Bruises all around the wrist, back of the head perpetually sore, more bruises peeking out from between neckerchief and shirt -
It wasn't exactly a secret. Everyone knew Prince Arthur had been throwing things at servants long before Merlin showed up, and no one had expected him to stop just because he got a permanent manservant.
The rest of it - the bruises that definitely didn't come from flying goblets, the bandages that were just visible when Merlin's shirt got shifted out of place, the way Merlin winced whenever someone bumped into him the wrong way - it wasn't hard to notice. They'd all seen it before. They knew what it meant.
Blood seeping through his shirt, blood at the edge of his jacket, blood staining his boots -
It was the other things that were truly worrisome. The time one of the scullery maids had talked Merlin into helping with the dishes and he'd rolled up his sleeves to reveal rope burns. The time the steward noticed bruises that looked like chain links.
The way bright, cheery Merlin quickly grew jumpy and suspicious, weariness creeping permanently into his eyes.
It wasn't the sort of thing that was talked about, but they helped as they could. Anyone with free time volunteered to help him with some of his duties. The younger maids slipped him extra food and encouraging smiles. When they found him asleep somewhere in the middle of the day, they'd wake him up so he wouldn't get in trouble for dallying.
Merlin returned the favor by taking on visiting nobles they weren't sure of and warning the other servants of what he found, by making pushy nobleman look foolish in front of the prince, and by always being ready to help bind up another's bruise.
"Between Arthur and what he takes on himself, the boy's going to drive him into an early grave," the head laundress said with a sigh.
"Arthur's not the one doing it," Gwen said with surprising firmness as she dropped of her lady's things. "I'm sure of it."
The head laundress shook her head. "Don't be fooled by those pretty eyes," she warned. "Stay away from him."
Gwen didn't, but she never turned up with bruises.
Instead, Merlin had more of them.
Burns on his hands, on his chest, on his legs -
No one was sure where he went on the days he disappeared. Some thought he was off licking his wounds; some thought Prince Arthur's bad mood had prompted Merlin to go hide somewhere rather than the other way around; some thought he really had gone off to drink, just not for the reasons Prince Arthur muttered about.
The steward didn't know either, but he tried to use it as an opportunity to help.
"It's his fifth such disappearance this month," he said to the prince with a disapproving sniff. "Perhaps I should assign him to some other duties for a time."
The prince waved it off. "I'll talk to him when he gets back."
That hadn't been what the steward wanted at all.
Scars, scars everywhere, so that he always covered up as much as he conceivably could -
When Merlin was presumed dead, someone had to be sent to replace him. The steward chose George.
George wasn't sure if it was because he was known to be the most efficient servant in the castle and so the steward hoped he wouldn't anger the new king and would thus avoid punishment, or if it was because the steward liked him least. It was certainly possible. George knew he was not well liked among most of the servants. He'd just never quite clicked with them, and he wasn't sure why.
