Work Text:
Merlin loves the abbey. The rooms are spacious, the beds so much softer than his old one, and the water better tasting, but what he loves the most is the library.
Three huge rooms with sprawling ceilings painted with biblical images, their walls completely stuffed with books, each shelf labeled with a greek letter. In the corners of each room, a statue representing a different discipline. Philosophy, with her globe, theology with what he’s always assumed was a goat, law with her scale and sword, and medicine with her snake-adorned staff.
There are also four rotating doors, each before one of the large windows. They’re there so you can read in the bright light of the sun without taking the book out of the library or exposing the other books to sun, something Merlin thought was a rather disappointing use for something that looked like a secret passageway. They’re not really secret, but they’re hard to find if you don’t know where you’re looking, Merlin likes to pretend that as soon as he steps through, he’s in another world, where all of his troubles fade into nothingness.
He’s in one of those wonderful reading chambers when someone pushes the door open.
He rolls his eyes.
The damned door squeaks, and the person doesn’t just quietly back out.
So he turns, standing up.
“May I help y-“
Someone comes crashing into him, carrying a stack of books.
Most of them land with a clunk, one pushing his own book shut, his place lost.
“Hey!”
The culprit looks up, blue eyes peeking out from behind blond bangs.
Huh. Him, again.
Then he remembers who it is, and pulls from within his irritated self a curt bow.
“My lord.”
“Aristotle’s Politics? Seriously?”
What’s he referring t-
Oh.
He resits the urge to roll his eyes. Of course, a law student would hate Plato.
He doesn’t actually know if the prince is a law student, a small voice in his head points out, but he silences it by arguing that it’s unlikely he’d be studying anything else.
So instead he pastes on a polite smile and replies “Yes.”
“You don’t find his ideas a bit… idealistic, Monsieur…”
“Emrys. And no, I find his belief in the state existing for the good of the people to be refreshing, and think that with the proper execution it’d lead to a more prosperous state, your highness.”
He gives the last two words extra emphasis, not entirely trying to twist them, but certainly not giving them the reverence they were supposed to hold.
The prat sits down now, on the table where he was reading, back turned towards the window, and has the nerve to continue the conversation and not just take his books and go. Or make him leave. Honestly, either one, anything would be fine to not have to deal with this absolutist prat.
“But Athens ultimately lost the Peloponnesian war, to Sparta, a polis that clearly believed that individuals existed to serve the state.”
“But Sparta developed much less, culturally, than Athens. And as soon as it stopped expanding, it practically fell apart, since the entire society revolved around military expansion and supremacy.”
“Well, yes, but their successful military strength has allowed them to have as much fame, if not more than Athens.”
“Whose legacy only exists because of Athenian writings.”
“Touché.” The prince smirks. “But to be frank, it’s still a naive view that’s not applicable to today’s monarchy.”
Merlin tells himself to breathe. In. Out. And again. And don’t go on a tirade to the prince about how it’s entirely ridiculous to expect the people to exist for the good of a state when the authority and laws are completely subject to the whims of a singular centralized ruler, and that that belief would defeat the entire purpose of even trying to study law.
You still don’t know if he does, the same small voice points out.
Well, he retorts, now is a good time to find out.
“Well, you’re probably one of those people who think you can legislate morality.”
The prince shifts, letting his legs drop so they hang off the desk.
Merlin moves to sit in the chair he was sitting in before he was rudely interrupted. It’s technically very rude, but the prince seems to be enjoying the conversation, and probably won’t try to have him executed. Probably. If he does, he can always use that “I didn’t know any better, I was born to a poor baker” excuse.
The prince presses his lips together, contemplating for a second. Then he speaks.
“One cannot legislate an objective morality, no, and while attempting to legislate a subjective morality is always going to leave some awkward spots, it’s also critical to the function of a state.”
“And what’s your standard for subjective morality?”
“…What a reasonable person would think?” The prince seems confused by the questions, brows furrowing into the center of his forehead.
“And your standard for reasonable is…?” Merlin resists the urge to grin, having had this exact debate with Gaius a few weeks ago. He knows precisely what the prince is trying to say, and it’ll be the downfall of his argument. Well, assuming he’s not a total idiot. The prince has to actually connect the dots for his argument to make sense.
“One of my advisors? Or knights?”
“But one of your advisors or knights will have been raised with enough money to find some things reasonable, and others unreasonable, which someone else, like my former colleague at the bakery, may find completely insane. Is it really fair to base morality off of the standards of an economic minority, the rich?”
“But it’s not as though you could do it another way, that’d be unfair to the nobles.”
“Agreed.”
“And if you had a mix, a council, the opinion of the lower classes would always outweigh those of the nobles because of their sheer quantity.”
“Agreed as well.”
“So it’s better to legislate an ultimately flawed morality than have no regulation at all.”
“Well-“
The door comes flying open, a disappointed Gaius standing in the doorway.
“Quiet!” Is all he says, leaving the two in the chamber.
The boys grin at each other, the high of rebellion easing the strain of previous disagreements.
They’d continue this discussion later.
Oh yes, they would.