Merthur One-shots

The Hoard Of A Pendragon

Claiming people as hoard was the road to madness. There was no benefit to such a collection. Arthur would trust too easily and the inevitable betrayals would cut too deep.

A king ruled alone.  

“Of course not.” Arthur’s face of surprise did nothing to curb Uther’s growing horror. “I didn’t. I wouldn’t.”

The strive for knighthood, the competitiveness in the ring, the focus during hunts. Uther had assumed Arthur’s hoard to be skill, strength, or strategy. All choices that would suit a king, and all the better for not being power itself. Best to prevent conflict between father and son when a prince had no hope to defeat a king. 

“Be sure you don’t,” Uther said, part warning and part threat. “Or you will drive yourself mad.” Hoarding gold or even books would be preferable.

“Yes, father.” Arthur’s head bowed in obedience.

“So what is this boy to you?”

“He is my servant, as you said.” Arthur’s face was composed, his posture upright with hands behind his back. The strong prince that Uther had taught him to be. “I have a duty to him as part of my household. It is no more than that.”

“You overextend yourself on your duty to him. You have higher obligations to Camelot.”

Higher obligations to the rest of his people. He eyed Arthur closely, wondering if that was the true answer. Was his insistence of Arthur’s duty to his people at the root of this? His lesson had meant to impart that it was the people who gave them power - not decorated halls or full treasuries.  

The people themselves made for a poor hoard. Surely he’d taught Arthur better. 

“Yes, father.”

Uther dismissed him, not entirely appeased.

Arthur returned to Gaius’ chambers to check on Merlin. The idiot had fled from some strange creature in the forest he couldn’t adequately describe and fractured his foot, attempting to limp back while still gathering herbs. 

It was the typical trouble that Merlin got into, a type that Arthur knew well. That was why Arthur had to go after him. 

His father had no reason for concern. He would never be so stupid as to claim people for his hoard.

“Arthur!” Merlin greeted, the dopey smile of painkillers on his face.

Arthur rolled his eyes and hid his relief at Merlin’s cheer. “How is he, Gaius?”

“He’ll live,” Gaius said with calm resignation. “Though best to keep weight off it. I’d suggest rest for tomorrow, and light duties for the rest of the week.”

“You are a terrible manservant,” Arthur said, the words coming out too fond so he matched them with a scowl. “And I expect that if you can’t make it up to my chambers for your work, then you also shouldn’t be able to make it to the tavern. Am I clear?”

“Drinking might help with the pain.” Merlin tried to blink innocently at him.

“No tavern.” He swung to swat Merlin on the head, enjoyed Merlin’s flinch, and settled his hand on the back of the idiot’s neck. He squeezed and shook, just a little, because Arthur had not enjoyed tracking Merlin’s frantic trail through the woods after Gaius had admitted concern that Merlin had yet to return.