only Arthur.
“You don’t hate me ? Despise me?”
“Merlin, I learned a hard lesson that there is nothing that you could do - or have done to you that would ever make me hate you - or despise you.”
“Not even breaking your best china plate or shrinking your favourite shirt? Merlin’s voice was light but his eyes were pleading.
“Not even that” Arthur rejoiced that Merlin joked but felt the tension in his servant’s body as he held him. Arthur had also learned - the hard way - that some moments are fragile and could be broken with a word. He did not want to break this one.
Gwaine brought up Arthur’s horse and Arthur mounted easily, directing Gwaine to hold Merlin and help him up in front of Arthur.
“I’m not sitting like some lady” huffed Merlin as he was seated in Arthur’s arms. “I can ride. See I have a horse” He pointed towards his mare now demurely trotting beside them. If horses could grin, she was grinning. Arthur smiled himself to see her. He only brought her as pack horse because she kicked up (literally) when he rode out without her but she had proved her worth. For a moment he shuddered, picturing himself riding away from the inn. Never turning back, never seeing, never knowing....
Merlin tapped him on the chest. “See, I told you she loved me”
And soft as a breeze in summer or a snowflake on a hand Arthur breathed a reply.
“She’s not alone in that”