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Entry tags:
Merlin - Servitude
Two notes about this one:
1) No, this is not one of the fics from![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
camelot_fleet's Finish-a-thon, but it was sent to beta right before that officially began and I got it back and didn't feel like waiting to post after making the corrections.
2) I'm always a bit wary of OC's as they can so easily become a Mary Sue. That said, this fic is from the POV of an outsider looking in on the mess that is life in Camelot and I think I managed to avoid the "Sue"-trope with this one. I hope.
Title: Servitude
Genre: Gen
Rating: PG-13
Length: 2,325 words
Spoilers: Vague, blink and you’ll miss them for 2.02
Synopsis: Alain has come to serve the prince. At least that was his original intention.
Warnings: My sense of humour.
Disclaimer: I do not own this interpretation of the myths and am making no profit from this.
~~~~~~~~~~
Alain walked carefully across the courtyard, holding his hat tight in his hands. He was not yet inside the castle proper, but he was inside the gates and his mother told him that removing one’s headgear was a sign of respect. He was anxious enough to make a good first impression that he was not going to risk it over something so trivial, thus he held his hat before him as he approached the staircase that would lead him to his fate.
“So you’re it then?” a voice startled him out of his reverie. He turned to find a man sprawled about the bottom three steps and assumed the address had come from him.
He gave him a good look, just in case it was some sort of test, but saw nothing out of the ordinary. He was dressed simply, though he wore only a single boot with his other foot wrapped in a swath of less than pristine bandages. A wooden walking stick lay to his side, along with an empty cup and a near empty bowl. The man picked up the cup, but set it down in disgust when he realized it did not hold what he sought.
Alain fretted that he did not have an offering for the beggar as this was his first day of service and he had yet to receive his wages. The man looked cared for, and was allowed close enough to the castle that he was likely a local character and not a menace, but it still bothered him enough to say, “I’m sorry, I have nothing to give you.”
The man blinked in surprise and Alain feared that was the incorrect response. Instead, the man looked down at himself, then back up at Alain, shielding his eyes from the afternoon sun. “You’re new here, aren’t you?” he asked, humour evident in his tone.
Alain nodded. He still had ample time prior to reporting for his duties, having left quite early to not risk being late, but was uncertain as to if it were proper to converse with the beggar should anyone see him.
The man apparently had enough conversation for them both, however, and laughed, “Let me guess, you’re to serve the prince?”
Alain nodded again, but took a subtle step back just in case the man wished to foist something upon him that would do harm to the royal household. The man was clearly infirm, so the chances of him succeeding were slim, but Alain had his mother’s words running through his head about honour and service and doing your duty whether you were ready to or not. Then again, his mother had never served the royal household, only one of the lesser nobles, so perhaps she spoke things up a bit much to make them sound better.
“It’s my first day,” Alain admitted, finding his voice. There seemed no harm in telling the man that much.
The man leaned back against the steps with a heavy sigh. “Oh, I remember my first day,” he commented in a nostalgic tone. Well, nostalgic until he added, “Pray that you do not end your day as I did. The dungeons are not as much fun as one would have you believe. The stocks can be, up until certain prats supply the onlookers with potatoes and rotten cabbages.”
“You served the royal household?” Alain asked despite himself.
“Served the prince himself,” the man insisted. “Saved his life and was rewarded with the stocks or back-breaking tasks for my troubles.”
Alain looked to the broken man in open disbelief. “You?” he scoffed. It was unkind, but so was lying, so he felt it was only fair.
The man simply nodded. There was an almost playful crinkle to his eyes as he gestured to his injuries and added, “Don’t think I was always this way. I came into service whole and true. This is the fate that awaits those who loyally serve the Pendragons.”
Alain had heard serving royalty was different than serving nobles, but this was absurd. Lord Vortigem could be demanding and, yes, he had gone nights without supper for not tending the horses to his liking, but outright abuse? Surely this man was making preposterous claims and nothing more. “I... I don’t believe you,” he declared, proud that he had kept the tremble in his voice down to barely noticeable.
The man tilted his head to the side, revealing suspiciously finger-shaped bruises along his neck and throat. “Believe what you will,” he shrugged. “Just know that serving the Pendragons is not for the weak or faint of heart.” He picked a stray morsel from his bowl and popped it into his mouth. “There are assassination attempts, insane royalty, death threats and curses, and that’s on top of the daily verbal abuse you shall suffer.”
Alain had heard more than a single story of some of the happenings in the castle and how narrowly many had been avoided. He had thought them stories, nothing more, perhaps made more lively from retellings of bored maids and squires. Seeing someone who so clearly had suffered abuse speak of them warningly, something began to stir deep within his stomach and he feared it was not the leftover cabbage and parsnip bedecked porridge his mother had forced down his gullet before he left for the castle.
“You are but a beggar, why should I believe your words?” he asked doubtingly.
The so-called beggar looked as if he was about to burst into a round of laughter. He looked to his empty cup and bowl, then at his injury, and simply grinned all the wider. “Oh, young man, the first thing you need to learn if you are to work in the castle is to never, ever, make assumptions about one’s position. A beggar could be a prince and a serving maid could be a queen. It all depends on their fancy now, doesn’t it?”
At that moment, a beautiful woman dressed in a simple maid’s dress came darting down the stairs. “There you are!” she exclaimed as if in exasperation. She sighed and her breath blew several of her dark curls away from her face. “Arthur’s in a right fit looking for you!”
Alain straightened at the name. Arthur was the prince and the one he was about to serve. Had he dallied too long and was now delinquent in his duties? He opened his mouth to apologize, but found the woman had paid him no mind, her attentions solely on the beggar instead. She had gathered up the cup and bowl and was currently urging the man to get to his feet, or foot as the case may be.
She sniffed the cup suspiciously and demanded, “Ale?”
“Just a little and Morgana herself watered it down before she gave it to me,” the man defended himself with a pout. “Helped me escape out here as well. Said it was the least she could do since I’ve been all locked up and everything and after saving...”
“I know full well what you did, the entire castle does,” she cut him off. “I also know you weren’t to leave that room without the prince’s explicit permission.”
“Which was never going to come!” the man sighed dramatically. He waved to the world around him and said, “Was what I did so horrible to be denied fresh air and a blue sky?”
“No,” she relented, lowering the cup slightly. “But you know how he is.”
Alain could not believe they were speaking of the prince so bluntly, let alone his less than gentile ways. That feeling in the pit of his stomach grew.
The doors to the castle burst open as the noble in question chose that moment to make his entrance with a bellowed, “Merlin!”
The woman jumped to attention but the injured man just lazed against the steps and offered a yawned, “Yes?”
Alain thought it best not to introduce himself quite yet, especially given the sheer amount of fury visible on the prince’s features as he demanded, “And what do you think you are doing here?”
“Was thinking of escaping, but only made it this far in my weakened condition,” the newly named Merlin replied cheekily.
“I’ll show you weakened,” the prince growled, grabbing the man by the scruff of his neck and hauling him upright. There was a pause, and then a sniff, and then a huffed, “Have you been drinking?”
“Maybe just a little?” Merlin allowed. Alain felt for him as he winced as if in actual pain by the grip on his neck.
The maid seemed to notice as she protested, “Sire!”
The prince turned to her with an exasperated sigh, “Not you too, Gwen. Enabling this idiot will only lead to no good.”
She looked to the cup in her hands and then back to the two men, shaking her head frantically. “Oh, no, sire! I would never... I was just picking these up for him, I swear!”
“Good,” the prince nodded, as if that settled something. It might have, Alain had no understanding of the inner workings of the castle. “I would hate for you to share his fate,” he had continued, and even shook the injured man slightly in emphasis.
“Ow,” Merlin complained even as the maid exclaimed, “Sire, his injuries!”
“Maybe he should have thought of them before his great escape?” the prince mused. Alain could not tell from his angle if he loosened his grip or not, but the supposed servant slumped slightly as he added, “I’ll drag you to Gaius myself if I have to. This will be the last you see of the light of day for quite some time.”
“Even Gaius would have let me out by now,” the soon to be imprisoned man muttered. Alain had no idea who they spoke of, but suspected the man was a force to be reckoned with, perhaps one of the jailors or guards or, worse, one of the men the castle kept to torture others when the royals did not wish to bloody their own hands.
“Gaius will keep you for as long as needed,” the prince countered. “And I will have a man assigned specifically to you, bed-ridden or no, if need be.”
“And this is the thanks I get for saving your life once again?” Merlin sighed. “See if I’m willing to do it for an eighteenth time after this!”
The prince had shifted his grip to the man’s arm and was literally tugging him up the steps now, the maid hastily pushing the walking stick into his hand so he could balance and not fall completely. “You idiot!” the prince swore. “You were nearly killed and you have the gall...”
Merlin turned to Alain, seemingly struggling against the prince’s hold and ignoring the threats of bringing guards to drag him away if need be, to implore him, “Run while you can! You can see for yourself how he treats us – save yourself!”
The prince paused at that, turning to full intensity of his glare on Alain for the first time. “And just who is this whelp? You have him shaking in his boots!”
Alain could not bring himself to speak, trying desperately not to visibly tremble and knowing he was failing miserably. The man, Merlin, as he should honour him with a name even if it was in his own mind, had the courage to speak for him. “He’s my replacement, sire,” he declared, giving Alain a pitying look for his troubles.
“Oh, for...” the prince sighed. He rubbed a hand across his brow and gazed down at Alain once more. “Do I even want to know what he told you?”
Alain finally found his tongue and managed, “He... he said that he served you, sire. Is that true?”
“Unfortunately, yes,” the prince conceded. “If you can call such ineptitude service.”
Alain blinked. If that had been true, then perhaps far more of what the poor, abused man had to say was valid as well.
The prince must have took his resulting silence as the end of the matter as he now resumed his effort to bodily pull his original servant up the steps. Merlin turned to give him a parting look over his shoulder, eyes wide and earnest as he said, “He eats babies too. Had one for supper just last night.”
He stumbled as he was tugged harder and the prince sighed, “For the last time, they are game hens, not baby chickens! After all this time, you would have thought... Wait. Did you just accuse me of cannibalism?” The rest of his words were lost to the sounds of creaking metal and scraping wood as guards dutifully opened the doors for him.
Alain stood there dumbly for a moment, shocked out of his trance when a hand rested softly on his forearm. “He’s not as bad as all that,” the maid insisted.
“Which one?” Alain asked before he could stop himself.
“Either,” she smiled before trotting up the steps.
Alain was not certain he should take her word for it, but neither was he certain he should not just run for it as the other servant had already suggested. The last he heard of the two bickering voices before the doors closed with a resounding thud sounded suspiciously like, “You wouldn’t,” followed by, “Oh yes, I would,” followed by, “Arthur, put me down!”
He stood there for quite some time, debating his choices. He could leave and face his mother’s wrath and embarrass Lord Vortigem and his household for providing a substandard servant, or he could face a potentially far worse fate by serving the prince himself. His decision was made for him when he heard the prince’s echoing voice declare, “Where is that new servant of mine? Is he still standing there? Is he touched in the head? Somebody send him to Gaius and see if he can’t set him right.”
At that, Alain ran.
~~~~~~~~~~
Feedback is always welcomed.
1) No, this is not one of the fics from
camelot_fleet's Finish-a-thon, but it was sent to beta right before that officially began and I got it back and didn't feel like waiting to post after making the corrections.2) I'm always a bit wary of OC's as they can so easily become a Mary Sue. That said, this fic is from the POV of an outsider looking in on the mess that is life in Camelot and I think I managed to avoid the "Sue"-trope with this one. I hope.
Title: Servitude
Genre: Gen
Rating: PG-13
Length: 2,325 words
Spoilers: Vague, blink and you’ll miss them for 2.02
Synopsis: Alain has come to serve the prince. At least that was his original intention.
Warnings: My sense of humour.
Disclaimer: I do not own this interpretation of the myths and am making no profit from this.
~~~~~~~~~~
Alain walked carefully across the courtyard, holding his hat tight in his hands. He was not yet inside the castle proper, but he was inside the gates and his mother told him that removing one’s headgear was a sign of respect. He was anxious enough to make a good first impression that he was not going to risk it over something so trivial, thus he held his hat before him as he approached the staircase that would lead him to his fate.
“So you’re it then?” a voice startled him out of his reverie. He turned to find a man sprawled about the bottom three steps and assumed the address had come from him.
He gave him a good look, just in case it was some sort of test, but saw nothing out of the ordinary. He was dressed simply, though he wore only a single boot with his other foot wrapped in a swath of less than pristine bandages. A wooden walking stick lay to his side, along with an empty cup and a near empty bowl. The man picked up the cup, but set it down in disgust when he realized it did not hold what he sought.
Alain fretted that he did not have an offering for the beggar as this was his first day of service and he had yet to receive his wages. The man looked cared for, and was allowed close enough to the castle that he was likely a local character and not a menace, but it still bothered him enough to say, “I’m sorry, I have nothing to give you.”
The man blinked in surprise and Alain feared that was the incorrect response. Instead, the man looked down at himself, then back up at Alain, shielding his eyes from the afternoon sun. “You’re new here, aren’t you?” he asked, humour evident in his tone.
Alain nodded. He still had ample time prior to reporting for his duties, having left quite early to not risk being late, but was uncertain as to if it were proper to converse with the beggar should anyone see him.
The man apparently had enough conversation for them both, however, and laughed, “Let me guess, you’re to serve the prince?”
Alain nodded again, but took a subtle step back just in case the man wished to foist something upon him that would do harm to the royal household. The man was clearly infirm, so the chances of him succeeding were slim, but Alain had his mother’s words running through his head about honour and service and doing your duty whether you were ready to or not. Then again, his mother had never served the royal household, only one of the lesser nobles, so perhaps she spoke things up a bit much to make them sound better.
“It’s my first day,” Alain admitted, finding his voice. There seemed no harm in telling the man that much.
The man leaned back against the steps with a heavy sigh. “Oh, I remember my first day,” he commented in a nostalgic tone. Well, nostalgic until he added, “Pray that you do not end your day as I did. The dungeons are not as much fun as one would have you believe. The stocks can be, up until certain prats supply the onlookers with potatoes and rotten cabbages.”
“You served the royal household?” Alain asked despite himself.
“Served the prince himself,” the man insisted. “Saved his life and was rewarded with the stocks or back-breaking tasks for my troubles.”
Alain looked to the broken man in open disbelief. “You?” he scoffed. It was unkind, but so was lying, so he felt it was only fair.
The man simply nodded. There was an almost playful crinkle to his eyes as he gestured to his injuries and added, “Don’t think I was always this way. I came into service whole and true. This is the fate that awaits those who loyally serve the Pendragons.”
Alain had heard serving royalty was different than serving nobles, but this was absurd. Lord Vortigem could be demanding and, yes, he had gone nights without supper for not tending the horses to his liking, but outright abuse? Surely this man was making preposterous claims and nothing more. “I... I don’t believe you,” he declared, proud that he had kept the tremble in his voice down to barely noticeable.
The man tilted his head to the side, revealing suspiciously finger-shaped bruises along his neck and throat. “Believe what you will,” he shrugged. “Just know that serving the Pendragons is not for the weak or faint of heart.” He picked a stray morsel from his bowl and popped it into his mouth. “There are assassination attempts, insane royalty, death threats and curses, and that’s on top of the daily verbal abuse you shall suffer.”
Alain had heard more than a single story of some of the happenings in the castle and how narrowly many had been avoided. He had thought them stories, nothing more, perhaps made more lively from retellings of bored maids and squires. Seeing someone who so clearly had suffered abuse speak of them warningly, something began to stir deep within his stomach and he feared it was not the leftover cabbage and parsnip bedecked porridge his mother had forced down his gullet before he left for the castle.
“You are but a beggar, why should I believe your words?” he asked doubtingly.
The so-called beggar looked as if he was about to burst into a round of laughter. He looked to his empty cup and bowl, then at his injury, and simply grinned all the wider. “Oh, young man, the first thing you need to learn if you are to work in the castle is to never, ever, make assumptions about one’s position. A beggar could be a prince and a serving maid could be a queen. It all depends on their fancy now, doesn’t it?”
At that moment, a beautiful woman dressed in a simple maid’s dress came darting down the stairs. “There you are!” she exclaimed as if in exasperation. She sighed and her breath blew several of her dark curls away from her face. “Arthur’s in a right fit looking for you!”
Alain straightened at the name. Arthur was the prince and the one he was about to serve. Had he dallied too long and was now delinquent in his duties? He opened his mouth to apologize, but found the woman had paid him no mind, her attentions solely on the beggar instead. She had gathered up the cup and bowl and was currently urging the man to get to his feet, or foot as the case may be.
She sniffed the cup suspiciously and demanded, “Ale?”
“Just a little and Morgana herself watered it down before she gave it to me,” the man defended himself with a pout. “Helped me escape out here as well. Said it was the least she could do since I’ve been all locked up and everything and after saving...”
“I know full well what you did, the entire castle does,” she cut him off. “I also know you weren’t to leave that room without the prince’s explicit permission.”
“Which was never going to come!” the man sighed dramatically. He waved to the world around him and said, “Was what I did so horrible to be denied fresh air and a blue sky?”
“No,” she relented, lowering the cup slightly. “But you know how he is.”
Alain could not believe they were speaking of the prince so bluntly, let alone his less than gentile ways. That feeling in the pit of his stomach grew.
The doors to the castle burst open as the noble in question chose that moment to make his entrance with a bellowed, “Merlin!”
The woman jumped to attention but the injured man just lazed against the steps and offered a yawned, “Yes?”
Alain thought it best not to introduce himself quite yet, especially given the sheer amount of fury visible on the prince’s features as he demanded, “And what do you think you are doing here?”
“Was thinking of escaping, but only made it this far in my weakened condition,” the newly named Merlin replied cheekily.
“I’ll show you weakened,” the prince growled, grabbing the man by the scruff of his neck and hauling him upright. There was a pause, and then a sniff, and then a huffed, “Have you been drinking?”
“Maybe just a little?” Merlin allowed. Alain felt for him as he winced as if in actual pain by the grip on his neck.
The maid seemed to notice as she protested, “Sire!”
The prince turned to her with an exasperated sigh, “Not you too, Gwen. Enabling this idiot will only lead to no good.”
She looked to the cup in her hands and then back to the two men, shaking her head frantically. “Oh, no, sire! I would never... I was just picking these up for him, I swear!”
“Good,” the prince nodded, as if that settled something. It might have, Alain had no understanding of the inner workings of the castle. “I would hate for you to share his fate,” he had continued, and even shook the injured man slightly in emphasis.
“Ow,” Merlin complained even as the maid exclaimed, “Sire, his injuries!”
“Maybe he should have thought of them before his great escape?” the prince mused. Alain could not tell from his angle if he loosened his grip or not, but the supposed servant slumped slightly as he added, “I’ll drag you to Gaius myself if I have to. This will be the last you see of the light of day for quite some time.”
“Even Gaius would have let me out by now,” the soon to be imprisoned man muttered. Alain had no idea who they spoke of, but suspected the man was a force to be reckoned with, perhaps one of the jailors or guards or, worse, one of the men the castle kept to torture others when the royals did not wish to bloody their own hands.
“Gaius will keep you for as long as needed,” the prince countered. “And I will have a man assigned specifically to you, bed-ridden or no, if need be.”
“And this is the thanks I get for saving your life once again?” Merlin sighed. “See if I’m willing to do it for an eighteenth time after this!”
The prince had shifted his grip to the man’s arm and was literally tugging him up the steps now, the maid hastily pushing the walking stick into his hand so he could balance and not fall completely. “You idiot!” the prince swore. “You were nearly killed and you have the gall...”
Merlin turned to Alain, seemingly struggling against the prince’s hold and ignoring the threats of bringing guards to drag him away if need be, to implore him, “Run while you can! You can see for yourself how he treats us – save yourself!”
The prince paused at that, turning to full intensity of his glare on Alain for the first time. “And just who is this whelp? You have him shaking in his boots!”
Alain could not bring himself to speak, trying desperately not to visibly tremble and knowing he was failing miserably. The man, Merlin, as he should honour him with a name even if it was in his own mind, had the courage to speak for him. “He’s my replacement, sire,” he declared, giving Alain a pitying look for his troubles.
“Oh, for...” the prince sighed. He rubbed a hand across his brow and gazed down at Alain once more. “Do I even want to know what he told you?”
Alain finally found his tongue and managed, “He... he said that he served you, sire. Is that true?”
“Unfortunately, yes,” the prince conceded. “If you can call such ineptitude service.”
Alain blinked. If that had been true, then perhaps far more of what the poor, abused man had to say was valid as well.
The prince must have took his resulting silence as the end of the matter as he now resumed his effort to bodily pull his original servant up the steps. Merlin turned to give him a parting look over his shoulder, eyes wide and earnest as he said, “He eats babies too. Had one for supper just last night.”
He stumbled as he was tugged harder and the prince sighed, “For the last time, they are game hens, not baby chickens! After all this time, you would have thought... Wait. Did you just accuse me of cannibalism?” The rest of his words were lost to the sounds of creaking metal and scraping wood as guards dutifully opened the doors for him.
Alain stood there dumbly for a moment, shocked out of his trance when a hand rested softly on his forearm. “He’s not as bad as all that,” the maid insisted.
“Which one?” Alain asked before he could stop himself.
“Either,” she smiled before trotting up the steps.
Alain was not certain he should take her word for it, but neither was he certain he should not just run for it as the other servant had already suggested. The last he heard of the two bickering voices before the doors closed with a resounding thud sounded suspiciously like, “You wouldn’t,” followed by, “Oh yes, I would,” followed by, “Arthur, put me down!”
He stood there for quite some time, debating his choices. He could leave and face his mother’s wrath and embarrass Lord Vortigem and his household for providing a substandard servant, or he could face a potentially far worse fate by serving the prince himself. His decision was made for him when he heard the prince’s echoing voice declare, “Where is that new servant of mine? Is he still standing there? Is he touched in the head? Somebody send him to Gaius and see if he can’t set him right.”
At that, Alain ran.
~~~~~~~~~~
Feedback is always welcomed.
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I especially liked what Alain thinks of Gaius: "suspected the man was a force to be reckoned with, perhaps one of the jailors or guards or, worse, one of the men the castle kept to torture others when the royals did not wish to bloody their own hands."
Very funny.
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Oh, please, no more long stories - I have too many to finish as it is! *g* Alain was a lot of fun to write though, so maybe he can have a cameo in the background some day?
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I shall continue to imagine Alain hovering in the background of all future fics :D
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I adore stories with OCs looking on our favourite characters. Alain's bewilderment is absolutely charming. Ha, Merlin coming off as a well-loved, somewhat mentally-unstable tramp - heee! I love his mischievousness seen through Alain's eyes. What a scamp *g* And Arthur comes off as a boor (what else is new, hee) and scary as heck.
Gwen is fond, lovely and treats Merlin and Arthur the same \o/\o/\o/ Morgana is a mysterious presence who indulges Merlin. Eeek, I love your gen OT4 <333
And Gaius as the cruel jailor, LOL. I love it that Alain ran, especially after hearing Arthur's dulcet tones. Heeeee.
This fic made me grin so much. Thanks! What a nice pick-me-upper. *glomps*
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I had fun writing Merlin as a brat, Arthur as a protective prat, and Gwen just shaking her head and thinking, "Ah, another day in Camelot..." So very happy you enjoyed it!
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I loved it, it was very funny
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Great job.
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Very happy you liked it! Thank you!
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I hope someone told him to try again when Merlin wasn't tipsy on watered down ale. Lalala
Loved the bickering couple. And Gwen trying to help out.
Great story.
Renee
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Well, maybe he'll have a longer (safer?) life away from the spotlight of the Royals. Lalala
Renee
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Love Gwen trying to reassure him and totally failing. And Gaius the torturer! (Only if you're trying to get away from the exposition, yeah?)
Rule #16 why Merlin is not allowed to drink. Ever.
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This is an example of one of the things that comes to my sleep deprived mind at like 2 am and then stays there for a work day or three until I try to get some of it down. *g*
Also, I'd like to think of it as reason #16 why Merlin should drink more. Think of some of the things he could get up to! It would be awesome (well, until Gaius or Arthur talked him down from them).
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I really loved that you wrote it from Alain's POV. I never realised how weird it must seem for an outsider... all the bantering and bickering! Now, I do... *lol*
“He eats babies too. Had one for supper just last night.”
Just brilliant! Poor Alain! *lol*
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