A Question of Liberty.doc

A Question of Liberty

Title: A Question of Liberty, Part One
Author: riventhorn
Rating: NC-17
Spoilers: None 
Pairings: Arthur/Merlin, Gwen/Lance, Morgana/Leon
Disclaimer: No copyright infringement intended, no profit is being made from this
Summary: Written for the kinkme_merlin prompt: Arthur/Merlin colonial America AU.  Set during the Revolutionary War.  Merlin is an indentured servant who arrives in America in 1774 and is quickly swept up in the coming Revolution.
 

Part One



Arthur leaned across the table, bringing his palm down against the smooth wood. “It is a question of liberty,” he said firmly. “As citizens of the crown, we have certain rights—rights that are being trampled, disregarded. We are facing tyranny, gentlemen, and must act.”

Lance and Gareth nodded eagerly, but Gawain looked skeptical. “Yet taxes are necessary—they provide us with certain benefits. Protection for our colonists and ships, for one.”

“But we have a right to participate in the administration of those taxes!” Arthur retorted. “And if the king provides protection with one hand, he stifles us with the other. Further expansion westward blocked—for over ten years, now—and restrictions on whom we may trade with, what we may produce.”

“The subjugation of Boston could happen to any of us!” Gareth added. “You must see that Gawain. These vile laws—forcing us to provide quarter for lobster-backs, shutting down the port—what is to stop Parliament from forcing them onto the rest of the colonies?”

Gawain shrugged, looking uneasy. “But armed revolt—”

“No one is suggesting that,” Arthur said quickly. “We are not advocating independence, simply a recognition of certain just and necessary reforms. This is 1774, not 1400—we are not serfs, forced to bow to the will of a despot.”

Gawain shook his head and downed the rest of his beer. “Tis a bad situation and likely to get worse before it gets better,” he commented and stood up, pulling on his hat. “Good day to you, lads.” He left the coffeehouse, ducking his broad frame through the door. 

Gareth sighed and reluctantly buttoned his jacket. “I had best go as well—father expects me down at the warehouse this afternoon.”

“And Miss Linesse usually promenades down High Street at this hour, too—how convenient,” Lance added with a grin. 

Gareth blushed. “If I should happen to run into her, I would count it as merely the happiest of coincidences,” he replied stiffly, and left to the sounds of Arthur and Lance chuckling. 

“Speaking of the fairer sex,” Arthur said to Lance, “would you care to accompany me out to Fairhill? I want to see how married life is treating Leon—and, of course, there is the chance you might catch a glimpse of Gwen.” 

Lance started to protest, but Arthur cut him off, “No use denying it, my friend. The way your eyes follow her betrays you.”

“I would never do anything—less than honorable,” Lance said, shifting uncomfortably.

Arthur laughed. “Gwen is Morgana’s maid, Lance. Honor hardly comes into it. She might be perfectly willing but how will you find out if you never speak to her? ‘Tis not as though you plan on asking her to marry you!”

Lance looked even more uncomfortable. “Of course. Thank you for the offer, but I cannot accept. I have business in town.”  

Arthur frowned but let the matter go. He returned home to change into his riding attire and then set out. Leon and Morgana had been married for two weeks now, and Arthur was anxious to find out how Leon was coping. In truth, he had been surprised when Morgana agreed to the match. Leon was a capital fellow, of course, and had inherited a substantial estate, but he seemed a bit too—mundane for Morgana’s tastes. Arthur suspected she had agreed because it got her away from Uther’s watchful guardianship, gave her the freedom to manage her own household. Still, he hoped she was being affectionate and kind to Leon and not letting her often sarcastic tongue get the better of her. 

As the crowded streets of Philadelphia fell behind him, Arthur felt his breath come more easily. He found the city so confining at times. As a boy, he had relished in the swirl of people, the fascinating bustle along the wharves, the fine buildings. But lately—well, his life had settled into a strict pattern of business and social events, overseen carefully by his father. No room for anything beyond attending to his responsibilities. And Morgana’s marriage had raised the question of when Arthur would get married himself. Uther had made a few thinly veiled hints about the many eligible young ladies that Arthur met at parties and dances.

Arthur intended to find a wife, of course, but why the damnable rush? He hated feeling as though he were being pushed into things. So he relished the opportunity to at least escape from the city for a few hours, even if he could never avoid his responsibilities.

The wheat and barley looked healthy enough, Arthur noted as he rode through the fields before the manor house. They needed rain, though. It had been a dry, stifling July so far—hotter than usual. Today was no different—sunny, with hardly a breeze to break the heat. His hair was damp with sweat under his hat, and even though he wore the lightest coat he possessed, it still felt too hot. 

He urged his horse to a faster trot, eager to reach the house and the prospect of a refreshing glass of Madeira. When he pulled up at the stable, however, there was no one in sight except a dark haired boy that Arthur did not recognize. The boy was engaged in untangling a mess of ropes and halters and appeared oblivious to Arthur’s arrival. He wore a pair of rather threadbare breeches and a coat and flophat that had seen better days. He was skinny and pale, frowning in concentration as he bent over his task. Arthur vaguely recalled Leon mentioning getting a new servant from Captain Haelig and supposed it must be this boy.

Arthur cleared his throat expectantly. No response. Irritated, Arthur swung down from the horse and strode up to the boy, nudging him in the leg with his boot. “Are you deaf?” he demanded. 

The boy gaped up at him, startled, and then scrambled to his feet. “Um, sorry.” He glanced from Arthur to the horse and back again.

“Take care of my horse, you idiot,” Arthur snapped, shoving the reins into his hand. 

The boy flushed and opened his mouth, then snapped it shut again. “Yes. Sir,” he finally muttered in a most disrespectful tone and led Arthur’s horse into the stable.

Rolling his eyes, Arthur walked towards the house. He knocked on the door and was admitted by Gwen, who led him into the front parlor and then went to fetch Leon. Leon arrived a few minutes later.

“Arthur! What a pleasant surprise! Sit down, please.” Leon gestured, and Arthur took a seat by the window in the hopes of catching a breeze. “A glass of wine?”

“Yes, thank you.” Arthur surveyed Leon as he poured out two glasses of Madeira. “You seem to be surviving marriage to Morgana better than I expected.”

Leon laughed, handing Arthur his wine and sitting down himself. “It may surprise you Arthur, but Morgana is really a most charming woman.”

“Sometimes I think she must have cast a spell on you,” Arthur replied, smiling.

Leon laughed again. “Then I would call her a most charming witch. No—our relations have been most amiable. Although, she does hold some rather…interesting notions that I was not aware of.”

“Ah, so Morgana gave you her speech about granting women greater liberties, did she?” Arthur took a sip of wine. “All that nonsense about married women being allowed to own their own property, giving women the right to vote.”

“She was quite vehement.”

“Yes, she is that. Best to let her have her say,” Arthur advised. “Talking her out of her wrongheaded opinions is impossible—my father tried to for years with no results.”

Morgana entered the room at that juncture, managing to appear as collected and serene as ever despite the heat. Arthur gave her a kiss on the cheek. “Leon still seems to be in love with you.”

“And why should he not be?” Morgana demanded with a smile for Leon, who was holding a chair out for her with an absolutely besotted look on his face. “I only treat you like a spoiled infant because you behave like one.” 

“Indeed, you are as charming as ever,” Arthur noted, sitting back down. “Father sends his regards.”

“We must have you both to dinner. Perhaps next week.” Morgana settled her skirts. “I shall invite Mr. and Mrs. Wodehouse as well. Show her how a true American holds a dinner party. I heard that she actually served East India tea! If we are to make the king change his mind, we must show a united front. None of this grumbling about going without certain comforts. I honestly cannot abide fools like her—unwilling to make the smallest sacrifices!”

“Speaking of fools,” Arthur said, “your latest servant appears to have some sort of mental affliction.” 

Leon raised an eyebrow. “Merlin? What did he do?”

“Completely ignored me at first and hardly spoke with the proper sort of respect. Was he the best you could find?”

Leon shrugged. “Half of them had the fever, and the other half looked the worst sort of criminals. Merlin at least seemed honest. I need someone who won’t take it into his head to run away for the frontier before his six years are up.” He frowned. “I will speak to him, though. Make sure he understands his duties.” 

v.v.v.v.v.v.v.v.

Merlin twisted his hat in his hands, staring down at the ground as Leon lectured him. He bit back the protests that rose to his lips. Why should he have to be polite when he was the one who had been insulted first? But complaining would not get him anywhere except into worse trouble. So he merely said, “Yes, sir. It will not happen again, sir,” and breathed a sigh of relief when Leon left without any mention of further punishment. 

A gentle hand on his arm startled him, and he turned around to find Gwen smiling at him. “I did not take you for a troublemaker, Merlin.”

“I’m not!” Merlin protested. “I just—I forgot my place. That man who was here this afternoon, I didn’t treat him with the proper respect. Not that he deserved my respect,” he added, angrily scuffing his boot against the ground. 

“Ah, so you met Arthur, then.”

“Was that his name? Arthur?”

Gwen nodded. “His father is Uther Pendragon, Mistress Morgana’s guardian.”

“He’ll likely be a frequent visitor, then?”

“Yes, I’m afraid so,” Gwen replied, smiling again at Merlin’s despairing groan. “Now come, cook has supper ready and the other boys will eat it all if you do not hurry.” 

Merlin followed her to the kitchen, once more thankful that Gwen was here and had befriended him. Fairhill was a large estate and boasted a good many servants. Planting, harvesting, and tending to the crops were Merlin’s main duties, but of course, there were many other tasks to be done. He did not mind the work, particularly not when he received regular meals, but beyond Gwen, the other servants had remained aloof—polite yet unwilling to be easy and friendly with him.

It was his own fault, Merlin knew, and he cursed himself again for being so stupid. How often had his mother told him to be careful, to guard against anyone finding out? It had just been the—the newness of this place. So far from anything he had known before. Far from the crowded streets of London, the succession of miserable, cramped rooms, the painful memory of the stone farmhouse, sequestered in its little valley. 

Merlin had felt free—as though anything were possible. So two days after he arrived at Fairhill, when he had been sent off to work in one of the outlying fields, he had relaxed his guard, allowed himself to forget for a moment. He was supposed to have been chopping up some trees that had been cut down in preparation for clearing another acre of cropland. It had been warm, insects humming in the tall grass, and after a few minutes of swinging the axe, Merlin had given in to temptation. A quick gesture, his magic thrumming through his veins, and the axe kept chopping while Merlin stretched out in the shade, taking in the new plants, the new smells, the new sounds. 

He had barely heard the footsteps in time. The snap of a branch was the only warning. The axe had dropped to the ground as John, one of the other farmhands, stepped into the clearing. Merlin had scrambled to his feet.

“Merlin,” John had begun and then trailed off, staring from the axe, to Merlin, and back again. “A strange thing—I swore I heard the axe. But how could that be with you idling in the shade?”

Merlin had swallowed against a dry throat. “You must have been mistaken,” he managed to say. “I—I will get back to work. Prithee, do not tell anyone that I was idling.”

John had grinned and told Merlin not to worry, but his eyes had remained puzzled, considering. He did not know what John had whispered to the other servants, but after that they had kept their distance. Either the rumors had not reached Gwen or she had ignored them, and Merlin was grateful. 

He only saw Gwen at odd moments throughout the day, though. After seeing him to the kitchen, she left again, disappearing into the manor. Supper, the final chores of the day, and then Merlin was lying in his blankets in the corner that had been allotted to him in one of the outbuildings. He felt profoundly alone. Worse, with nothing to occupy him, he could not ignore the magic, which always clung to the edges of his consciousness. To take his mind off it, he imagined that he had someone back in England to write to. He thought about the letter he would send, describing the voyage, what the colonies were like. But now that his mother was dead—there was no one else. 

Curling onto his side, Merlin resisted the desire to use his magic that welled up in him.   I cannot. ‘Tis unnatural—wrong. He no longer clung to the hope that if he did not use it, the magic would disappear. For so long he had tried to resist it, but despite his best efforts, it was always there. And he could never overcome the temptation to use it—like the other day in the woods with the axe. 

He possessed a vague memory of his father, kneeling next to him, his hand on Merlin’s shoulder. 

It is a gift, Merlin, his father had said. You must use it wisely. 

But his father had died soon after. There wa...