Chapter Text
Arthur had been away from the castle for just about a week and a half when it started. He was off patrolling… somewhere… or doing prince-y things that Merlin really didn’t care for. Whatever he was doing, he wasn’t in Camelot and he wasn’t allowed to take Merlin with him; Uther’s orders. Merlin would have ignored the King and gone anyway… but he didn’t think two weeks with the strongest knights Camelot had to offer would do Arthur much harm. And if he did get himself into trouble then… well, some such message from fate would appear, wouldn’t it? What use was destiny if it didn’t at least help out every once in a while?
Besides, Gaius was struggling a little, it was nearing the hotter months and he couldn’t very well rush to the lower town when the baker’s wife was two minutes away from giving birth, could he? It was rather nice, actually, not to have to be up at the crack of sparrow-fart every morning with breakfast in hand, spouting yes, milord, no, milord, you’ve a meeting in twenty minutes, milord.
It was quite refreshing. Of course, he was still a servant in the Royal Household of Camelot so when he wasn’t assisting Gaius, he was doing the laundry or helping in the kitchens—which he enjoyed, even if it was the menial task of peeling a hundred potatoes, give or take. It was a repetitive and easy task; besides, Merlin had always taken quite fondly to cooking.
He’d finished his castle duties for the morning and was just on his way to dole out the nobility's medicines when everything went careening downhill.
He was passing through the knight’s quarters, just done delivering Sir Oswold his pain relief potion—he had an old battle wound that plagued him occasionally—when he bumped rather unceremoniously right into a group of knights. The rest of the medicines went crashing to the ground, vials splintering and liquid splattering all over the man's boots.
“Watch where you’re walking, boy,” one sneered. Glancing up, Merlin recalled his name was Sir Thomas, renowned throughout the serving staff for his short temper. “Look what you’ve done, you idiot! These boots cost more than your life!”
Merlin really hadn’t meant to say anything. Really, he hadn’t, but he was sick and tired of being treated like a fool! It wasn’t his fault the dumb knight was stood right in the middle of the hallway, was it?
“Perhaps if you and your friends hadn’t been loitering around like a bad smell—”
“What did you just say to me?”
And he really, really hadn’t meant to repeat it.
But the, ‘Apologies, my Lord, allow me to make amends’, had shifted on its way from his brain to his mouth and turned into a spat out, “I said if you hadn’t been loitering around like a particularly nasty stench then this wouldn’t have happened. Maybe, if you’d been out training like you’re meant to be at this time of day—”
And that’s when Sir Thomas hit him.
~*~
Half an hour later, Merlin found himself in the middle of the throne room. The left side of his face stinging like no tomorrow and he had been shoved viciously to his knees by the other knights who’d been with Sir Thomas. Sirs Cassius and Ronan were two truly, absolutely lovely fellows. And it really did show, what with how they’d so kindly dragged Merlin all the way up three flights of stairs, accidentally dropped him. Twice. Not to mention how they’d thrown him so nicely at Uther’s feet.
Yeah, so far Merlin’s Wednesday was looking really promising.
“Sir Thomas?” Uther asked, glancing at Merlin with an offhand sigh that seemed to say what’s he done now?
“This—” Thomas struggled for a moment, face screwed up in thought, before exclaiming proudly, “halfwit—”
Nice, Merlin thought, good one. Very original.
“I think we all know how much of an imbecile my son’s manservant is, Sir Thomas,” Uther cut in amusedly.
Merlin sighed as a ripple of laughter circled the hall at the King’s comment.
“What is it he’s done now?”
Sir Thomas turned to raise an eyebrow at Merlin, then, with a slimy smirk he said. “This boy insulted my honour as one of your Knights, my Lord. Not only did he insult me—Sirs Cassius and Ronan can attest—but, he had the gall to purposefully throw medicine all over me and ruin my new training boots—” He shoved out a foot and presented the obviously well-worn and scratched leather to the King, who set Merlin with a glare. “Not to mention, wasting Gaius’ tinctures… I would’ve let it go, your Majesty, had he not taken your son’s name in vein.”
“Wait, hang on a minute—” Merlin started.
“Silence, boy,” Uther snapped. “You’ve no authority here. Cassius? Ronan? Is this true.”
“Certainly, your Majesty. He was rude, said things far above his station and—” Sir Cassius began, only to be cut off gruffly by Sir Ronan.
“—he insulted all of us, Sire. And when we reminded him of his place, he only—”
“That did not happen!” Merlin called out, now thoroughly pissed off.
In hindsight, he probably should’ve just stayed quiet, if Morgana’s obvious cringing and head-shaking was anything to go by.
“Alright, I’ve heard enough,” Uther stared Merlin down and with an air of finality said, “you will serve Sirs Thomas, Cassius and Ronan until Arthur returns. You will not insult them any further, and should you do so, then they are free to decide any punishment for you, is that clear?”
Merlin gaped at him for a moment, looking between all the knights, before realising there really was no use. He gave a resigned nod of his head.
“Of course, my Lord.”
Uther smiled placatingly at the knights. “I trust you are mollified?”
~*~
They certainly were not mollified.
Merlin had been allowed to finish off his physician duties before attending to the knights, which gave him a few hours of not-so peace and quiet. Firstly, he got an earful from Gaius.
“I’ve told you time and time again, boy, when will you learn that Arthur lets you get away with far more than he should? You’d better act the model servant, or I don’t doubt you’ll be in the stocks again!”
Although, thankfully that had been accompanied by careful application of a soothing salve for his bruised face. He’d grinned sheepishly at his guardian and earned a fondly exasperated look before ducking out of the room with the new batch of medicine.
Hardly half an hour later Morgana and Gwen were chiding him shrilly, and he really didn’t need that. He’d waited it out for around ten minutes before giving them a pleading look, to which they caved instantly.
“Oh, Merlin,” she gasped, in that overly ginger way of hers, “what are we going to do with you?” Gwen had sighed, pulling him into a hug as Morgana had snapped viciously at him.
Despite her harsh words, Morgana’s reaction warmed his heart, he knew it was her way of showing she loved him.
He’d run off as quickly as they’d allowed, hoping to get whatever torture the knights had instore for him over and done with before supper. It wasn’t until the first hit landed, he realised just how nail-on-the-head the word ‘torture’ really was. They’d beaten him until he could barely breathe, then they’d had him attend them throughout the evening. Moving and polishing their armour until his knuckles ached and his arms felt like jelly. They’d tripped him whilst he was serving their meals and struck him again for his clumsiness.
It really had been the worst night in Merlin's existence.
His magic spiked uneasily with every punch, kick, laugh, sneer. But, that, at least, Merlin kept at bay. His entire body ached by the time he’d got back to Gaius’ quarters, and part of him was thankful that the hour was so late. At least Gaius wouldn’t see how haggard he was. He trudged up the rickety stairs into his room, and when he finally sat down on the edge of the bed, he felt his head begin to swim.
He groaned lowly and blinked away the dizzy spots in his vision. His lip was split from the very first blow he’d taken; his teeth had slammed into his lip and he’d tasted the blood before he’d felt it. He knew he was bruised all over, but it wasn’t until he’d discarded his tunic and neckerchief and stood in front of his little mirror that he saw just how badly bruised he was.
The left side of his face was swollen and already beginning to turn purple. Gingerly, he reached up to touch it, only to hiss and yank his hand away, gods, that hurt. His chest and stomach were covered in boot marks and it ached to even look at. He reached for the salve Gaius had given him earlier, and with clenched teeth, applied it to all the bruises. Then, he lay carefully in bed, and hoped to the gods that sleep would come easy.
~*~
It hadn’t. Of course, it hadn’t. The pain had kept him up well into the early hours and by the time he’d finally got to sleep it was almost dawn.
Only two more days of this, he thought resolutely to himself.
Then he forced himself out of bed, biting into his cheek with the effort of it. Everything felt worse today. He didn’t just ache, he couldn’t even begin to describe the pain, but it was agonising. He’d sat and ate breakfast with Gaius, who’d given him the Eyebrow and told him not to ask for any sympathy. Gaius wasn’t to know just how bruised Merlin really was, that would only worry him. So, he smiled over porridge and joked that the bruises weren’t as bad as they looked. Gaius didn’t need to know what Merlin actually meant that they were worse. He wasn’t lying he reasons, simply omitting.
He did, however, sneak a pain relief potion when Gaius wasn’t looking.
And so, began the second day of hell. It wasn’t so bad to begin with, more like a fairly normal day with Arthur… but multiplied tenfold. It seemed the knights had mostly forgotten their anger with Merlin and were more than happy just to mock him and make fun of him now. Like it was all some great laugh. So, he played along. He brought them breakfast, he washed their laundry, he allowed them to use him as a personal target during morning training. Then, he brought them their midday meal, the pain potion wore off, and now they were using him as target practise again.
And that’s when his will to deal with these idiots started to falter.
Merlin really, really needed to learn to keep his big mouth shut.
“Come on, runt, we said we wanted you to run, not trip over your own feet!” Sir Thomas taunted, twisting the throwing knife in his grasp before sending it flying again, just barely avoiding Merlin’s face.
“Seems he’s deaf as well as dumb,” Sir Cassius snorted.
Ronan was the next to speak, although the words that left his mouth hit Merlin harder than anything else they’d said to him. “S’not like we can blame ‘im really, is it? A mutt like ‘im gotta be from a bad litter. ‘S like my hunting dogs, if there’s something wrong with the bitch, there’s something wrong with the pup.”
White hot anger coursed through Merlin’s veins. He felt his fists tighten on the shield’s handle and gritted his teeth, willing himself not to react. He took a breath, and then another, and steadfastly ignored the bullies. They knew nothing about Merlin’s mother, they were just trying to insult him.
“Well,” Thomas sneered, eyeing Merlin lazily before drawling a bored, “there’s definitely something wrong with that bitch. Like mother, like son, is it, mutt?”
Cassius smirked and replied, “I wonder how much of the village she had to fuck to get a bastard like him—”
“Shut up!” Merlin growled, throwing the shield to the ground. “Don’t you dare insult my mother—”
“Well then, little runt, don’t give us reason to insult her,” Sir Thomas said mildly. “Really, it’s a wonder the Prince keeps a mongrel like you around at all—”
Somehow, just the mention of Arthur seemed to have him careening right passed ‘pissed off’ and landed him directly in fucking livid.
“You can say all you want about me, I really don’t give a shit, but you say another bad word against my mother, or Prince Arthur and I’ll—”
“You’ll what, runt?” Sir Thomas glared at him, expression suddenly dropping from jovial to furious. “Just what, exactly, are you going to do to me? Because in case you’ve forgotten, and I really wouldn’t doubt it if you had, you’re the servant here and you cannot speak to me like that.”
Sir Thomas had taken a step forward and before he knew it, Merlin was face first in the dirt, one arm twisted cruelly behind him and held down by a knee to the centre of his back. Merlin’s head was spinning, and his cheek—where it was shoved into the solid ground—was throbbing painfully. He swallowed thickly and held back the groan of pain that collected at the back of his throat.
“Haven’t you heard, mutt? Servants should be seen and not heard,” Sir Thomas whispered, lowering Merlin’s arm and placing it almost delicately on the ground. Merlin made a move to push himself up, but Thomas’ grip only tightened, holding Merlin’s arm flat on the ground, his knee still jammed into his back. “Now, I think I’m going to teach you a lesson. You’re going to learn to hold that tongue of yours before I cut it out myself, do I make myself clear?”
Merlin only glared furiously at the dirt, jaw clenched tightly shut. When he said nothing, there were several long moments of silence, then a heavy leather boot was being pressed against his forearm. He frowned lightly, unsure of what was happening. Then, quick as lightning, whichever of the other knights it was, had raised his foot and stomped down hard on Merlin’s arm. He clamped his mouth shut, refusing to give them any satisfaction. Then the pain was gone, for a flashed second, and the foot slammed back down.
Pain bloomed like fire up his arm, he couldn’t keep the small cry of agony that left him. Tears welled in his eyes, he knew it was broken. He’d heard the bone snap and, gods, did it hurt. He felt sick with the intensity of it, but he refused to back down, he stayed still and waited until the knights had hauled him up before setting Thomas with a dark glare and spitting in his face. Of course, that only made things worse. Sir Cassius held him steady, whilst Thomas and Ronan took turns kicking, hitting, punching him.
“Oh, don’t stop there,” Merlin wheezed sarcastically. “You’re half-way done now, might as well finish the job.”
Thomas grabbed him by the face and drew in close.
“I wasn’t joking about cutting out your tongue, you know. I’m actually rather surprised Prince Arthur hasn’t already. Before he gets you back you will learn your place, runt. Trust me, within a few days I’ll have you trained like one of his hunting dogs. I’m going to have so much fun breaking you in.”
When Merlin caught the wicked glint in his eye, he knew that these men really were either going to kill him or Sir Thomas would make good on his promise. He sucked in a breath and glanced down at the ground, already feeling his resolve start to crumble.
“We’d better take you to see the physician, hmm? Quite a nasty tumble you took just then, wasn’t it?”
Merlin closed his eyes, defeated, and gave a short nod, rasping out, “Yes, Sir Thomas.”
“Good. You really should be more careful going down the stairs, little runt, next time, you might not get back up again.”