It had always seemed such a hard, cold word to Arthur. In his Alpha father’s mouth, it had been used when prisoners of war or criminals were brought before him, to be judged, chained, executed or let free. “Kneel,” King Uther would say; and not only the prisoners but the whole court would tremble at the strength behind his voice.
In Arthur’s own mouth - the mouth of the Omega son living a lie - it was equally hard. Arthur’s Alpha mask had been ever at its strictest as he used his sword to knight the new recruits. After all, it was generally considered inappropriate for Omegas to carry anything more dangerous than a dagger; and certainly they should not be Crown Prince and Captain of the Knights. Arthur has been reminded of this time and time again by his father. That his status was a disgrace that must be hidden; that if he wasn’t an Alpha, he could at least hide his shame and pretend for the sake of Camelot. And so, when he ordered the would-be knights to “kneel,” his voice was clear and loud. His shoulders were back, his head held high as they bent theirs, supplicants before him. He was hard, cold, and Alpha.
And yet.
Today, in his rooms, after a hard fight, needing to break; needing to submit, to be - to be Omega… He had expected his Alpha to be angry with him for his frailty, for this pathetic weakness. Perhaps to take advantage of his state to humiliate him. And Arthur wouldn’t have blamed him for the latter; he knew he hadn’t always treated his Alpha - his Merlin - well.
Instead, though, Merlin sat on the side of the bed, indicated the floor in front of him, where he had dropped a pillow, and said softly,
“Do you want to kneel?”
Arthur nodded, not quite ready to speak at the moment, waiting for the torrent of abuse to fall upon him as it always had done from his father, his acting Alpha up until now. His hands were clasped tightly behind his back, but his posture was as straight as it had ever been when standing: Uther had never allowed anything else.
“Well, that doesn’t look comfortable,” Merlin said brightly, the words like a strange jolt of colour through Arthur’s murky mind. “Come on, lean against me.” He leaned forward, and gathered Arthur in so that Arthur’s head was resting against his thigh, and his hands had unclasped in the jolt so that they hung loosely by his sides. “There,” he said, smiling down at Arthur, who realised he had even dared to look up, just for a second, before lowering his head again as was proper. “That’s a bit better.”
And Arthur found Merlin stroking his head, telling him how well he’d done, how amazing he had looked fighting, how brave he had been, and that he had been so, so proud of his Omega Prince. All the time, his fingers never ceased running through Arthur’s hair, soothing, soothing.
“Kneel.” It was a different word - like so many things - when spoken by Merlin.
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