A/N: Hello everyone, I'm back with a new story! It's not the one you guys are probably waiting for, but I swear to god TBAK's sequel will get written eventually. This fic was written for the 2015 Merlin Reverse Big Bang, where fanartists put up their art and authors use them as prompts. My art was by ArgentSleeper (livejournal) and can be found here: ( )

Forewarning: Yes, this is explicit Merthur. Mizzymel, this fic is not for you.

Arthur gritted his teeth as the Escetian party rode into the courtyard, the king ensconced in a carriage painted in black and red and accented in gleaming silver, with another less ostentatious carriage following behind and a contingent of knights and guards bringing up the rear. The tension in his jaw might have made his smile look a bit forced, but it was forced so he guessed he couldn't be faulted too much for that. Still, he stood straight and tall and tried to look as gracious as he possibly could when welcoming a scumbag like Cenred into his kingdom.

He'd only had the dubious pleasure of meeting Cenred in person a handful of times before. Cenred wasn't actually royalty by blood, Arthur was fond of remembering, but of a noble house of rather mediocre standing. He'd been a knight when Arthur had made his first visit to Escetia at age thirteen and even then Arthur had thought Cenred undeserving of his title. He was narcissistic and crass, devious and almost cruel at times, without any of the honor and forthrightness that were inherent in the Knights' Code.

Meeting Cenred again after he'd helped his father to seize control of Escetia when the previous king had met a rather suspicious end had cemented his disliking for the man. The newly-minted Prince Cenred had tried to lord his status over Arthur as if he had any right to look down at him, and Arthur had had to restrain himself from challenging him to a duel right then and there. The one encounter they'd had since Cenred had taken the Escetian crown for himself had been short, terse, and an exercise in restraint on Arthur's part.

Arthur was not looking forward to enduring days' worth of peace talks with an upstart nobleman who had no respect for the crown he had usurped and even less respect for the people who were supposed to be under his protection. His father hailed Cenred, raising a hand in greeting as the other king stepped out of his carriage, but Arthur was having enough trouble as it was maintaining even a mildly tolerant expression. Even that expression became too much when he saw the man who stumbled out of the carriage in Cenred's wake and remembered his least favorite thing about Cenred's reign.

When Arthur had heard tell that Cenred had legalized the slave trade within Escetia's borders, two of his knights had had to drag him away from the training field after he'd demolished every training dummy they had. It was either that or ride out immediately to strike Cenred down, thereby ruining relations between their kingdoms and probably starting a war they wouldn't win. That anyone could be so arrogant as to claim ownership of another human being made Arthur's blood boil in his veins, but the fact remained that Escetia was a large kingdom with fertile soil, plentiful resources, and a well-trained army.

Camelot's harvests the last few years had not been as bountiful as they'd hoped, and the knights' numbers had yet to recover from the griffin attack that had taken so many lives a few seasons ago. Camelot was not at its strongest, and Arthur was forced to acknowledge that a treaty with Cenred was their best chance at maintaining a stable rule until their luck took an upswing. They were still on shaky terms with Mercia after the poisoned chalice debacle, and Uther often speculated that King Olaf might suspect Vivian's sudden infatuation with Arthur of being magical in nature and think to retaliate. If it should come to war with either of those kingdoms, then they would need Escetia's numbers to supplement theirs. They could not afford for Arthur to murder Escetia's king, no matter how despicable a person he was.

Desperate times called for desperate measures. Uther had no love for Cenred either, in all honesty, and he was swallowing his pride in this as well. Arthur knew he found the prospect of slavery to be nearly as distasteful as Arthur did, but his father had had years to build up his tolerance for treating people as disposable resources whereas for Arthur each life was precious. So Arthur stood back and let Uther greet Cenred like an old friend, trying and failing to keep his eyes off of Cenred's slave.

He didn't look like he was entirely out of boyhood yet, though he was probably only a year or two younger than Arthur if he were honest in his approximation. He was almost worryingly thin, and spindly in that way that meant he'd grown a lot in a short space of time without having the proper nutrition to keep up with it. He wore plain trousers and a threadbare tunic, unbelted, but he had no shoes on his feet. Arthur couldn't see his face, only a mop of black hair as he kept his head bowed in deference.

It wasn't until the man turned his head to the side that Arthur caught sight of the collar around his neck. It was a heavy thing, made of thick leather and dyed the red of Cenred's insignia, with a fastening in the back that had a lock attached to it so that he couldn't remove it himself. The second carriage too held slaves, all of them with those same locked collars, spilling out into the courtyard to stand huddled together with their heads bowed and their shoulders hunched. Arthur clenched his fists so tightly that his fingernails cut into his palms and drew blood, but his father was bringing Cenred over and he couldn't allow himself to rage the way he truly wanted to.

"Arthur!" Cenred's tone was jovial enough but Arthur couldn't help but notice that he had omitted Arthur's title, a slight that Cenred could only get away with because his status was technically higher than Arthur's now. Arthur saw his father's eyes narrow as well, but the smirk on Cenred's face told him that Cenred knew as well as they did that there was nothing they could do about it. Not if they wanted this treaty to pull through.

"King Cenred," Arthur said tightly. "Welcome."

"Your hospitality is most appreciated," Cenred assured him. "I'm looking forward to the negotiations."

"We have hope that they will be profitable for all involved," Arthur said diplomatically.

"Profitable indeed," Cenred said, smiling broadly. The slave shuffled his feet, drawing Arthur's eye over Cenred's shoulder, but a sharp gesture from Cenred saw him stilled again quickly.

"Well," Cenred said, gesturing expansively. "It has been a long journey and we are all weary."

Arthur almost snorted. Escetia was little more than three days over the border, and Cenred had been carried in a coach. Arthur couldn't think of a less taxing trip. But he waited patiently while Uther pandered to Cenred's trumped up exhaustion and sent him on his way to their finest guest chambers with slave in tow. Arthur rolled his eyes in disgust as soon as they were out of sight, but his father's hand clamped down on his shoulder and prevented him from leaving the castle steps.

"Stay away," Uther said.

"Believe me, I don't need to be told to stay away from Cenred," Arthur said with something of a scoff. "If I never had to spend another minute in his presence I would be pleased. But seeing as—"

"Not him, Arthur," his father clarified. "The slave. Keep your distance."

Arthur looked up at his father, frowning. "Why?"

"Because I know you, Arthur," he said. The hand on Arthur's shoulder squeezed, more paternal than restraining now. "And I know how much his plight distresses you. But our position is not secure enough to risk offending Cenred."

"I know that. I wasn't planning on offending him."

"You wish to help that boy," Uther insisted. "I know you do, and I understand that. But you mustn't. So you stay away from Cenred's slave and remove the temptation. I'll have my hands full keeping Morgana quiet on the matter and I don't need to be worrying about you as well."

Arthur sighed, wishing for once that his father didn't know him quite so well, or at least that he was harder to read. "Yes, father." Uther clapped him on the back and headed inside, leaving Arthur to stew in the injustice of it all.

The banquet that night was tense and uncomfortable. At least, it was for Arthur. Cenred seemed to be thoroughly enjoying himself, if only because he had the upper hand and had no compunction about making it known. Arthur and his father were left to grit their teeth and allow the insults to go unanswered. Arthur was less than surprised and more than a little bit jealous when Morgana excused herself halfway through the meal and left the hall with skirts billowing out behind her and heels clicking furiously against the floor. He'd half expected her to put a carving knife through Cenred's hand before she went, but he wasn't that lucky.

With no one left to share commiserating looks with, Arthur found himself watching the slave again, out of the corner of his eye so his father wouldn't notice him looking. Serving Cenred's food and keeping his cup full, the slave didn't look too different from any of the servants that lined the hall but for the collar around his neck and the fact that he still wore no shoes. He kept his head down and responded to the clicking of Cenred's fingers, like a trained dog. Arthur stabbed his venison harshly enough to make his fork scrape along the plate.

He managed to avoid having to make too much unpleasant conversation with Cenred—it was his father's duty to keep his fellow king entertained, and Arthur was quite happy to leave him to it, no matter how many frustrated and almost-pleading looks his father might send him—and he didn't drink himself into a stupor, even though he wanted to. He stuck it out until Cenred finally rose with a terribly impolite yawn and declared himself ready to retire. They exchanged the required pleasantries, and Arthur was on his feet by the time Cenred had turned to leave, already longing for sleep.

One of the courtiers called Arthur's name as he neared the side door to the hall, and he turned to acknowledge them. As that meant that he was no longer facing in the direction he was moving, the collision shouldn't have been as surprising as it was. Arthur stumbled just outside the door but maintained his footing, and he reached out reflexively to grab hold of the person he'd hit.

"Whoa there," he said quickly. "Beg pardon."

And then he was looking into wide eyes of a shade of blue he had never seen before, vivid and shocked. His right hand curled around a slim wrist, his left grasping a thin shoulder. Full lips opened and closed a few times, but no sound came from between them.

"No," the slave finally managed, his voice a pleasing baritone. "No, my lord. I beg your pardon, sire, I—"

"I wasn't looking where I was going," Arthur said. "I was at fault, not you. My apologies." He couldn't remember the last time he had admitted fault so readily, but the man's wrist felt delicate in his strong grasp and his eyes were so very blue. The man mouthed at him for a moment, at a loss for words, and Arthur watched his throat work as he swallowed. Then, quite abruptly, the man looked down the corridor where Cenred had disappeared, something like fear on his face.

"I should go," he said, "before my lord has need of me." He pulled his wrist free of Arthur's hold and bowed low before taking off at a run, his bare feet making little noise on the stones. Arthur watched him go with a heavy stone of concern in his stomach and his father's warning loud in his ears.

He didn't see the slave again until the next day when his father halted the negotiations in favor of taking a midmorning break; Cenred had had a different slave at his beck and call, a slim young girl with her light hair cut short. Arthur wasn't sure why he was disappointed, but he couldn't deny that every time his eyes strayed over Cenred's shoulder he was looking for a difference face.

Arthur stretched out his neck—stiff and sore from clenching his jaw so as not to tell Cenred to piss off—and set off on a walk through the castle. He didn't really have a destination. Mostly, he was avoiding the places he could usually be found in the hopes of not being cornered by Morgana and ranted at about the evils of slavery, as if he didn't already know. The girl at Cenred's back had responded to clicks of his fingers, just as the blue-eyed man from the day before had, and Arthur had nearly bitten through his tongue to keep himself from jumping to her defense.

Arthur ran fingers through his hair, cursing himself for getting stuck on the image of the man from the previous night, eyes wide with shock over a simple apology, and the feeling of his wrist in Arthur's hand. It took nearly walking into a maid to shake his thoughts loose. He wandered down in the vague direction of the kitchens, thinking he might pilfer a snack to take his mind off all this nonsense, but angry voices caught his attention.

He followed the sound to a little-used offshoot of the main laundry room, one that didn't really qualify as a room so much as a recessed chamber with support pillars in front of it. The open nature of the place—not conducive to private conversations or gossiping at all—meant that no one from Camelot's staff was eager to use it and it got pawned off on guests' servants. Arthur wasn't surprised to see Cenred's slave there, the tub before him full of sudsy water and with clothing draped over the sides ready to be washed.

The slave wasn't going about his chores though. He was standing, sleeves rolled up and hands still wet, with his head down. His hands were clenched into fists at his sides. Cenred stood before him, his back to where Arthur was leaning around the corner in something that was very close to eavesdropping.

"When I tell you to be somewhere at a certain time, I expect you to be there at that time," he was saying. "Have I not made that abundantly clear to you by now?"

"You have."

"Then why were you not in my chambers when I returned?"

The slave gestured to the tub behind him. "You told me to do the washing."

"It should've been done by now. It would've been if you weren't entirely incompetent," Cenred drawled.

"I was late starting," the slave objected. "I couldn't find the place."

"Oh, so you're not just useless but directionally challenged as well," Cenred said. He stepped forward into the man's space. "Kneel," he told him.

For the first time, Arthur saw the slave raise his head in Cenred's presence. The look the man gave his master was mutinous, and the expression fitted his face infinitely more than the blank subservience Arthur had gotten glimpses of the day before. For a moment, Arthur thought the slave was going to rebel entirely. But Cenred ground out his order again and the slave dropped to his knees before his king, though he didn't lower his head again.

"Now," Cenred said, deceptively pleasant-sounding. "This is twice you've failed to follow my orders properly. You know I don't like being disobeyed."

The slave only continued to glare.

"Kiss my boot and all will be forgiven," Cenred offered, making it sound like the magnanimous gesture of a kind and merciful lord.

The slave looked disgusted. When Cenred repeated his offer, the man spat on the floor at his feet. Before Arthur had fully gotten his head around just how much guts this slave had to do such a thing, Cenred had brought the back of his hand across the man's face nearly hard enough to send him sprawling.

Arthur had already taken two steps forward before he remembered his father's cautions. He put a hand over his mouth, biting into his palm to keep from calling out, from putting a stop to this brutality, and stepped back again, tucking himself further out of sight. He couldn't bring himself to leave though.

Cenred had gripped the slave by the hair and hauled him upright again, looming over him. "You will show me the respect I am owed," he growled.

"I owe you nothing," the slave shot back fiercely.

Cenred wrenched his head backward and wrapped his free hand around the man's throat over the leather slave collar, the red stark between his fingers. "I could kill you," he said. "I own you. I could kill you in an instant, you piece of filth."

The slave looked Cenred in the eye and said, "Then do it."

There was a pause and Arthur held his breath, alarm clogging his throat and his hand itching for his sword. The stalemate ended when Cenred flexed his fingers around the man's throat.

"Say it," he ordered.

Arthur waited for the slave to give a scathing retort, or else to say whatever it was his lord wanted him to, but he kept his mouth firmly closed. Seconds passed without a response until Arthur saw the redness creeping into his face and the aborted hitching motion of his chest. The slave's mouth opened. No sound came out, but no air was going in either. Cenred didn't look to be exerting that much pressure but the man was obviously choking, was being choked. Arthur could only stare in horror as the slave struggled for breath and tried unsuccessfully to pull away.

"Say it," Cenred said again, and the slave's hand came up to pull at Cenred's wrist. His face was flushed dark, turning a color that healthy faces were not supposed to turn, and Arthur's hand closed on the hilt of his sword. He couldn't possibly just stand here and watch a man be killed, alliance and treaty be damned. He was steeling himself to disregard his father's warnings entirely when Cenred finally released his hold.

The slave collapsed forward, gasping for breaths that caught in his abused throat, making him cough and heave. Cenred stood above him and watched. Arthur couldn't see from where he was standing, but he could imagine only too well what sort of look might be on the sadistic bastard's face. Cenred waited patiently until the slave had stopped coughing quite so harshly before he spoke again.

"Now, what do you say, boy?"

It was a long time before the slave answered, the expectant silence broken only by his panting. He pushed himself onto his knees again, his head hanging low now as if he were too exhausted to lift it again. Arthur thought the man might be trembling, but he was too far away to be sure. Finally the man forced out one word in a hoarse voice that was almost too quiet to be heard.

"Master."

Cenred didn't even deign to respond. He simply stared down at the slave until he'd looked his fill, and then he turned away and left without another word. Arthur caught the corner of a satisfied smirk on Cenred's face before he ducked back around the corner into the corridor to wait for Cenred's footsteps to die away, feeling sick to his stomach. When he was certain Cenred was gone, Arthur peered back into the chamber.

The slave was still kneeling. He coughed, shook his head. Then he slammed his hand into the ground with a curse. He looked as though he might do it again, might just keeping hitting the stones until his hand gave out, so Arthur stepped forward.

"I'm not quite sure," he said, wishing he had louder footsteps as the slave's head jerked up in alarm, "if that was incredibly brave or incredibly foolish. Either way, I'm impressed."

The slave was frozen for a moment, too shocked to respond. Then he immediately averted his eyes, as if he had just remembered that he was supposed to, and stammered out, "Your highness. Do you have need of me?"

Arthur couldn't help but grimace at the roughness of the man's voice, how very painful it sounded for him to talk. "Are you…alright?" he asked, aware that it was a rather inadequate question in the face of what he'd just witnessed.

The slave pushed himself to his feet, swaying a bit as he did so. Arthur reached out to steady him, but the man stepped back out of his reach, shaking his head to clear it. He nodded without speaking. Arthur let his outstretched hand fall.

"Are you certain?" Arthur asked, for the skin around the slave's neck was agitated where it wasn't hidden by that damnable collar and his cheek and jaw were red and swelling where Cenred had struck him. "We have a renowned physician here, Gaius. He could look you over, make sure you're alright."

"If you don't have need of me, then I really shouldn't be talking to you," the slave said in a rush, almost before Arthur had finished his entreaty. He tried to turn away, to leave, but Arthur caught him by the wrist and he froze. Arthur released him immediately, cursing himself for making such an aggressive gesture.

"Just let me take you to Gaius," he said. "I'd really like to see you treated."

The slave hesitated, drawing his wrist in against his chest and cradling it as if it were injured, though Arthur hadn't applied hardly any pressure at all; it seemed more of a nervous gesture than anything else, or a habit maybe. He bit his lip, eyes flicking around the room without ever searching above waist height.

"I have to finish the washing," he said, as if he hadn't been ready to leave it in favor of making his escape.

"I will make sure it's taken care of," Arthur offered.

"If I don't do it—"

"I'll make it's taken care of discreetly," he amended. The slave hesitated, shifting his weight on his feet. He reached up to wipe at his nose with the back of his hand but winced when it made contact. "Please," Arthur said, gesturing toward the corridor. He made no move to touch the man again, would not force him to see a physician if he truly didn't want to. He didn't have the right to make that decision for another. No one should.

After a very long moment, the man nodded.

Arthur blew out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. He led the way into the corridor and the slave trailed behind him, his arms wrapped defensively around his middle and his head once again bowed. Arthur didn't let the man stay several steps behind as he seemed to be accustomed to. Instead Arthur dropped back to walk beside him and earned a quick side-eyed glance for it, but he didn't say anything yet, just gave the man a chance to get his bearings.

"What's your name?" he asked, halfway to the physician's chambers. The man glanced at him again, longer this time, but he looked away without answering. Arthur didn't push.

They encountered Guinevere, as Arthur had hoped they would, and he asked if she had time to finish King Cenred's laundry. Her first reaction was a muffled sort of indignation, but after hearing the reason for it she was only too happy to help. She tried to catch the slave's eye but he wouldn't raise his head, not even for a servant. With the way his hands were clenched into fists and his jaw was tight, Arthur had to wonder if maybe this time it was out of shame rather than deference for one of a higher station.

They were nearly to Gaius's chambers when the slave finally spoke again.

"Merlin."

"Pardon?"

"My name," he said. "It's Merlin."

"Merlin," Arthur repeated with a nod. "Bit of an odd name. But it suits you."

"Does that mean you think I'm odd too?"

Arthur looked at him, surprised. There was something of a smile playing around the edges of his mouth, small but definitely there, even as he kept his eyes on his feet. Arthur had to laugh, inordinately pleased at having gotten something out of Merlin other than the fearful obedience he had gotten before and the vitriol he had witnessed with Cenred.

"Perhaps," he said. "There's something about you, Merlin."

Merlin met his gaze this time, looking up at him through eyelashes that seemed to catch the sunlight as they passed each window and make his eyes shine. His lips quirked up a bit more, almost to the point of qualifying as a real smile. And when Arthur realized that, in his distraction, he had walked right past Gaius's chambers and had to double back, it blossomed into an outright grin that made Arthur's cheeks hurt from mirroring it.

Gaius fussed over Merlin with all the mother-hen-ness his professionalism would allow him, clucking his tongue and shaking his head and wrapping a blanket around the man's shoulders. By the time he had finished his initial examination and retreated to his worktable to mix up his remedies, Merlin looked a bit like he'd been stampeded. Arthur caught his eye, tipped his head toward Gaius and gave an exaggerated eye roll that made Merlin chuckle.

Arthur hadn't needed to stay and probably shouldn't have. Well, according to his father, he definitely shouldn't have. But Arthur couldn't bear to leave Merlin alone when he was still hunched in on himself, looking small and uncertain. It was such a stark contrast to the fire and insolence he had shown when he was alone with Cenred, goading and challenging. Upon first glance Arthur would never have expected such a seemingly timid man to harbor such strength.

Arthur took a seat by Merlin's side, near enough that he could speak quietly without Gaius overhearing. Merlin didn't shift away from the proximity, his heat tangible along Arthur's shoulder and thigh, but he didn't look at Arthur either, preferring to watch Gaius in his concocting even as Arthur's eyes traced over the bruises forming on his jaw and cheekbone.

"Is he always like that?" Arthur asked softly.

"How should I know?" Merlin said. "He's your physician."

Arthur rolled his eyes. "Not Gaius," he said. "I meant Cenred."

Merlin glanced at him and then down, his hands twisting into the blanket around his shoulders. He chewed on his lip. He nodded.

"How long have you been with him?"

Merlin shrugged halfheartedly. "Months. A year, maybe."

"And how did it happen? How did you end up there?"

"I didn't want to stay in my village," Merlin said. "Tiny little thing. Boring, really, if nothing else. I travelled a bit, wandered until I just…caught the king's eye, I guess. Big mistake, that."

"Caught his eye?" Something about the phrase made Arthur's stomach turn sour. Maybe it was just the bright blue of Merlin's eyes, or the cut of his jaw, the contrast of dark hair against pale skin. The plumpness of his lips, perhaps. He was nothing if not eye-catching and Arthur couldn't help the way his eyes roved over Merlin's body, as if searching for evidence of Cenred's lust even through layers of cloth.

Merlin saw his concern and his glance and frowned for a moment before comprehension dawned. "No!" he said, eyes wide and, as far as Arthur could tell, sincere. "No, not like that."

"He's never—I mean, he hasn't—?"

"No." Merlin let out a sharp, bitter laugh. "Well, not me, at least. He has other slaves for that."

The relief Arthur felt was double-edged; Merlin may have been spared the violation, but that meant that there were others under Cenred's control, others who were being hurt as badly as Merlin and worse, and there was even less that Arthur could do for those unfortunate souls. Here at least there was Gaius, coming over with a pot of salve for Merlin to put on his bruises and a tonic to help numb the pain in his throat. It wasn't much, but the way that Merlin looked Gaius in the eye and thanked him with a small and genuine smile on his face was already a vast improvement.

It was something, if not enough.

Tonic drunk and salve pocketed, Merlin stood up. He took the blanket from around his shoulders, folded it carefully, and laid it on the bench. "I should go," he said, somewhat reluctantly, gesturing to the door. Arthur accompanied him to it, but Merlin stopped after they'd shut it behind them. "I don't know where I am," he admitted with a sheepish grin that revealed dimples in both cheeks.

"I'll escort you wherever you need to go," Arthur said. It was hard to tell with the bruises just beginning to color along the right side of his face, but Arthur was fairly certain that Merlin blushed.

"You don't have to do that," he said quickly. "You have negotiations to attend, don't you?"

Arthur shook his head. "I've got plenty of time." He didn't, really, and his father would reprimand him for being late, but the shy smile Merlin gave him meant that he really didn't care.