Virtue - 2/3
Dec. 3rd, 2009 03:13 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
nyxelestiaTitle: Held By A Kiss
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Companion piece to my fic Rapture - Arthur's POV of the events. Arthur gets flogged for his kindness.
Pairing: Arthur/Merlin
Warnings: torture
Beta:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
jusmine984
Notes: What, you thought it was over? Shame, my friends, shame. ^_^ This part corresponds with Part 2: Scarlet Pride.
( Part 1 - Deliver Us From Evil )
~*~
As the man’s death rippled through the crowd of onlookers, Arthur’s hand tightened over Merlin’s hip, clenching as he forced himself to remind himself that Merlin was alive, and right here beside him.
“Take his body down!” someone yelled. Arthur marveled at the child’s bravery for yelling that out so loud, for it certainly sounded like a child.
He agreed with the child – and had always been a man of action.
He pushed Merlin aside and strode forward towards the scaffold. A few of the guards were ready to help, a bucket of water being held and a knife out, before his father yelled out, “A flogging to anyone who tries!”
Arthur blamed no one for freezing in that moment – no one quite wanted to get flogged for the sake of a dead man.
Arthur, however, was willing to take that punishment in the name of justice, and he was willing to get flogged for Merlin’s sake.
He continued on his path, heaving the bucket of water out of the guard’s arms and splashing himself a path through the ring of flames towards the dead man.
“Arthur!” his father yelled in rage. “This means you, too.”
Arthur ignored him in favor of finding himself a way to the body, and Uther called out, “So be it on your head!”
Arthur finally looked up, nodding in determination at his father. On his part, the king’s eyes narrowed, but he said no more, only standing back and crossing his arms, challenging Arthur to go any further in his actions.
He knew his son – Arthur never backed down from a challenge.
Stepping through the flames, Arthur pulled out the knife from his boot and sliced the ropes, shoving the knife back into his boot before he pulled the ropes away, catching the body as it fell.
He held the man beneath his knees and shoulders, lifting him up with ease.
Even his weight was all too similar to Merlin, and Arthur dreaded ever needing to carry Merlin like this, for any reason.
He walked off the pyre, and saw Merlin duck his head. A moment later, he felt heat on his back and heard the steam rising as the ring of flames closed to continue burning the empty pyre.
The silence was deafening as Arthur carried the man to the body cart, and set it down gently, reverently. He unclasped his own cloak – the least he could do for the man – and covered the man with it, using the hood to cover his face.
Looking to the king for a cue, the undertaker sighed at Arthur’s look and cracked his whip on the horse. The crowd parted like the Red Sea before Moses, and before long, the body was gone.
Arthur blinked in surprise when he felt another cloak being draped across his shoulders, and did not have to turn to know it was Merlin – he would recognize that touch, anywhere.
The silence continued on for another moment, before his father yelled, “Guards – seize him, and take him to the dungeons.”
He turned to see Merlin’s eyes widened, but Arthur shot him a warning glare, before turning around passively – making the cloak fall back off – and clasped his hands behind his back, the shackles going on his wrist easily.
The guards walked Arthur towards the castle. He moved his head only once – to send a defiant, guiltless look towards his father.
The king did not respond.
Neither did his father.
~*~
“Arthur?”
Arthur’s head jerked up at the sound of Merlin’s voice. “Mm?”
He opened his eyes and looked up to see Merlin standing in front of him, gentle smile on his face and food in his hands.
“Dinner,” Merlin said easily, holding up the plate.
How Merlin managed to fit that much food onto one small plate was best not to ponder, and he smiled as Merlin kneeled by him.
“Just for me?” he asked.
Merlin grinned. “Er, she may have been hinting at me to stay with you for the meal.”
Hm. “Will the guards let you?” He hoped they would. But then-
“They just let me through without announcing myself formally, and didn’t say a word when they let me in.”
“They also just locked the door behind you.”
Merlin turned his head to see, and upon seeing the locked cell door, turned back and shrugged, sitting himself down more firmly, balancing the place on his lap as he asked, “I heard the king met with you, in here, earlier today?”
Of course that would be the first thing Merlin would ask.
He nodded in answer as he took a piece of bread from the plate. The meeting had not gone well, at all. They had shouted and yelled, argued over everything, and nearly lashed out at each other, too.
It was one of the worst fights they’d had in… in forever. Possibly the worst fight they’d ever had, outweighed only by their fight from the aftermath of the Morgause debacle. And if Arthur'd had his sword on him...
Turning his attention to the bread so he would only have to observe Merlin in his peripheral vision, he said, “My sentence will be fifteen lashes for disobeying a direct order from my king.”
Merlin had been about to eat a slice of steak, but it froze on the way to his mouth. Arthur kept his sights firmly pinned on the bread.
“Fifteen?!” he cried out. “That… you’ll die!”
Leave it to Merlin…
“I won’t die, Merlin,” Arthur said, exasperated as he took a bite of bread, before looking up at Merlin. “Men have gotten almost twice as much and lived.”
“Not for very long afterward!” Merlin yelped. And yes, maybe he had a point, but as a prince, he also had resources not available for the common man.
And as a prince, he was the best man to be made an example of.
“I… that’s… isn’t that just a tad bit excessive to you?” Merlin continued, having completely forgotten his steak by now.
Arthur sighed, letting his shoulders slump. “It was originally supposed to be ten.”
Merlin frowned. “Then why…?”
For refusing to back down and submit. “For refusing to apologize to him.”
“Well, that was smart.”
Like he was one to talk.
Arthur looked up from the bread and said firmly, “It was. I have spent the first two decades of my life bending to his every will without thought. I am not going to be his little puppet, anymore!”
And he wasn’t. He was no longer going to be the idle blade of grass under his father’s boots, bent and crushed on a whim. He was no longer going to be a mindless puppet for his ruthless king, nor carry out the injustices of a man blinded by rage and grief and power.
Merlin seemed about ready to try and answer that, but apparently didn’t find anything to say. “Bloody noble prat.”
Merlin seemed rather fond of that phrase.
Rolling his eyes affectionately, Arthur bit into his bread against before asking, far more seriously, “How are you doing?”
Merlin smiled fondly as he said, “I’m pretty sure you get more nightmares from these than I do.”
It baffled Arthur, sometimes, how it was Merlin could be so calm in the face of all these executions of his kind, especially when Arthur was… was…
…was left so terrified.
Merlin’s eyes flashed gold with the very power that made Arthur feel so much fear, and the meats and breads were warm again on the plate. Handing a piece of venison to Arthur, Merlin said, “C’mon, you’ll need your strength, tomorrow.”
As if he needed reminding.
“You do know being flogged basically means kneeling in one spot, right?” Arthur said, trying to use humor to mask his terror as he sighed and added, “I’ve only been flogged once in my life. I was about… sixteen? Almost seventeen, at any rate. I got into some tiff another knight, and that spiraled out of control with my father, and, well… I got three strokes for that. I’ve been multiplying it by five in my head, and…”
It was almost unimaginable.
Almost.
Which made it even worse.
Merlin looked pained as he bit into another grape.
“Maybe he’ll reduce it to ten if you apologize, anyway-”
“No,” Arthur said. “I am not going to go crawling to my father to beg for mercy!”
He refused to go back, because that would be exactly what he would have to do – metaphorically crawl on his knees and grovel for mercy.
Arthur had pride. And nobility. And a true sense of justice and fairness.
With another sigh, sounding fondly regretful to Arthur’s ears, Merlin set down the tray, leaned forward, and kissed Arthur. It tasted of worry and strength, and Arthur drank it in like a man at a stream who’s spent the entire day working in the sun.
Smiling as they parted, Arthur said, “I’ll be fine.”
~*~
Arthur shivered as he was led out onto the scaffold, forced to kneel by the post. The guards slit his tunic down and across the back almost regretfully, leaving it to fall away completely as it bared his back. But they still chained him to the post.
Uther was still king, after all.
“Prince Arthur Pendragon of Camelot,” his father called out from high up, as though Arthur weren’t his son. “You are hereby sentenced to fifteen lashes by half-braid whip for disobeying a direct order from your king, whom you have sworn oath to.”
Hm – he’d expected one of the sharper whips. But he wasn’t going to complain about the half-whip – it was less likely to leave open scars, and could result in welts that would fade away in a few weeks’ time.
However, the difference was that the pain was still the same as a normal whip.
And even if it was less likely to leave scars, that possibility was still there.
Arthur said nothing as the people gasped at the number, and Uther looked to the already-regretful executioner and said, “Begin.”
The whip was whistling through the air, and landed on Arthur’s back with a sharp, CRACK.
Arthur grunted and nearly fell forward against the post as a line of fire erupted across his back and shoulders, already dreading the remaining fourteen strikes as the pain rippled throughout his whole body from that single line of agony.
When he managed to open his eyes again, Merlin was standing in his line of vision, face betraying his heartbroken expression.
He was able to stand seeing Arthur hurt about as much as Arthur was able to see Merlin hurt – which was to say, almost not at all.
CRACK
As the next strike landed, Arthur shook as he bit his lip against the pain. He knew he would not be able to keep silent for long, but he was going to try his hardest for as long as he could.
He had dignity. He knew no one would blame him or think he lost any dignity should he cry out, but Arthur had his own set of standards to adhere to.
They were the standards of a king destined to unite all of Albion.
CRACK
Arthur jerked in the chains and grunted in yet more pain, hating his father as he barely managed to keep from letting any other sound pass his lips as he heard the gasps and cries of sympathy from the crowds around him.
CRACK
Arthur’s hatred spread to the guards, the executioner, the whip, the scaffold, everything when he heard Merlin whimper in time with the sounds of his own pain on this strike.
CRACK
“Nggh…” Arthur’s grunt was a little more drawn out, this time. The sound reminded him too much of the noise he made when he and Merlin fucked for his comfort. It was wrong for the sound of his pain to match so closely to the sounds of his pleasure.
CRACK
“Ungh…” Arthur groaned, struggling to breathe as the pain intensified with each blow. He couldn’t feel which strikes had left marks and which hadn’t, all of them agonizing, but he could feel the warm trickle of blood down his back, so he knew there were already open wounds.
CRACK
“Agh!” Arthur cried out, falling forward again, being held up by a chain that rattled in cold sympathy.
CRACK
Still semi-recovering from the last blow, Arthur choked on the sound, this time, only a whimper coming out that was soft enough that Arthur, himself, barely heard it – but it was enough that it came out at all.
CRACK
“Argh!” Arthur couldn’t stop the sound, this time.
CRACK
“Aah!” he yelled out, feeling blood trickle down his shoulders and chest. It appears Arthur, for all that he got a half-braid whip, got an old one with fraying braids, more of them leaving open wounds than not.
CRACK
“ARGH!” He screwed his eyes shut as he screamed, wishing desperately for it all to end.
CRACK
This time, his scream slipped into a sob as he trembled in pain on the scaffold, the shackles being the only thing holding him up as the whip whistled through the air and towards his back again.
CRACK
He heard matching sobs and cries from somewhere close by. It sounded like Gwen.
He heard only silence from Merlin, and hoped this was a good thing.
CRACK
Arthur clutched at the chains as another sob was ripped out of him by force, and flinched as he heard the ominous whistle through his pain-shut eyes.
CRACK
Arthur whimpered and clutched at the chain desperately, having lost track of the counts by now, but feeling endlessly relieved when he heard no whistle, and even the few footsteps of the executioner backing away.
He felt his entire back dripping in blood. The burn was agonizing, but it was also a reminder of yesterday’s events.
Raising his face, Arthur only looked up and turned his head to turn a blank, unreadable expression upon Uther.
No matter the pain, no matter the agony, he would not bend to the king.
And he no longer had a father to bend to.
Part 3 - By Blood, By Love
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Companion piece to my fic Rapture - Arthur's POV of the events. Arthur gets flogged for his kindness.
Pairing: Arthur/Merlin
Warnings: torture
Beta:
jusmine984Notes: What, you thought it was over? Shame, my friends, shame. ^_^ This part corresponds with Part 2: Scarlet Pride.
( Part 1 - Deliver Us From Evil )
As the man’s death rippled through the crowd of onlookers, Arthur’s hand tightened over Merlin’s hip, clenching as he forced himself to remind himself that Merlin was alive, and right here beside him.
“Take his body down!” someone yelled. Arthur marveled at the child’s bravery for yelling that out so loud, for it certainly sounded like a child.
He agreed with the child – and had always been a man of action.
He pushed Merlin aside and strode forward towards the scaffold. A few of the guards were ready to help, a bucket of water being held and a knife out, before his father yelled out, “A flogging to anyone who tries!”
Arthur blamed no one for freezing in that moment – no one quite wanted to get flogged for the sake of a dead man.
Arthur, however, was willing to take that punishment in the name of justice, and he was willing to get flogged for Merlin’s sake.
He continued on his path, heaving the bucket of water out of the guard’s arms and splashing himself a path through the ring of flames towards the dead man.
“Arthur!” his father yelled in rage. “This means you, too.”
Arthur ignored him in favor of finding himself a way to the body, and Uther called out, “So be it on your head!”
Arthur finally looked up, nodding in determination at his father. On his part, the king’s eyes narrowed, but he said no more, only standing back and crossing his arms, challenging Arthur to go any further in his actions.
He knew his son – Arthur never backed down from a challenge.
Stepping through the flames, Arthur pulled out the knife from his boot and sliced the ropes, shoving the knife back into his boot before he pulled the ropes away, catching the body as it fell.
He held the man beneath his knees and shoulders, lifting him up with ease.
Even his weight was all too similar to Merlin, and Arthur dreaded ever needing to carry Merlin like this, for any reason.
He walked off the pyre, and saw Merlin duck his head. A moment later, he felt heat on his back and heard the steam rising as the ring of flames closed to continue burning the empty pyre.
The silence was deafening as Arthur carried the man to the body cart, and set it down gently, reverently. He unclasped his own cloak – the least he could do for the man – and covered the man with it, using the hood to cover his face.
Looking to the king for a cue, the undertaker sighed at Arthur’s look and cracked his whip on the horse. The crowd parted like the Red Sea before Moses, and before long, the body was gone.
Arthur blinked in surprise when he felt another cloak being draped across his shoulders, and did not have to turn to know it was Merlin – he would recognize that touch, anywhere.
The silence continued on for another moment, before his father yelled, “Guards – seize him, and take him to the dungeons.”
He turned to see Merlin’s eyes widened, but Arthur shot him a warning glare, before turning around passively – making the cloak fall back off – and clasped his hands behind his back, the shackles going on his wrist easily.
The guards walked Arthur towards the castle. He moved his head only once – to send a defiant, guiltless look towards his father.
The king did not respond.
Neither did his father.
“Arthur?”
Arthur’s head jerked up at the sound of Merlin’s voice. “Mm?”
He opened his eyes and looked up to see Merlin standing in front of him, gentle smile on his face and food in his hands.
“Dinner,” Merlin said easily, holding up the plate.
How Merlin managed to fit that much food onto one small plate was best not to ponder, and he smiled as Merlin kneeled by him.
“Just for me?” he asked.
Merlin grinned. “Er, she may have been hinting at me to stay with you for the meal.”
Hm. “Will the guards let you?” He hoped they would. But then-
“They just let me through without announcing myself formally, and didn’t say a word when they let me in.”
“They also just locked the door behind you.”
Merlin turned his head to see, and upon seeing the locked cell door, turned back and shrugged, sitting himself down more firmly, balancing the place on his lap as he asked, “I heard the king met with you, in here, earlier today?”
Of course that would be the first thing Merlin would ask.
He nodded in answer as he took a piece of bread from the plate. The meeting had not gone well, at all. They had shouted and yelled, argued over everything, and nearly lashed out at each other, too.
It was one of the worst fights they’d had in… in forever. Possibly the worst fight they’d ever had, outweighed only by their fight from the aftermath of the Morgause debacle. And if Arthur'd had his sword on him...
Turning his attention to the bread so he would only have to observe Merlin in his peripheral vision, he said, “My sentence will be fifteen lashes for disobeying a direct order from my king.”
Merlin had been about to eat a slice of steak, but it froze on the way to his mouth. Arthur kept his sights firmly pinned on the bread.
“Fifteen?!” he cried out. “That… you’ll die!”
Leave it to Merlin…
“I won’t die, Merlin,” Arthur said, exasperated as he took a bite of bread, before looking up at Merlin. “Men have gotten almost twice as much and lived.”
“Not for very long afterward!” Merlin yelped. And yes, maybe he had a point, but as a prince, he also had resources not available for the common man.
And as a prince, he was the best man to be made an example of.
“I… that’s… isn’t that just a tad bit excessive to you?” Merlin continued, having completely forgotten his steak by now.
Arthur sighed, letting his shoulders slump. “It was originally supposed to be ten.”
Merlin frowned. “Then why…?”
For refusing to back down and submit. “For refusing to apologize to him.”
“Well, that was smart.”
Like he was one to talk.
Arthur looked up from the bread and said firmly, “It was. I have spent the first two decades of my life bending to his every will without thought. I am not going to be his little puppet, anymore!”
And he wasn’t. He was no longer going to be the idle blade of grass under his father’s boots, bent and crushed on a whim. He was no longer going to be a mindless puppet for his ruthless king, nor carry out the injustices of a man blinded by rage and grief and power.
Merlin seemed about ready to try and answer that, but apparently didn’t find anything to say. “Bloody noble prat.”
Merlin seemed rather fond of that phrase.
Rolling his eyes affectionately, Arthur bit into his bread against before asking, far more seriously, “How are you doing?”
Merlin smiled fondly as he said, “I’m pretty sure you get more nightmares from these than I do.”
It baffled Arthur, sometimes, how it was Merlin could be so calm in the face of all these executions of his kind, especially when Arthur was… was…
…was left so terrified.
Merlin’s eyes flashed gold with the very power that made Arthur feel so much fear, and the meats and breads were warm again on the plate. Handing a piece of venison to Arthur, Merlin said, “C’mon, you’ll need your strength, tomorrow.”
As if he needed reminding.
“You do know being flogged basically means kneeling in one spot, right?” Arthur said, trying to use humor to mask his terror as he sighed and added, “I’ve only been flogged once in my life. I was about… sixteen? Almost seventeen, at any rate. I got into some tiff another knight, and that spiraled out of control with my father, and, well… I got three strokes for that. I’ve been multiplying it by five in my head, and…”
It was almost unimaginable.
Almost.
Which made it even worse.
Merlin looked pained as he bit into another grape.
“Maybe he’ll reduce it to ten if you apologize, anyway-”
“No,” Arthur said. “I am not going to go crawling to my father to beg for mercy!”
He refused to go back, because that would be exactly what he would have to do – metaphorically crawl on his knees and grovel for mercy.
Arthur had pride. And nobility. And a true sense of justice and fairness.
With another sigh, sounding fondly regretful to Arthur’s ears, Merlin set down the tray, leaned forward, and kissed Arthur. It tasted of worry and strength, and Arthur drank it in like a man at a stream who’s spent the entire day working in the sun.
Smiling as they parted, Arthur said, “I’ll be fine.”
Arthur shivered as he was led out onto the scaffold, forced to kneel by the post. The guards slit his tunic down and across the back almost regretfully, leaving it to fall away completely as it bared his back. But they still chained him to the post.
Uther was still king, after all.
“Prince Arthur Pendragon of Camelot,” his father called out from high up, as though Arthur weren’t his son. “You are hereby sentenced to fifteen lashes by half-braid whip for disobeying a direct order from your king, whom you have sworn oath to.”
Hm – he’d expected one of the sharper whips. But he wasn’t going to complain about the half-whip – it was less likely to leave open scars, and could result in welts that would fade away in a few weeks’ time.
However, the difference was that the pain was still the same as a normal whip.
And even if it was less likely to leave scars, that possibility was still there.
Arthur said nothing as the people gasped at the number, and Uther looked to the already-regretful executioner and said, “Begin.”
The whip was whistling through the air, and landed on Arthur’s back with a sharp, CRACK.
Arthur grunted and nearly fell forward against the post as a line of fire erupted across his back and shoulders, already dreading the remaining fourteen strikes as the pain rippled throughout his whole body from that single line of agony.
When he managed to open his eyes again, Merlin was standing in his line of vision, face betraying his heartbroken expression.
He was able to stand seeing Arthur hurt about as much as Arthur was able to see Merlin hurt – which was to say, almost not at all.
CRACK
As the next strike landed, Arthur shook as he bit his lip against the pain. He knew he would not be able to keep silent for long, but he was going to try his hardest for as long as he could.
He had dignity. He knew no one would blame him or think he lost any dignity should he cry out, but Arthur had his own set of standards to adhere to.
They were the standards of a king destined to unite all of Albion.
CRACK
Arthur jerked in the chains and grunted in yet more pain, hating his father as he barely managed to keep from letting any other sound pass his lips as he heard the gasps and cries of sympathy from the crowds around him.
CRACK
Arthur’s hatred spread to the guards, the executioner, the whip, the scaffold, everything when he heard Merlin whimper in time with the sounds of his own pain on this strike.
CRACK
“Nggh…” Arthur’s grunt was a little more drawn out, this time. The sound reminded him too much of the noise he made when he and Merlin fucked for his comfort. It was wrong for the sound of his pain to match so closely to the sounds of his pleasure.
CRACK
“Ungh…” Arthur groaned, struggling to breathe as the pain intensified with each blow. He couldn’t feel which strikes had left marks and which hadn’t, all of them agonizing, but he could feel the warm trickle of blood down his back, so he knew there were already open wounds.
CRACK
“Agh!” Arthur cried out, falling forward again, being held up by a chain that rattled in cold sympathy.
CRACK
Still semi-recovering from the last blow, Arthur choked on the sound, this time, only a whimper coming out that was soft enough that Arthur, himself, barely heard it – but it was enough that it came out at all.
CRACK
“Argh!” Arthur couldn’t stop the sound, this time.
CRACK
“Aah!” he yelled out, feeling blood trickle down his shoulders and chest. It appears Arthur, for all that he got a half-braid whip, got an old one with fraying braids, more of them leaving open wounds than not.
CRACK
“ARGH!” He screwed his eyes shut as he screamed, wishing desperately for it all to end.
CRACK
This time, his scream slipped into a sob as he trembled in pain on the scaffold, the shackles being the only thing holding him up as the whip whistled through the air and towards his back again.
CRACK
He heard matching sobs and cries from somewhere close by. It sounded like Gwen.
He heard only silence from Merlin, and hoped this was a good thing.
CRACK
Arthur clutched at the chains as another sob was ripped out of him by force, and flinched as he heard the ominous whistle through his pain-shut eyes.
CRACK
Arthur whimpered and clutched at the chain desperately, having lost track of the counts by now, but feeling endlessly relieved when he heard no whistle, and even the few footsteps of the executioner backing away.
He felt his entire back dripping in blood. The burn was agonizing, but it was also a reminder of yesterday’s events.
Raising his face, Arthur only looked up and turned his head to turn a blank, unreadable expression upon Uther.
No matter the pain, no matter the agony, he would not bend to the king.
And he no longer had a father to bend to.
Part 3 - By Blood, By Love
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2009-12-03 05:13 pm (UTC)And, I agonized ages over Arthur's POV during the whipping, so I'm glad you liked it.
THERE IS NOT ENOUGH ARTHUR H/C IN THIS FANDOM. *sobs and self-destructively plans to write more to fill in this gap*
:D