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Hello! I love your writing, you are so talented! I especially love the little George fic and was wondering if you’d consider writing a third part where Arthur gets in a bit of a pickle, maybe a visiting noble is being especially mean to him or something, or is plotting to hurt Arthur, and George rallies all his servant friends to aid Arthur (someone maybe getting hurt in the process im a sucker for h/c) bc Arthur is so nice to him and he wants to return the gesture? You don’t have to of course! I just love your writing. Thank you for your time xx – anon
There is a unique feeling that comes from knowing with the utmost certainty that you are about to cry and having the simultaneous realization that you cannot, under any circumstances, allow yourself to cry in this moment. Arthur is no stranger to this feeling, despite what his father has tried to impress upon him about stoic dignity, but it has been quite a while since he has felt it so keenly.
The lord in front of him, long ago drowned by the glassiness in his eyes, moves as a blur. Swaths of color as that poisonous voice drones on and on, stabbing into his gut anew, as the rest of the chamber watches in stunned silence. Rarely does someone have the nerve to talk directly to the King with such open and flagrant disrespect. Hardly does Arthur allow his walls to retreat to an extent that they can see how deeply their words affect him.
And yet, here he stands, blocking out everything save for the voice he cannot stop hearing and the tears he cannot allow to fall.
Distantly, he hears a sharp cry and a mumble of another voice. There's movement in front of him but he dare not blink lest something actually fall from his face. There's a hand at his elbow and he turns towards it instinctively, spotting the familiar tunic and neck scarf as Merlin tugs him from the head of the table. In those few precious seconds where his back is turned and the attention of the chamber is drawn elsewhere, he blinks and scrubs at his face.
"You clumsy oaf! Have you no brain between your ears?"
"I'm very sorry, My Lord, I did not anticipate you turning so quickly—you must allow me to clean you up, please—"
"This shall not stand! This is exactly what I was talking about, the standards of Camelot—"
"Have been adjusted to reflect the values of a new era," Arthur interrupts, his voice as stern and solid as steel. He raises his chin and stares down the lord. "If you take umbridge with the fact that we are actively choosing to protect our people by way of kindness and compassion instead of brute force, then I suggest you re-frame your criticism in the way you intended it: you do not care for the safety of the people, but rather their subjugation."
"You cannot hope to protect people with mere kindness alone—"
"There is nothing foolish about kindness. There is everything foolish in pointless cruelty." He turns away. "I've heard enough. This meeting is over."
The lord splutters and frets as the chamber slowly empties. Arthur strides past him without another look, steadied only by Merlin's hand on the small of his back and the knowledge that once he's away from this wretched room, he can be alone, with Merlin, and he needn't fret about his tears falling. Merlin's pace matches his own as they stride through the halls, his heartbeat never settling until the doors thud closed behind him.
He's on the floor in the next instant, cradling his face in his hands as Merlin's fingers undo his cape and tug it away from his gasping throat.
"Shh, shh, shh," Merlin whispers, scooting next to him and wrapping his arms around his shoulders, "it's okay, you're safe, he's not here."
"Merlin— Merlin—"
"I know, it's alright. I'm right here. Nothing's going to happen to you." He keeps murmuring reassurances, stroking the crown of his head, until Arthur lets out another ragged breath and sags into him. "Hey, hey. You with me?"
"I'm with you." He grunts and heaves himself into a more comfortable sitting position. "That…hasn't happened in a while."
"I know. Are you alright?"
He stares at the floor. The sunbeams illuminate the cracks in the boards, bits of dust dancing in the light. Part of it glints off of the metal at the edge of his gauntlet and he winces. For a moment, he hears another voice in his ears, a voice that makes him feel endlessly small inside his armor and he turns his cheek to rest against Merlin's shoulder. Merlin's hand rests solidly between his shoulder blades and it feels just the slightest bit warmer.
"It's over," Merlin whispers, "it's all over now."
"It doesn't feel that way."
"I know."
"Why…"
He trails off before he can finish his question. He knows the answer and he knows he'll never truly know the answer. There is no point in chasing the reason behind his father's cruelty to him, nor to the people, and there's nothing to be gained by trying to get closure from a ghost. But a part of him is still young, trembling, with tears shining on his cheeks.
"Here."
"Thank you." He takes the handkerchief and swipes at his face. "I…do you think any of them noticed?"
"Gaius and Leon, for certain, because those two have eyes in the back of their heads, but you know they won't hold it against you."
"And aside from them?"
"I don't think so. Well—I mean, aside from George."
Arthur frowns, glancing up at Merlin. "What do you mean, George?"
"He's the one who spilled the wine on the lord to get him to shut up."
"He—George. George was there."
Merlin's brow furrows in concern and he runs his thumb lightly along the curve of Arthur's jaw. "Did you really not notice?"
"I was a little preoccupied at the time, Merlin."
"Yes, he was there. He came in about…halfway through, and he's the one who spilled the wine, yeah."
Arthur's mind starts to spin. "Why—why would he do that?"
"Probably for the same reason I would've. Because you were very obviously not alright—obvious to us," he says quickly when the color drains from Arthur's face, "because we were looking and it's our job to pay attention to you, you prat."
"'M not a prat."
"You are," Merlin says with all the fondness in the world, "and you're the King."
"Why is that now you're alright with saying it?"
"I'm always alright with saying it, it's just that normally you're the one saying it so I have to remind you that you're also a part."
He shoves Merlin's shoulder lightly and Merlin just chuckles, ruffling his hair and taking the handkerchief to pat his face dry. They sit there in the quiet for a long while, until there's a knock on the door. Merlin gets up to answer it, leaving Arthur sitting on the floor, worrying the handkerchief in his hands.
"Ah, George. Yes, come in, please."
Arthur turns, seeing George standing there, as pressed and polished as anything, holding a glass of wine.
"My sincere apologies, My King," he says smoothly, "for delaying in fetching you that glass of wine you requested."
The smallest of smiles touches the corner of Arthur's mouth and he heaves himself to his feet, holding out his hand. George holds out the wine glass and he takes it, setting it on the table and shaking his hand instead. George's eyes widen momentarily in surprise.
"Thank you, George," he says quietly, "I owe you a great favor."
"You owe me nothing," George says just as quietly, "you are a man of great kindness. It is not your fault if others fail to see the value in that."
"Camelot is a better place with you in it."
"And it is all the better for having you as its King."
"Don't tell him that, his head'll get even bigger and then we'll never find a crown that fits," Merlin grouses, but even he can't stop the smile spreading over his face. "How is the lord settling back into his chambers?"
"I wouldn't know." George folds his hands politely behind his back. "He has informed me that he needs no muddling kindness from someone so lowly as we. We, of course, obeyed."
Arthur blinks. "So—he's—"
Merlin cackles as George turns back to him. "If his lordship would prefer to conduct his business without the meddling of low-borns, then he should be free to do so."
"None of the servants are helping him with anything?"
"What use does he have for foolish kindness?"
"George," Arthur says firmly, "remind me never to piss you off."
"Duly noted, My King."
"Oi, what about pissing me off?"
"You'd get bored if I didn't."
"I'll show you bored."
(Leon comes later to inform them that the lord has not only gotten wine on every single item of clothing, but also that he's somehow managed to set the sheets in his bedchamber aflame. Arthur takes one look at the slightly singed edge of the apron of the servant behind him—who Leon said came to inform him of this development—and they wink.)
(Arthur grins.)