(no subject)
I need to purge this story. It started as one thing, turned into something else entirely and has been blocking me for a good week.
Locus of Control | PG | Cedric, Merlin 2x01 tag
Cedric knows people, and he knows how to get what he wants.
Locus of Control
Cedric is a great thief.
Well, to be brutally honest, he's a barely adequate thief. His fingers have gone nimble from years of training, but he's still no good with a lockpick and he's never been the stealthy type. There is one thing he excels at though, and that's reading people. Manipulating them. He can talk a Lady into giving him all her rings and a kiss to the cheek for his trouble. He can make a Knight turn over his armour and sword to him and a thank you on top.
It takes him only a good two days to get the measure of Arthur.
A man like Arthur trusts only in two things. One is that he makes or breaks his own destiny, that in fact, there is no destiny but what he creates and earns for himself. The second is that this is also true for everyone else. Arthur, as a prince and a knight, can't get his mind around the idea that other people have chains upon their actions, responsibilities and secrets and bonds that wrap them up tight and make them do stupid and horrible things.
His manservant is one of those people.
Cedric can tell from a distance that there is something odd between them, some kind of strange imbalance that's not like servitude at all. Merlin looks at the prince with an expression that is so complex Cedric has a hard time figuring it out. Devotion, need, guilt, fear, insolence, but deeper than that a sort of resigned acceptance, like Merlin can't possibly imagine being anywhere else, even though he may not have chosen this for himself.
It's a way in. The heart of the servant is deep and heavy with unspoken things, and Cedric can be sure to drive a wedge there. Merlin is already unbalanced and Arthur is a fairly simple man - it should not be too hard to earn his good graces. Cedric smiles and distracts the servant enough to loosen the girth of Arthur's horse. This should prove to be an easy haul after all.
+
Cedric is not a hunter.
This hasn't exactly been a problem in his life so far, what with growing up in cities all over the country and meeting nothing bigger than dogs in the alleys behind pubs where the leftover food doesn't smell too rotten yet. A boar as big as a house is something out of nightmares, impossible and slightly surreal.
Stumbling all over himself to get away is nothing like cowardice, it's the instinct that's kept him alive all these years.
What happens next is just as impossible. A spear launches at the boar, sending the animal shrieking and crashing to the ground before it can reach the prince - who looks only slightly put out that he missed the chance to throw himself under the beast and slice up its belly with his belt knife. Arthur seems like the sort, heroically stupid and not at all in tune with physical reality. The thing is, there is no one where that spear came from except Merlin, whose eyes glow gold and who looks oddly guilty and resigned, and oh, yes, now it all makes sense.
A moment passes in which he thinks to out Merlin's secret and get rid of him that way, but Cedric isn't inhuman. Whatever Merlin wants or plans or hopes for, serving the prince like he couldn't kill him with so little as a thought, is none of his business. He just wants the jewels. Besides, if he unravels this strange, dense thing between the prince and the sorcerer - and really, one has to admire the guts - Cedric does not want to be caught in the crossfire.
"Who threw that?" Arthur asks, and Cedric knows that this is his opening, because Merlin will never admit to his power, not like this. If his expression is any indication, he's used to keeping these sort of things to himself.
Great. Time to seize the moment.
+
Cedric knows nothing about the chores of a manservant, but he does know about people. He asks around in an unassuming way, wearing a hapless expression, and gets a ridiculous breakfast tray sent up while three maids and two serving boys are fluttering away to fulfil the prince's daily orders. Delegation is a beautiful thing.
The anteroom is full of Merlin's things, the quality of the cloth not fit for a prince and obviously worn to pieces. A couple of books Cedric can't read are stacked next to the cot, with drawings of the human body that make him wish he hadn't eaten earlier - tasting the samples of meats and cheese for Arthur's breakfast. He'd made up a fairly ridiculous story to conquer the heart of the chief cook, but his face had done the trick: by the time he was done, the woman looked like she might want to adopt him.
When he opens the heavy door, Arthur sits in his chair, a frown indicating that he's thinking rather deeply - not surprising exactly, but a good job to remind Cedric not to underestimate the prince. That kind of thing can lose a guy a hand. Or a head.
"Sire," he says, eyes cast to the floor, "your breakfast."
It's hard to watch someone's expression while pretending to look at the tips of one's boots and yet inexpendable in situations like this. Arthur appears confused, frown deepening, and he orders the large plate to be set down in front of him.
"Where's Merlin?" Just an inquiry, innocent and not even half-interested. Cedric fights a smile.
He sets out the delicious cuts of meat, the fruit and the fresh, fragrant bread. Arthur's eyes follow his hands as he works. Good. "I fear he is still asleep, my Lord. The hunt yesterday must have been too much. He looks a little frail."
There's a trace of that sympathetic expression again, something layered and unfitting for royalty, something genuine that gets shuttered up so quick Cedric isn't sure he's really seen it. Well, if that isn't something to work with. Playing on Arthur's concern for Merlin should be the easiest thing in the world, if he can give the prince an excuse to hide it in their strange abusive language.
+
The expression is back on Arthur's face when Merlin runs out of the stables, and Cedric knows his window of time is fairly short here. What Arthur doesn't understand is that Merlin could never decide to leave, he's so tied up in this arrogant man, completely and almost painfully devoted - it's visible to everyone but the prince. Oh well, he's seen stranger things in the brothels of Mercia.
"May I make a suggestion, Sire?" Cedric is not a cruel man and he feels kind of bad for stumbling into this, whatever it is.
Arthur's eyes are still on the door, his face a puzzled mask. "What is it?"
Cedric thinks about the lies he tells and the truths he sees, thinks about Arthur's conviction that a man is what he makes himself and what that means for Cedric, for Merlin, possibly for Camelot. "Just that, perhaps, I shall cover his duties for as long as is needed and no longer. I do not wish to replace him."
The eyes of the prince are still focused somewhere else when he nods and smiles. "Sounds like a splendid idea, now, let's get the horses back here before someone thinks to steal them."
+
The magic seeps into him like ice-water and freezes his soul into a small, terrified ball. Cornelius Sigan feels like oil and hard iron, slick and merciless. Cedric keeps himself quiet and tries not to see, not to feel, but it's impossible.
Cornelius Sigan is giving him a ringside seat to the destruction of Camelot.
+
The walls of Camelot speak to him. This is home and it welcomes him. The walls tell tales of the dark days that were, of the dark days that might be, and they rejoice in his presence as if they were children and he a favoured uncle. His fingers trail along the marble and he smiles.
Cornelius is finally home.
A spell of confusion makes sure that all suspicion falls away from the vessel, Cedric, and Cornelius enjoys the fawning of the prince - how pretty a thing to destroy - and the impotent anger of the servant. There is something off about the boy, but Cornelius is not really interested in small lives like that. He needs to expand, to drive these people and their ridiculous king from his castle - Camelot will be his once more.
The boy attacks him, throwing the truth like knives, and the vessel reacts; they are flailing about like children. He lets it continue only because he enjoys the misery on the boy's face. Pandora's tragedy plays out magnificently in the desperation of his childish blows. It does not take long for the prince to intervene, throwing his unruly servant into the dungeon. The boy is screaming and raging, but no one cares to hear him.
Cornelius smiles.
+
Cedric wakes to the cold, hard surface of a dungeon cell and figures that Merlin must have won. Cornelius Sigan didn't seem like the sort of man who would leave witnesses. Stretching and assessing his wounds, he finds that he is surprisingly whole, if a little bruised, and thanks his lucky stars.
"They want to execute you," says a voice from beyond the bars. Of course, nothing is ever that easy.
There is really nothing to say to that. He's lived his life on the verge of this eventuality, always hoping for the break that would change things, but knowing deep down that people don't change by doing what they've always done. Change doesn't just happen.
"Of course," he says, leaning against the wall of the dungeon. It's an enormous cell, bigger than most of the houses he's lived in.
Merlin leans forward, into the small patch of light from one of the torches. "A lot of people died because of your greed. You deserve to be executed." He sounds like he's trying to justify something to himself.
Cedric laughs. "My greed, the prince's inability to listen to you, or perhaps, just perhaps, some of that blame belongs to you and your secrets. Admit it, Merlin, you are here to make sure that I don't cut a deal with anyone."
Merlin shakes his head, anguish written all over his face. Cedric notes the absence of the words - he's not denying his purpose. "Don't worry, I'm not going to tell your precious prince about the-" he makes a swishy gesture, no point in accidentally alerting the guards. He doesn't mention that the prince would probably not believe him if he were to accuse Merlin, although there is always the king. He's heard stories about the way Uther reacts to the word magic.
"I'm just..." Merlin sighs. He's probably not a bad person, freaky magic powers notwithstanding, and Cedric feels some kind of kinship what with the concealment and the lying. "I want to know why he trusted you."
Cedric wonders if the prince ever did trust him. Probably only so far as it helped him get to Merlin, who swallowed every last insult like it meant something to him personally. Those two he will never fully understand, but he doubts they will either, so it's not like he's behind the curve here.
"Why don't you ask him that?"
Merlin scrunches up his face. "He's not talking to me."
Interesting. Cedric laughs. "Of course, what did you do, mess up his favourite tunic?"
Merlin sighs, and something seems to be breaking. "I do everything, not that he'd know. I just save his life and wash his socks and kill-"
He clams up tighter than a nun. That's the crux of it then, someone died and that death hovers between them, a spectre of uncertainty. An exorcism might help. Cedric knows a guy who knows a priest-
"He talked about you."
It's not a lie, not really. Cedric doesn't know why he said it or why it matters that Merlin's face lights up, but he has a feeling. Sometimes instinct is the only thing between a thief and the blade of an axe.
"Yeah, you know, how incompetent you were, how annoyed he was. Wouldn't shut up about it. Merlin this and Merlin that and oh, you're a much better servant than Merlin. It was really quite disgusting."
Merlin's lips twitch. "Was it now?"
Cedric allows himself a grin. "Yeah, and then he was all 'Cedric! I am going to miss you when Merlin's had his rest and comes back to work, I really will.' You see, I was quite impressive." Cedric taps his nose, as if to indicate a great insight.
"I just bet you were." There's a glimmer in Merlin's eyes, something golden and warm. Cedric tries not to hope.
He modulates his face to show a serious expression. "Truly, Merlin," he says, his voice grave, "if I have learned anything of the prince then it is that he does not say what he means, and rarely means what he says when it comes to you."
Merlin frowns, unmoving. "He replaced me."
The bitterness startles a genuine laugh out of Cedric. Of all the things. "Replaced you? It's not the servant you are that matters to him, not even if that is what you think you should be. You are a terrible servant even at your best."
"Thanks, really," Merlin says, a little haughty.
"What can I say? I think it serves none of us to pretend he keeps you around for the service." He's taken his shot, now he just has to let it settle. "Now, if you could leave me to my fate, that would be lovely."
Cedric stretches luxuriously on his mat of straw that smells like sweat and fear. He doesn't watch Merlin walk away; he does hear the clink of metal on stone and smiles. He's terrible with a lockpick, but a man can always learn.
Locus of Control | PG | Cedric, Merlin 2x01 tag
Cedric knows people, and he knows how to get what he wants.
Locus of Control
Cedric is a great thief.
Well, to be brutally honest, he's a barely adequate thief. His fingers have gone nimble from years of training, but he's still no good with a lockpick and he's never been the stealthy type. There is one thing he excels at though, and that's reading people. Manipulating them. He can talk a Lady into giving him all her rings and a kiss to the cheek for his trouble. He can make a Knight turn over his armour and sword to him and a thank you on top.
It takes him only a good two days to get the measure of Arthur.
A man like Arthur trusts only in two things. One is that he makes or breaks his own destiny, that in fact, there is no destiny but what he creates and earns for himself. The second is that this is also true for everyone else. Arthur, as a prince and a knight, can't get his mind around the idea that other people have chains upon their actions, responsibilities and secrets and bonds that wrap them up tight and make them do stupid and horrible things.
His manservant is one of those people.
Cedric can tell from a distance that there is something odd between them, some kind of strange imbalance that's not like servitude at all. Merlin looks at the prince with an expression that is so complex Cedric has a hard time figuring it out. Devotion, need, guilt, fear, insolence, but deeper than that a sort of resigned acceptance, like Merlin can't possibly imagine being anywhere else, even though he may not have chosen this for himself.
It's a way in. The heart of the servant is deep and heavy with unspoken things, and Cedric can be sure to drive a wedge there. Merlin is already unbalanced and Arthur is a fairly simple man - it should not be too hard to earn his good graces. Cedric smiles and distracts the servant enough to loosen the girth of Arthur's horse. This should prove to be an easy haul after all.
+
Cedric is not a hunter.
This hasn't exactly been a problem in his life so far, what with growing up in cities all over the country and meeting nothing bigger than dogs in the alleys behind pubs where the leftover food doesn't smell too rotten yet. A boar as big as a house is something out of nightmares, impossible and slightly surreal.
Stumbling all over himself to get away is nothing like cowardice, it's the instinct that's kept him alive all these years.
What happens next is just as impossible. A spear launches at the boar, sending the animal shrieking and crashing to the ground before it can reach the prince - who looks only slightly put out that he missed the chance to throw himself under the beast and slice up its belly with his belt knife. Arthur seems like the sort, heroically stupid and not at all in tune with physical reality. The thing is, there is no one where that spear came from except Merlin, whose eyes glow gold and who looks oddly guilty and resigned, and oh, yes, now it all makes sense.
A moment passes in which he thinks to out Merlin's secret and get rid of him that way, but Cedric isn't inhuman. Whatever Merlin wants or plans or hopes for, serving the prince like he couldn't kill him with so little as a thought, is none of his business. He just wants the jewels. Besides, if he unravels this strange, dense thing between the prince and the sorcerer - and really, one has to admire the guts - Cedric does not want to be caught in the crossfire.
"Who threw that?" Arthur asks, and Cedric knows that this is his opening, because Merlin will never admit to his power, not like this. If his expression is any indication, he's used to keeping these sort of things to himself.
Great. Time to seize the moment.
+
Cedric knows nothing about the chores of a manservant, but he does know about people. He asks around in an unassuming way, wearing a hapless expression, and gets a ridiculous breakfast tray sent up while three maids and two serving boys are fluttering away to fulfil the prince's daily orders. Delegation is a beautiful thing.
The anteroom is full of Merlin's things, the quality of the cloth not fit for a prince and obviously worn to pieces. A couple of books Cedric can't read are stacked next to the cot, with drawings of the human body that make him wish he hadn't eaten earlier - tasting the samples of meats and cheese for Arthur's breakfast. He'd made up a fairly ridiculous story to conquer the heart of the chief cook, but his face had done the trick: by the time he was done, the woman looked like she might want to adopt him.
When he opens the heavy door, Arthur sits in his chair, a frown indicating that he's thinking rather deeply - not surprising exactly, but a good job to remind Cedric not to underestimate the prince. That kind of thing can lose a guy a hand. Or a head.
"Sire," he says, eyes cast to the floor, "your breakfast."
It's hard to watch someone's expression while pretending to look at the tips of one's boots and yet inexpendable in situations like this. Arthur appears confused, frown deepening, and he orders the large plate to be set down in front of him.
"Where's Merlin?" Just an inquiry, innocent and not even half-interested. Cedric fights a smile.
He sets out the delicious cuts of meat, the fruit and the fresh, fragrant bread. Arthur's eyes follow his hands as he works. Good. "I fear he is still asleep, my Lord. The hunt yesterday must have been too much. He looks a little frail."
There's a trace of that sympathetic expression again, something layered and unfitting for royalty, something genuine that gets shuttered up so quick Cedric isn't sure he's really seen it. Well, if that isn't something to work with. Playing on Arthur's concern for Merlin should be the easiest thing in the world, if he can give the prince an excuse to hide it in their strange abusive language.
+
The expression is back on Arthur's face when Merlin runs out of the stables, and Cedric knows his window of time is fairly short here. What Arthur doesn't understand is that Merlin could never decide to leave, he's so tied up in this arrogant man, completely and almost painfully devoted - it's visible to everyone but the prince. Oh well, he's seen stranger things in the brothels of Mercia.
"May I make a suggestion, Sire?" Cedric is not a cruel man and he feels kind of bad for stumbling into this, whatever it is.
Arthur's eyes are still on the door, his face a puzzled mask. "What is it?"
Cedric thinks about the lies he tells and the truths he sees, thinks about Arthur's conviction that a man is what he makes himself and what that means for Cedric, for Merlin, possibly for Camelot. "Just that, perhaps, I shall cover his duties for as long as is needed and no longer. I do not wish to replace him."
The eyes of the prince are still focused somewhere else when he nods and smiles. "Sounds like a splendid idea, now, let's get the horses back here before someone thinks to steal them."
+
The magic seeps into him like ice-water and freezes his soul into a small, terrified ball. Cornelius Sigan feels like oil and hard iron, slick and merciless. Cedric keeps himself quiet and tries not to see, not to feel, but it's impossible.
Cornelius Sigan is giving him a ringside seat to the destruction of Camelot.
+
The walls of Camelot speak to him. This is home and it welcomes him. The walls tell tales of the dark days that were, of the dark days that might be, and they rejoice in his presence as if they were children and he a favoured uncle. His fingers trail along the marble and he smiles.
Cornelius is finally home.
A spell of confusion makes sure that all suspicion falls away from the vessel, Cedric, and Cornelius enjoys the fawning of the prince - how pretty a thing to destroy - and the impotent anger of the servant. There is something off about the boy, but Cornelius is not really interested in small lives like that. He needs to expand, to drive these people and their ridiculous king from his castle - Camelot will be his once more.
The boy attacks him, throwing the truth like knives, and the vessel reacts; they are flailing about like children. He lets it continue only because he enjoys the misery on the boy's face. Pandora's tragedy plays out magnificently in the desperation of his childish blows. It does not take long for the prince to intervene, throwing his unruly servant into the dungeon. The boy is screaming and raging, but no one cares to hear him.
Cornelius smiles.
+
Cedric wakes to the cold, hard surface of a dungeon cell and figures that Merlin must have won. Cornelius Sigan didn't seem like the sort of man who would leave witnesses. Stretching and assessing his wounds, he finds that he is surprisingly whole, if a little bruised, and thanks his lucky stars.
"They want to execute you," says a voice from beyond the bars. Of course, nothing is ever that easy.
There is really nothing to say to that. He's lived his life on the verge of this eventuality, always hoping for the break that would change things, but knowing deep down that people don't change by doing what they've always done. Change doesn't just happen.
"Of course," he says, leaning against the wall of the dungeon. It's an enormous cell, bigger than most of the houses he's lived in.
Merlin leans forward, into the small patch of light from one of the torches. "A lot of people died because of your greed. You deserve to be executed." He sounds like he's trying to justify something to himself.
Cedric laughs. "My greed, the prince's inability to listen to you, or perhaps, just perhaps, some of that blame belongs to you and your secrets. Admit it, Merlin, you are here to make sure that I don't cut a deal with anyone."
Merlin shakes his head, anguish written all over his face. Cedric notes the absence of the words - he's not denying his purpose. "Don't worry, I'm not going to tell your precious prince about the-" he makes a swishy gesture, no point in accidentally alerting the guards. He doesn't mention that the prince would probably not believe him if he were to accuse Merlin, although there is always the king. He's heard stories about the way Uther reacts to the word magic.
"I'm just..." Merlin sighs. He's probably not a bad person, freaky magic powers notwithstanding, and Cedric feels some kind of kinship what with the concealment and the lying. "I want to know why he trusted you."
Cedric wonders if the prince ever did trust him. Probably only so far as it helped him get to Merlin, who swallowed every last insult like it meant something to him personally. Those two he will never fully understand, but he doubts they will either, so it's not like he's behind the curve here.
"Why don't you ask him that?"
Merlin scrunches up his face. "He's not talking to me."
Interesting. Cedric laughs. "Of course, what did you do, mess up his favourite tunic?"
Merlin sighs, and something seems to be breaking. "I do everything, not that he'd know. I just save his life and wash his socks and kill-"
He clams up tighter than a nun. That's the crux of it then, someone died and that death hovers between them, a spectre of uncertainty. An exorcism might help. Cedric knows a guy who knows a priest-
"He talked about you."
It's not a lie, not really. Cedric doesn't know why he said it or why it matters that Merlin's face lights up, but he has a feeling. Sometimes instinct is the only thing between a thief and the blade of an axe.
"Yeah, you know, how incompetent you were, how annoyed he was. Wouldn't shut up about it. Merlin this and Merlin that and oh, you're a much better servant than Merlin. It was really quite disgusting."
Merlin's lips twitch. "Was it now?"
Cedric allows himself a grin. "Yeah, and then he was all 'Cedric! I am going to miss you when Merlin's had his rest and comes back to work, I really will.' You see, I was quite impressive." Cedric taps his nose, as if to indicate a great insight.
"I just bet you were." There's a glimmer in Merlin's eyes, something golden and warm. Cedric tries not to hope.
He modulates his face to show a serious expression. "Truly, Merlin," he says, his voice grave, "if I have learned anything of the prince then it is that he does not say what he means, and rarely means what he says when it comes to you."
Merlin frowns, unmoving. "He replaced me."
The bitterness startles a genuine laugh out of Cedric. Of all the things. "Replaced you? It's not the servant you are that matters to him, not even if that is what you think you should be. You are a terrible servant even at your best."
"Thanks, really," Merlin says, a little haughty.
"What can I say? I think it serves none of us to pretend he keeps you around for the service." He's taken his shot, now he just has to let it settle. "Now, if you could leave me to my fate, that would be lovely."
Cedric stretches luxuriously on his mat of straw that smells like sweat and fear. He doesn't watch Merlin walk away; he does hear the clink of metal on stone and smiles. He's terrible with a lockpick, but a man can always learn.