DISCLAIMER:
The characters in Merlin
(BBC) belong to Shine
Television and the BBC, etc., i.e., not me.
I'm just borrowing them for a
while to spin a tale
Unforgivable
By firewolf
May 2009
@>;-'-
Merlin never understood why of all
the insults he ever exchanged with Arthur, the man always reacted badly
when he was called an ‘arse’, or worse a ‘royal arse’. He figured out
within days of his new job as the Prince’s manservant that ‘prat,’ or
even ‘ass’ were safer and much more acceptable insults. ‘Royal ass’ was
even okay. Depending on Arthur’s mood, sometimes it even amused him
when Marlin called him a ‘prat’; but never ‘arse.’ That was strictly a
no-no.
No one would tell him why though. It was apparently a taboo subject
within Camelot. And a tale Merlin only started to uncover when he was
digging through old records in the library and found a tiny passage on
the history of King Uther’s reign, and how he had once sent an eighteen
year old Arthur to Mercia as a hostage while Camelot was forced to tear
down their fortifications at the borders of their lands.
When asked, the Dragon for once dropped all his riddles and told him
the entire sordid story.
*~*~*
The Saxon
lords had been very pleased with the boy. The Prince’s futile efforts
to resist excited them and fired their lust enough to repeatedly fuck
him throughout the night. But still it wasn't enough. They asked and
Bayard allowed the Saxons to 'borrow' Uther's heir without any qualms.
Mercia's King even accompanied them as an honoured guest that morning
to watch as they brought their new whore back to their encampment nude,
draped stomach over the lap of the leader, mouth gagged and with his
arms securely chained behind him.
When they
arrived at the encampment, the Saxon leader rode his horse around the
tents to proudly parade their nude prize to the lustful and
anticipating gaze of his men, who were quick to notice the moist trails
that leaked from an obviously freshly fucked arse and dripped down the
boy’s legs. The Saxon leader's mailed hand also alternately patted the
firm pink fleshed buttocks of his squirming captive and suggestively
stroked a finger or two into his drooling pucker. By the time he
stopped his horse near the central fire the entire Saxon camp was
howling and burning with want for the whore they were sure their leader
was about to offer to them.
“Men, we
regret to announce that we shall be leaving these lands without the
plunder we had hoped to reap.” There were only some small murmurs of
discontent at this, but the Saxon leader knew there were little thought
for matters like that when he had all attention focussed on his
squirming prisoner. “However, we have been offered some small
recompense for our journey. Some light entertainment with this rare
treasure.” He slapped the bare rump under his hand, “a *royal* arse for
the sharing, the young Prince of Camelot himself and a right good fuck.”
Raucous
laughter greeted his words, and the boy over his lap stopped
struggling. “I’m sorry to say though that he was only lent to us, and
we’ll have to give him back in fair enough shape.” The Saxon leader
grinned as he once more inserted two fingers into his captive's moist
puckered opening and twisted them within the writhing boy, much to the
crowd's shouts of delight. “So we’ll show him a gentle touch,
won’t we lads?”
The jeers
and cheering was almost deafening. The commander grinned at the eager
faces looking up at him even as he felt the boy trembling under his
hand.
“Have at
him then, lads.” He pushed the boy off his lap and into the eager
clutching hands of his men. “Let’s show him how strong and commanding
Saxon men can be, eh?”
Uther's
son practically disappeared under the sea of men. The Saxons lost no
time in dropping the desperately struggling boy on his back and
catching his flailing legs to hold them high and widespread while the
first two men stripped him of his gag and fell upon him.
*~*~*
When he
first watched the Saxons in their entertainment, Bayard honestly
thought they were going to eventually kill Uther's heir. The Saxons had
quickly got themselves organized as soon as the fucking began. Each man
taking their pleasure at their own pace till satiated before moving off
to be orderly replaced by the next in line.
Bayard
reminded himself that the Saxon commanders agreed to depart within two
weeks. And knowing the young prince would remain their camp whore till
then, Bayard truly wondered if he'd have anything left to reclaim by
the time they left.
However,
the Saxons were mindful of Bayard's wish to keep him alive, and so they
monitored the boy's condition. And their men too paid attention to his
health, backing off whenever he fainted and waiting for him to rest and
regain consciousness before they'd start again. Additionally, they gave
their whore regular periods of rest twice a day during which he was
assisted with his toilet, was given food and water and allowed some
unmolested sleep time. They even regularly had his sorely abused body
wiped clean and smeared with healing ointments. After all, their whore
was a beautiful young man, and he was far more enticing when clean and
gleaming with the oils they'd use on his skin. Still, Bayard could well
guess it was a hellish experience.
By the
time the last of the Saxons left and they handed back Camelot's Prince,
Bayard was just glad to find him still alive. And he could see that he
would need to heal and rebuild the boy's strength before his own men
could begin to enjoy their camp whore too. Then again, unlike the
Saxons, Bayard wasn't in a hurry. After all, it would take months for
Uther to demolish the fortifications. During which time, Bayard
generously reasoned that the young prince didn’t need to service his
men at the exhaustive pace employed upon him by the Saxons.
But Uther
didn’t need to know that. Camelot’s King would have his men work faster
if given an incentive to. And if belief that his son and heir might be
fucked to death, if he took too long to tear down those annoying
fortifications, speeded his efforts, all the better. Still, Bayard
didn't really mind if Uther took his time. His boy was quite a
delectable little morsel.
*~*~*
Word of
Arthur's treatment at the hands of Mercia's Saxon allies eventually
filtered back to Camelot nearly a week after the Saxon's departure.
Uther hadn't really wanted to verify the rumours, but a query to Mercia
returned with a letter accompanied by the torn and come stained clothes
Arthur had worn when he left Camelot.
The King
was in a towering fury to learn that the three Saxon leaders had raped
Arthur in Bayard's tent on his first night in the Mercian camp. It was
even worse to hear that the Saxons had further brought his son back to
their own encampment to share him with their soldiers for the two weeks
it took them to organize a march to depart. 'A recompense,' Bayard had
claimed in the letter, 'for denying them the plunder which they could
have had from attacking Camelot, I had to offer them something else of
Camelot's to plunder.'
Uther had
fumed and yelled as he threw Arthur's ruined clothes into the fire. But
he could do nothing else. Even knowing his son was now in Bayard's
encampment probably also relentlessly entertaining its soldiers on his
knees or on his back, Uther's hands were tied. Camelot's forces were
too weak to threaten Mercia with war, not while Bayard could easily
call back his Saxon allies; allies who at the end of this could
possibly then permanently claim his son as a slave.
All Uther
could do was marshal more men to tear down the fortifications Bayard
objected to. And it was slow work. It had taken them six months to
build the fortifications. They were barely three weeks into demolishing
them. And it was already three weeks too long for Arthur.
*~*~*
Despite
the urgency, it still took Camelot four months to tear down the
fortifications to Bayard's liking. He allowed a single gesture of
kindness when he released Uther's son. Sending him from his camp site
in a covered litter the knights of Camelot were only too happy to seize
and carry once they were assured it held their Prince. One of the
knights rode ahead to inform the King that his son still lived, and to
advise his Liege to exercise patience. That he should under no
circumstance fling apart the curtains of the litter upon his son's
arrival, so as to afford their Prince some dignity he had been so
starkly robbed of while in Mercia's care.
For all
his earlier errors in judgement, Uther listened this time. The covered
litter allowed the King and Gaius a welcomed measure of privacy as they
treated Arthur’s many strains and injuries which were stark evidence of
his activity during those long months. And they carefully didn’t let
anyone else see the Prince during his covalence back in his own rooms
after they carried him back to Camelot.
Arthur
didn’t speak to his father when he first woke and beheld him sitting by
his side and holding his hand. He didn’t need to. Over the last four
months Uther was only too aware of his part in what was done to his
son. And that it was unforgivable.
"I'm
sorry, Arthur… Never again; we will be a stronger nation, and build our
strength to a point where something like this will never happen again."
His son's
burning eyes told Uther that Arthur would make that his personal
mission. Less than a year later, Arthur earned the rank of Commander of
Camelot's army. And Uther knew he'd lost his knights. They were
Arthur's knights now and would protect his son even from their King
were he so foolish as to ever again consider letting another kingdom
ask for his son as a hostage.
*~*~*
The next time Merlin walked into Arthur’s chambers and saw his Prince,
it seemed to him that Arthur immediately saw the knowledge of his
humiliation written on his manservant’s face. He had turned away from
Merlin then, his shoulders slightly hunched in anger and defeat.
“It was—refreshing, you know… To interact with someone who didn’t know
the stories.”
“I’m sorry I pried.” Merlin told him sincerely.
The Prince almost snarled his reply. “Don’t pit—”
“Rubbish. How could I ever pity you?” That declaration made Arthur look
up at him in surprise.
Merlin closed the door behind him and stepped into the room. “It was a
horrible, terrible experience, but it did not break you.
“You are the best knight in Camelot and its surrounding kingdoms. Every
single one of your knights would lay their lives on the line for you.
The people of Camelot love and respect you so much that nearly all
would suppress or ignore the existence of this piece of history.
“If you believe that there’s any bad reflection in this past, it falls
not on you. You survived it, and what you are now is a man who has a
right to be proud of who he faces in the mirror.
“And you are a man who will one day be the greatest King in all of
Albion.” Merlin knows that the firm confidence and sincerity behind his
words has left Arthur quite breathless and maybe a bit self conscious.
But he really can’t help himself. He believed that strongly in Arthur.
Arthur breaks the moment by turning away. “Well—you’re late, so if
you’re quite done with trying to pick up on gossip about your Prince—”
“Who would dare carry tales about their Prince?” Merlin pouts as he
responds immediately. “Besides, there’s never any good gossip on you
because you’re boring. Sir Kay on the other hand—”
“Boring? Me?” Arthur glared at him in shock. “I’ll have you know I lead
a very interesting life.”
“But it’s not juicy enough to make the rounds of the gossip circles.”
Merlin told him woefully as he turned away casually to begin picking up
around the room. “And I never have anything to add of course since
there’s never anything interesting to share about you.
“You should hear the tale about Sir Kay, a rabbit and a buckle…”
They easily fell back into their regular banter; the tale of the past,
forgotten between them. Or so Arthur would believe.
*~*~*
Merlin could not forget nor let the matter stand un-avenged. The story
changed little of his opinion of his Prince, though it did raise a
blaze of anger in his heart for Uther, the Mercian King and the Saxons.
Uther, Merlin could reason had probably been punished enough with
guilt, and with the knowledge that the Knights of Camelot were
*Arthur’s* even if they still listened to their King. Mercia and the
Saxons on the other hand…
Given the passage of time, Merlin decided that this called for
something subtle. And despite Gaius’ scepticism, he could do subtle,
damn it. He just needed to work on it.
It was nearly three months later before Merlin saw the results from a
late night session of spell casting under the dragon's gleeful eyes.
Gaius gave Merlin a pointed arch of an eye brow when word came to
Camelot that Mercia wanted to negotiate a formal treaty of peace. The
statesmen in Uther and Arthur both prevented their outright rejection
of the offer. Despite the history between them, Camelot was willing to
hear what Mercia had to say.
After the messenger departed, Gaius had practically dragged Merlin back
to his quarters for a round of interrogation. “Good Lord, Merlin? What
did you do?”
“Nothing that they did not deserve,” he didn’t bother denying his
involvement. “I just found this fascinating little curse that
encourages pestilence and a few other interesting things which would
cause crop failure and a rise of vermin.
“I hear that Mercia’s almost emptied their coffers trying to feed their
people, and that their outlying lands are being encroached upon,
especially by the Saxons.
“Not that the Saxons are doing all that much better themselves since
they have to resort to stealing from their neighbours.”
Gaius opened his mouth, but thought about it and closed it again while
he took a deep breath. “I suppose you heard the tale of Arthur’s shame.”
“I’d not likely call it that.” Merlin snorted angrily. “It’s more a
tale of Uther’s error or Mercia’s dishonourable conduct.”
“Bayard would have to humble himself quite drastically if he expects
any help from Camelot,” Gaius' tone was neutrally conversational.
“Good.” The young warlock was quite smug. “And that’s no surprise when
Camelot has had an excellent harvest recently, while Mercia’s other
neighbours really don’t have much to spare at all.”
“You know, young man,” Gaius told him quite solemnly. “There are times
when you—when the extent of your powers just frightens me.”
Merlin let out a weak laugh. “In all honesty, I sometimes frighten
myself too.”
*~*~*
The dragon had been extraordinarily proud of him when it had sat as
witness to the spells Merlin used to attack those distant nations.
However, there was no way Merlin couldn’t know that his meddling would
lead to the deaths of many of the common folk of Mercia and the Saxons
as they tried to weather this sudden deluge of natural disasters where
nature seemingly turned against their kingdoms.
But Merlin had come to realise then that he would do anything for
Arthur. This revenge had been a long time coming, and Merlin would have
the Mercian King humbled and grovelling to Camelot.
However, Merlin didn’t know that the Mercian delegation would be
further humiliate as a side product of another’s manipulation; that
they would be thrown into the dungeons for attempting to poison Arthur
though failing to, since Merlin drank the poison instead. And he also
didn’t know that Arthur would justify Merlin’s faith in his Prince by
defying his father to depart Camelot so as to look for a flower to save
his manservant’s life.
But all that was another story.
~end~