Merlin - Written in the Scars
[Arthur is king, didn't die at Camlann, and knows about Merlin's magic]
After some visitors arrive at Camelot and Merlin has a bit of a day, Arthur feels the need to check on him. He really should learnt to knock before he barges into Merlin's room (or not).
Notes:
Title taken from The Script's song Written in the Scars.
No specific Merthur, but definitely hints of it if you want to read it that way ;-).
Unbeta'd, all mistakes are my own (and I apologise)!
Angst, Whump, Emotional Whump, Mentions of Injuries (no detail), Mentions of Torture (no detail), Beginnings of Merthur.
Available on AO3 HERE!
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The hour is late and Arthur is moving fast through the corridors of the castle. Druids had arrived earlier in the day asking for Merlin’s help - Emrys’s help. They had a young girl with them who they discovered bound and gagged in a cave - she was refusing to speak, and what little information they’d managed to gather through telepathic communication wasn’t helping. She was clearly in possession of magical abilities, and it would seem she was abandoned to die by magic-fearing parents. Merlin had spent all day working with her and had reported back to Arthur and the Druids, but the king had sensed all the things Merlin wasn’t saying, and now he felt the need to check in with him.
The king doesn’t think twice as he strolls into Merlin’s chambers, heading for the dressing area where the man is likely preparing for bed. He’s just about to call out when he catches a glimpse of the man in question. Completely unaware of his friend’s presence, Merlin’s back is to Arthur as he pulls his undershirt over his head and drops it on the bed. The sight of the exposed skin of Merlin’s back causes Arthur’s words to die in his throat.
Arthur is expecting to see perfect, unmarred skin - maybe the odd mark from their many misdemeanours over the years. What he’s presented with is a collage of scars - some deep-set, some raised, large, small, stretching and criss-crossing and twisting. They come into stark relief and almost glitter in the candlelight as Merlin moves, stretching his arms above his head to work the stiffness out of his muscles and drawing Arthur’s eyes along the slender limbs.
There he finds more scarring. What looks like an old burn covers the whole of one shoulder, clearly continuing over the front of his body. Marks that look very much like rope burn twist around both of Merlin’s slim arms, culminating in a mess of ligature marks around his wrists. Arthur has a moment of sick recognition as he looks to Merlin’s back again - he can place the weapons that caused most of the marks. Whips, blades, fire, arrows… The rest he can only assume are courtesy of falling on something, restraints, and magical wounds.
He follows one scar - almost black in colour - from just above his bony shoulder blades, up his neck along the line of his spine, disappearing into his hairline. Arthur’s gaze catches Merlin’s face in the window, and finds himself locking eyes with him in the reflection.
Merlin whips around, the flash of gold in his eyes just dissipating as his arms instinctively move to cover his chest before he has the wherewithal to snatch his shirt up from his bed and vaguely hold it against his body. His startled voice comes out higher in pitch than normal.
“Don’t you know how to knock?!”
Arthur’s eyes are drawn to his friend’s shoulder, seeking that horrific burn that he’d seen a moment ago. He just catches sight of it before it finishes quietly fading into perfect, pale flesh. His response is instant.
“Stop it.”
“What-?”
“Drop the spell.”
Arthur’s words come out a mixture of commanding king and heartbroken confidante. Merlin freezes, and it occurs to Arthur that given the long history of prejudice against magic in Camelot, his words could have an unintended threatening undertone. He should have tempered his reaction. He deliberately softens his voice.
“I just mean… You don’t have to hide from me.”
Merlin’s searching gaze is anxious. Arthur fights to keep his face somewhere between neutral and softly encouraging.
Neither of them speak for a long moment.
Finally, the king’s quiet words fill the space between them.
“Your - What happened to you, Merlin?”
Merlin shifts, his blue eyes darting to the floor as they flash gold, his hands fidgeting with the screwed up shirt that he’s barely covering his torso with. Slowly, the scars fade back into existence. He clearly tries to be flippant but his voice comes out more sad than jovial.
“You’re going to have to be more specific.”
After a moment of indecision Arthur steps forward, gently liberating the shirt from Merlin’s grasp and tossing it back onto the bed. He stands for a moment appraising the man, who shuffles uncomfortably in his exposure to Arthur’s scrutinising gaze even as he raises his head almost defiantly.
Arthur’s eyes catch on the gruesome ligature marks around Merlin’s wrists. He finds himself reaching for Merlin’s forearm and softly holds it as he appraises the marred skin, the fingertips of his free hand tracing over the scars so tenderly it makes Merlin shudder. It occurs to Arthur that this is a somewhat intimate gesture, but the bond he and Merlin have makes them far more tactile with each other than people would normally expect.
Arthur looks up to meet Merlin’s eyes, a mixture of fear and pain in his own.
“I don’t recognise most of these wounds.”
Uncertainty twists Merlin’s face.
“No, you… You didn’t see how most of them happened.”
Arthur’s eyes close in regret. He takes a deep breath before he meets Merlin’s gaze again.
“I’m sorry I wasn’t there to protect you.”
Surprise crosses Merlin’s face.
“No, Arthur, that’s not - none of it was your fault.“
“Either way, I’m sorry.”
Merlin doesn’t know how to respond. Silence reigns again.
“Tell me about them.”
Merlin’s eyebrows shoot up. “What?”
Arthur pours every ounce of sincerity into his voice that he can muster. “Please tell me. I need to understand - there have been so many times I wasn’t there to help you. After everything we’ve been through, I just want to know you.”
Merlin’s crystal blue eyes are wide, and there’s hesitation in his features.
“I’m not sure you want to know, Arthur.”
Arthur’s heart aches and the pain of distrust burns in his stomach.
“Why, because some of them are from magic?”
Merlin’s eyes widen even further.
“No! Well… I know you’re still getting used to the magic thing, but it’s mostly that -”
Merlin cut’s himself off, his mouth opening and closing soundlessly as his eyes search Arthur’s face for something.
“What?”
Compassion floods Merlin’s features. His voice is gentle when he speaks.
“... Because I don’t want you beating yourself up about them.”
Arthur stares, dumbfounded. He eventually regains his composure enough to respond.
“Well there’s not much you can do about that. I already feel a world of guilt just from seeing them. I just really want - no, I need to understand everything that’s happened to you - to us. We’ve never actually spoken about everything, never really taken the time to process all the things we’ve been through.”
Merlin is quiet, doubt lining his features. Arthur realises what he’s truly asking.
“I’m sorry, I have no right to ask. But please, if you can ever bring yourself to tell me, I will sit and listen through every pain you’ve been forced to bear. I owe you the respect of at least knowing everything that you’ve been through, even if there’s nothing I can do to make up for it.”
The unshed tears in Merlin’s eyes almost make Arthur drag him into an embrace, but he knows that right now it would be more to comfort himself than Merlin. Instead he squeezes the forearm in his grasp and grips the man’s shoulder with his other hand - a gesture he has always used to indicate his support and respect.
Merlin studies him for a moment. Arthur prepares himself for another rejection when the man raises his head decisively.
“It doesn’t bother me. To talk about them, I mean. I just want to be sure it’s not going to push you into a bad place. You’ve got enough going on.”
Arthur’s heart clenches at the consideration Merlin is showing him. Always. Merlin is always about others - particularly Arthur - first and himself last. He raises his head to match his friend’s.
“Merlin, I promise you that this isn’t about self-punishment or whatever else. I want to know you. If you are willing to tell me, I’d be honoured to listen.”
- - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Arthur wants to curl up in a ball. Both seated on the bed, Merlin had started small - “Arrowhead - you were there for that one.” and “No you didn’t know about those ones. I got the stuffing kicked out of me by some of your father’s fan club. Gaius patched me up.”
It soon progressed to “That was Aulfric and Sophia, the Sidhe? You were actually standing right beside me and watched it happen but you were too enchanted to notice anything. That took a really long time to heal. It sometimes still burns, even now. All the scars caused by magic do.”
And eventually they arrived at “I’ve lost count of the number of people who have tried to strangle me or cut my throat” and “Uhhh.. yeah. Those ones… I got taken by some of Morgause’s followers and, um, they didn’t just use normal weapons to make me feel their anger. Wasn’t sure I was going to survive that one, actually.”
Finally they reached the worst of the scars, still vaguely pink and fresh looking. At first, Merlin just shakes his head - “oh a lot’s happened recently” - until finally Arthur’s gentle-but-insistent prodding gets Merlin to release a resigned sigh.
“Do you remember when… um… When I -” Merlin's utter discomfort tells Arthur exactly the event he’s thinking of.
“When Morgana enchanted you to try and kill me?”
“Yeah.”
“You were missing for days.”
“Yeah… well…” Merlin’s distress comes out in his fidgeting. Arthur suddenly feels sick. Still gently holding Merlin’s arm, he runs his fingers along the scars on his wrist again.
“She tortured you.”
It isn’t a question, but Merlin’s eyes betray his answer. For a moment Arthur can’t find his breath. Eventually his voice cracks on a question he’s not sure he wants the answer to.
“How long?”
Merlin tilts his head, a sorrowful look on his face. “Arthur…”
Arthur speaks through gritted teeth. “How. Long.”
Merlin’s eyes dart away. “Not sure. I lost track of night and day in the end.”
Arthur slams his eyes closed against the storm of emotions twisting in his stomach. Anger. Sympathy. Regret. Grief. He swallows hard and allows himself a moment to breathe - but something is itching at the front of his mind and as much as he knows he has no right to make his friend relive these horrors, he has to know. He snaps his head up, eyes instantly connecting with Merlin’s when he opens them.
“How many times has it happened?”
“- What -?”
Arthur grinds his teeth as pain lances through his chest. He falters for a moment, then his voice comes out almost a whisper. “How many times have you been tortured, Merlin?”
Merlin’s broken look tells him everything he needs to know. Grief and pain tear a hole in Arthur’s chest. He chokes out his words. “I’m so sorry -”
Merlin cuts him off “- Don’t. Please don’t do that. It wasn’t your fault, and without all these scars you wouldn’t be here now. So…”
“I should have done better. I was supposed to protect you.”
“No, the prophecy was for me to protect you.”
Arthur glowers at the other man. “I should have done better. You mean more to me than you could ever know, Merlin. I should have done better.”
Merlin’s bright blue eyes are sad, yet there’s a hint of defiance there. His voice is strong when he speaks.
“No matter what they did to me, I always knew it was worth the pain. Because even though I couldn’t tell you, even though I hoped one day you could know the real me… Everything that happened to me meant that you got a step nearer to who you needed to become. And while they were busy hurting me, they weren’t hurting you.”
Arthur makes a choked sound, blinking rapidly as he looks away. He flounders for an embarrassingly long time before finding his words.
“Merlin, I… You’ve been all alone with it, all this time. I… I abandoned you. Somewhere inside myself I knew, but I still did nothing about it. I’m so sorry Merlin.”
Merlin knows there’s no response that would appease his friend, so instead he places his free hand on Arthur’s forearm and squeezes.
They lapse into silence. Arthur is almost unaware of the way he’s running his thumb over a deep scar on Merlin’s forearm, still in his grasp after all this time. He marvels that the man doesn’t shy away from touch after all he’s suffered, and after a moment’s thought it occurs to him that no-one else does touch Merlin. The only person Merlin is at all tactile with is him.
Something dawns on Arthur. He meets Merlin’s soft gaze. “That spell you were doing earlier - do you keep that going all day just so no-one sees?”
Merlin’s already shaking his head before Arthur’s finished speaking, his dark curls bouncing and a teasing smile playing at the corners of his lips.
“Not entirely, just my hands and wrists. Why do you think I’m always wearing tunics and neckerchiefs?”
It gets Arthur thinking. He’s only seen Merlin in any state of undress once. Maybe twice. Both times when they were on long journeys and stopped to bathe in rivers. Merlin practically hid from Arthur the whole time - keeping the water up to his neck. Arthur had only glimpsed Merlin’s bare torso for seconds as he entered and left the water. And his skin had been -
“When we’ve bathed in the rivers, you’ve always managed to avoid me seeing you properly. And the few glances I got, I thought your skin was too perfect for someone who’d been in as many scuffles and accidents as you had. I should have known.”
Merlin gives an embarrassed chuckle. “Yeah, I was only just learning about mirage spells at the time, so I tried to make sure you didn’t see anything. I could make myself look like a totally different person, but I was struggling with how to look like me, only better.”
Arthur’s heart cracks.
“There’s nothing about you that needs to be ‘better’, Merlin. There never has been.”
Merlin’s eyes are soft and sad. “Arthur, I’ve been hiding who I really am for my whole life. If people saw all this-” he wiggles his scarred arm slightly in Arthur’s gentle grip to demonstrate his meaning “- they would have questions. And people would fear me. A horrifically-scarred sorcerer doesn’t exactly scream ‘trust me’, does it? I mean, look what happened with Edwin -”
Arthur blanches as Merlin’s words. “- Don’t compare yourself to him -”
Merlin sighs good naturedly. “I’m not saying I’m like him, I’m saying that people were scared of him because of how he looked. We’re trying to build a new world here, Arthur, I’ve got to do everything I can to make people like me.”
“People love you, Merlin. You saw the reaction when you became court sorcerer -”
“- Arthur -”
“- Merlin.”
They lock stares, reading a multitude of unspoken words in each other’s faces. Merlin breaks the impasse first. He speaks quietly, his eyes so full of something that Arthur feels the need to gently squeeze the forearm in his grasp again.
“I’m sorry for not telling you - for not being honest with you again. I just -”
“- Merlin.” The way Arthur speaks his name makes the other man go still. Arthur suddenly feels the weight of what he’s put Merlin through this evening.
“I understand. It’s personal. I’m truly sorry I’ve intruded on something so private. I had no right to demand that you showed me any of this, and I especially had no right to ask you to relive it. ”
Merlin just shakes his head, waving off the notion that Arthur has somehow violated his privacy. Arthur takes it as an indication to continue, speaking just in time to cut off whatever Merlin was about to say.
“But I want you to know that you should be proud of your battle scars. They’re proof that you’ve survived unthinkable pain, that you’ve risked your life time and again to save myself and countless others. You’re the greatest warrior Camelot has ever seen -” Merlin scoffs, about to refute the statement until Arthur barrels over him “- you are. Please promise me you’ll at least never hide these things from me again?”
Merlin’s eyes search the king’s face. He finds nothing but sincerity.
“I promise.”
Arthur inclines his head in acknowledgement. After a pause, he voices one of the many things that are still bothering him. “You said the magic scars still hurt sometimes - is there anything I can do to help? Is there a salve I can help you put on or something?”
Merlin smiles softly. “No, it’s not… It’s not the scars on the outside, if that makes sense?”
Arthur nods slowly. He often still feels the burn of the Questing Beast’s bite. “Well, I want to help in any way I can. Anytime there’s anything I can do, whether it’s to listen as you rage against the discomfort, apply a salve, or help you to bathe - anything, you come to me. Agreed?”
A cheeky smile lights up Merlin’s features and Arthur’s heart glows. “Do you want to give me a bath Arthur?”
To Merlin’s surprise, Arthur’s answer is completely serious. “Yes. Anything you need.”
Seeing the stunned expression on Merlin’s face, Arthur continues. “Look, I’ve never had to deal with anything on my own. How many times have you tended my wounds, stayed by my side through the night so I could sleep safely, helped me to bathe when I’m hurt?”
Merlin goes to speak, but Arthur cuts him off. “ - Don’t you dare say it was your duty. You’ve always been so much more than a servant. And it works both ways. I’m always here for you, understand?”
Merlin’s smile is soft but so full of affection it almost hurts. “I know.”
Arthur grins back at him, the tension melting away as he snatches up Merlin’s shirt and throws it in his face.
“Now for love of the gods, put your shirt back on before someone walks in and gets the wrong idea.”
Merlin wiggles his eyebrows suggestively. “Wouldn’t want people getting jealous, would we?”
Merlin’s delighted laugh when the well-aimed pillow hits him in the face puts Arthur’s world back on its axis, even as he ducks the barrage of soft furnishings that magically hurl themselves at him.
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