Fic: Crossroads Of Disbelief, Merlin BBang
Crossroads Of Disbelief
Story by: Thoughtreflex
Art by: Eppy7
It was midmorning when the trumpets sounded, loud through the dreary patter of rain, and Arthur stood back from the table with a deep feeling of foreboding and a near silent sigh. Apparently it was not silent enough, however, when he looked up to find his father’s strict gaze aimed his way.
“You cannot blame me for not being thrilled,” Arthur spoke quietly as he grabbed his crown from where he had set it on the table, thumb brushing over one of the imbedded jewels, and dropped it in place over his hair. His father did the same, though with much more relish, and he acquired an actual bounce in his step as he moved towards the council rooms entrance.
“I expect you to be on your best behaviour Arthur. This is not the time for childhood grievances and jealousies, nor will there ever be a time for such nonsense.”
“I’m not the one you need to be concerned with,” Arthur pointed out dryly, and when his father failed to respond he took the silence as the agreement that it was. Sadly this did not make him feel more amenable to the situation.
Stepping outside, the drizzle began to dampen his clothes and he looked to the procession that trotted toward them. Horses and guards and bannermen with flags drooping soggily moved in strict formation, which Arthur never failed to be impressed by, and before them all rode King and Prince Baranak. Arthur wished he felt as enthusiastic about this visit as his father, but, as the many visits before, all he really felt was weary. Uther had no such problem as he watched the approach with a warm glow in his eye that was rare for him, and that, at least, Arthur couldn’t begrudge, not even when the visiting Prince of Warwick’s eyes latched onto Arthur as he pulled his horse to a stop. The look was as piercing and unfriendly as always as he no doubt took in Arthur’s thick red jacket (his third best) and finding it lacking. His gaze didn’t linger however, for dismounting from his horse forced a break.
“Camilus,” Uther’s voice was as confident as it ever was, and laden with true enthusiasm as he reached out and clasped forearms in greeting with the broad shouldered King, who returned the greeting with a warm smile of his own. “It has been far too long my friend.”
King Baranak was just as enthusiastic in his greeting, pulling Arthur’s father in for a brief and, perhaps slightly improper, embrace. It went a long way in making Arthur feel slightly better about what he himself would have to endure these next few days as he turned his attention back to Camilus’s son as the King’s continued to greet each other like excited boys at a tourney.
“Welcome back to Camelot, Prince Edgar,” Arthur forced a polite smile, fully intending to ignore the spark of loathing at the superiority that sparked in the prince’s eyes as they clasped arms. Edgar’s grip lingered around his forearm a fraction too long for his taste and Arthur took a polite step back once the greeting was complete. “I hope your journey wasn’t too unpleasant.”
“It was fine, thank you Arthur,” he responded, a touch coolly, and then they were both distracted by greeting each King in turn and Uther, drawing the conversation back to himself and Camilus, skilfully moved them indoors. Edgar fell into step beside Arthur, his dark hair and clothing plastered to his body from travelling in the rain and Arthur ignored the jolt of satisfaction that he looked like a drowned rat.
“And where is the lovely Lady Morgana? I would have thought she’d take part in the greeting party,” Edgar’s tone was friendly enough, but Arthur still bristled at what, coming from anyone else, would have merely been polite enquiry. He hid it well behind his mask of regal indifference.
“Unfortunately she had tasks to attend to and sends her regards. She looks forward to joining us at the banquet this evening.”
“I’m sure,” Edgar smile politely back; clearly not buying the excuse but it wasn’t his place to comment more about it. Firming his resolution to get these meetings and subsequent banquet over as smoothly, and quickly, as possible he smiled back as pleasantly as he could.
Of course, while politics and politeness could be maintained on a surface level, it was very easy to become caught up in quiet discussions and sneaky barbs throughout the rest of the day and well into this new morning. Arthur couldn’t help it. King Baranak was an honourable, strong man that Arthur would proudly ally his kingdom with, but his son was an arrogant, overbearing, self-indulgent-
“Do you really need to be doing this?” Merlin’s curious question cut through his internal tirade and Arthur resisted sighing aloud, instead turning to face his manservant and take the tin of water he held out for him. He ignored the question, because the answer was, of course, blatantly obvious. “I mean-” though perhaps it was only blatantly obvious to everyone else in the land, king forbid Merlin could understand something so simple, “-you’ve been play fighting with King Baranak’s head knight for ages now, surely you could wait until tomorrow to fight with Prince Edgar.” Arthur gargled a mouthful of water and spat it to the grass before taking a smaller drink to quench his thirst.
“I have been sparring with Sir Holden, Merlin, not playing,” he growled, sharper than he intended and he could see the brief flash of surprise in Merlin’s eyes before the man quickly hid it beneath an easy smile. Of course he regretted his tone immediately, it was not Merlin’s fault that Arthur was in a surly mood, but knowing that didn’t help the situation any. Arthur had been just as poor in attitude towards Merlin all throughout the evening before as well; frankly he was surprised Merlin wasn’t spitting in his drinks for the way he had been treating him. He eyed the cup he held, suddenly not quiet as thirsty as he had been, and handed it back to his tall companion.
“And yes,” he continued dryly as Merlin watched him with his cool, dark eyes, “this is absolutely necessary.” He rolled his shoulder to try and jostle the slightly damaged gardbrace back into place. He barely shifted before Merlin was on his other side, hands moving to the armour and doing something that had it sitting back where it was supposed to be. Arthur moved his arm about to test it and nodded in tight satisfaction that it was fine. Merlin stepped back.
“But Prince Edgar has just arrived from a tour of the market. Surely it would make more sense for him to spar with a fresh partner?” Surely it would make more sense for him to not challenge someone who was already clearly exhausted from fighting most of the afternoon is what Merlin no doubt meant. Of course Arthur agreed, but he was also not surprised. This is how Edgar worked, it’s how he had worked since they were children, waiting until his opponent was already tired, exhausted even, before swooping in to challenge. Against Arthur, at least when it came to any physical challenge, this was often the only way the man had even a fleeting chance of equality while fighting him. Still, it was embarrassing for those who served Edgar, to know that their prince was too much of a coward to challenge Arthur when they were both high of energy.
Arthur looked across the muddied training ground, still recovering from the previous days rain, to where Edgar was having the last of his armour strapped into place by a squire Uther had ordered for him. Edgar’s dark, near black eyes were watching Arthur steadily. As he was wont to do. His attention briefly flickered to Merlin, before dismissively falling back to Arthur, who met the look with a stern one of his own, not caring for the extra attention. Edgar smirked in what he probably thought was a friendly manner, but as far as Arthur was concerned was filled with nothing but teeth, and it was Edgar whom broke their staring when his squire required his attention.
“Are you implying that I’m incapable of handling myself on the practice grounds?” Arthur returned his own attention to Merlin, ignoring the uneasy feeling that always arose when Edgar watched him.
“Of course not,” Merlin clearly wanted to roll his eyes but, after a particular nasty comment Arthur had made at the banquet the night before about that disrespectful action, he refrained. “I’m merely stating that if he wanted to spar with you he should have arrived when you originally agreed, and not sent his best knight to soften you up first.”
“Remember that you are speaking of a prince, Merlin,” Arthur snapped, feeling the weight of his armour and the sharpness of his words and not particularly keen of the flash of hurt irritation Merlin quickly hid. He moved to slip his gauntlets back over his hands, and turning his back briefly on Edgar’s preparations across the way, muttered, “undoubtedly he did me a favour by sending sir Holden in his stead. At least it means that I had a chance to benefit from donning all this metal, cause lord knows Holden is the only true challenge I’ll be facing today.”
It wasn’t an apology, but it took some of the sting out of his words so he no longer felt the minor, very, very minor, sting of guilt for being so sharp with his manservant. However, Arthur was fairly sure that Merlin had probably done something that morning that made him deserving of at least one or two harsh words. Still, he felt better as he moved swiftly to the training grounds center, feeling every single bruise Sir Holden had managed to inflict from an afternoon of heavy training. Edgar moved with equal swiftness, clearly full of energy, though he held his shield slightly lower than Arthur had been trained. Edgar was a lazy fighter. Arthur could see Sir Holden school his features into a blank mask along the sidelines, no doubt to hide his frustration at hours and days of trying to train Edgar out of his bad habits.
Some people just weren’t natural fighters, and though Edgar was clearly fit and strong, he fell into that category.
“Enjoy your tour of the market?” Arthur asked mildly as they met in the middle of the grounds, far enough away that the knights and servants watching would not be able to interpret what was being said. Arthur often suspected Edgar only ever challenged him (aside from the fact that it was expected of visiting royalty to ‘demonstrate’ their allegiance with a few friendly practice fights) so they could have the conversational privacy these bouts provided. They didn’t have to guard their words here.
“It was quite relaxing,” Edgar rolled his shoulders and gripped his swords hilt tighter in preparation for attack, “though a little on the small side. I would have expected a kingdom of Camelot’s stature to be…more.”
“Well,” it took a great deal for Arthur to school his feeling of smugness into a polite quirk of the lips, “I suppose of anyone you’d be well versed in hearing about such expectations.” Sadly, their conversation did not improve at all from that point on.
Arthur attacked first, because it would take a dogs age for Edgar to make a first move (the man thought that it somehow made him look the more honourable, waiting for his opponent to make the first strike) and the small arena was filled with the bold clanging of steel on steel and the rattling of armour over chainmail. Arthur’s body ached from the heavy load he’d been wearing for what felt like hours, but he was far from ready to stop. He’d been training his entire life for this type of battle after all, physically and figuratively, and he could go until his body gave out on him.
Didn’t mean he couldn’t feel sore. Sir Holden was truly a skilled knight after all.
“You think because Camelot has more land than Warwick, you’re better,” Edgar hissed when they were next up close, a statement rather than a question because he knew that Arthur hated people deciding what he thought, as opposed to asking. Edgar was always good at getting his back up.
“No, you think that Camelot is better because of its size. I have nothing but respect for your father and people,” he hissed back and shoved Edgar away, bringing up his sword to parry a thrust and stepping forward to bash his shield against Edgar’s, pushing him back two steps. Edgar regained his footing and glared, swinging his sword hard in a series of heavy blows. Arthur pretended not to see all the openings the poor attack left him to take advantage of, more out of habit than anything else at this point. He had made the promise to himself years ago that he would not embarrass King Camilus by tromping his son in every fight, but it was hard sometimes to not take natural advantage of all the weak spots.
Arthur had, on more than one occasion, wondered if Edgar wouldn’t be such a defensive git if he had just a little more natural ability with the sword.
“But not for me,” Edgar acknowledged coolly when they were next close. Arthur blinked to get a stray drop of sweat out of his eye and kept his face blank. It was not a secret that Arthur didn’t care for Edgar, and vice-versa, at least not amongst their closer family members. It caused despair for their fathers, but after Uther had extracted the promise that Arthur would do his best to get along with his friends son (when he was eight years old), he had stopped openly worrying about it.
“Well,” Arthur took a tight swing at Edgar, noting the way the mans movements were already slowing far too soon, and softened his blow a little. “Perhaps if you arrived to a challenge when your opponent is as equally rested I would not be so quick to judge.” Edgar’s face turned slightly red at that, and it was not from exertion.
“I’m only helping to feed your overinflated sense of superiority,” Edgar smiled tightly back, breathing heavily along with Arthur from the heavy work.
“My sense of superiority? That’s rich coming from you. Tell me, is it my imagination that your crown is three times the size of my own, or is it merely a trick of the light?” Because Morgana had told Arthur, years ago, that Edgar had insisted on having a new crown made after seeing that Warwick’s traditional crown was of equal size to Camelot’s. It was almost as big as the kings, and he was pretty sure it had more jewels. It was an old bit of contention between them, one that had grown to mean so much on a personal level over the years, that it never failed to get Edgar riled up in a near violent way.
This time, though, when the mans dark eyes flashed it was with more than the heated irritation Arthur had grown so accustomed to. This time Arthur couldn’t help but see pure venom in the look mingled with something that Arthur could only express as proprietary, and it sent a brief shiver of unease through him as Edgar attacked once more (despite the concentrated hostility he was still a lousy fighter).
“One day soon, Arthur Pendragon,” he hissed as they were pressed close again, close enough that they were practically breathing in each others faces as Edgar bared his teeth. “One day soon you will lose yourself to me in ways you cannot imagine!”
Arthur, not knowing anymore if this was more of their tired childhood arguing, or something darker, pushed him back and retaliated with his sword. It was only a few moments later they ended the fight, Edgar on his back and glaring, though still taking Arthur’s hand to be hauled back to his feet. It wouldn’t do to be obvious about the discourse between them.
When Arthur followed Merlin into his private changing tent he dropped his helmet to the table and accepted the water given to him without word. Thinking. His unease must have been obvious as Merlin was suddenly before him, frown on his narrow lips as he stared.
“You look like you swallowed hot coals,” he pointed out and moved to begin undoing the multitude of buckles and straps wrapping around Arthur’s limbs.
“If that were the case I dare say it would be a sight tastier than anything you’ve ever cooked up for me,” he bit back, though with a decided lack of edge as he was still distracted by Edgar’s words.
“Arthur-”
“Just get me out of this metal Merlin, and then have a bath drawn in my rooms,” he cut off the no doubt well-meaning words and, for once, Merlin did as asked silently.
When Camilus and Edgar finally left, days later, Arthur would only admit to himself that the sudden, unfamiliar, tension he had been shouldering finally left him alone. If it was still a few days after that before Merlin forgave him for treating him like an incompetent manservant during the course of the royal visit, well, Arthur could live with that.
Besides, he wouldn’t have to deal with Edgar again for at least another year, which gave him plenty of time to mull over the mans cutting words.
Two months later, when word of King Camilus’s death reached them, Arthur never once suspected anything foul about it. It was a tragic loss for Warwick and, on a more personal level, for his father. With Edgar succeeding to the throne, and mourning to take place, Arthur made effort to put aside all petty thoughts towards the man, with the idea of, perhaps, mending the poor bridges the two of them had been suspended on all these years.
Next
Master list