for @merthurmicrofic ïž±"enemy" ïž±1190 words ïž±also filling @merlinbingo square "arthur's chambers"
a special thanks to @haloud for helping put together this plot bunny
tw: off-screen attempted sexual assault
It was with no small amount of satisfaction that Arthur returned from Whitespire two days earlier than expected. The assignment to check on Camelot's northernmost outpost mid-January had been a punishment in all but name, and Arthur was happy to have it over with. All for daring to suggest during a council meeting that if Camelot's knights raided their subjects' homes searching for evidence of sorcery and found none, perhaps they could compensate the damage to property and means of livelihood. Mouths were fed with spinning wheels and yokes, after all. And when Arthur had dared argue the point instead of silencing at the first sign of his father's displeasure, well. He was shortly ordered thereafter to ride out to Whitespire, and anyone he took along would be punished as if they had directly defied the king.
But now that was past him and Arthur sighed with exhaustion as he entered his chambers, not caring that he tracked sleet inside. His cloak was soaked, his fingers numb from the winter storm that raged outside. Just short of a blizzard, but not by much.
A sharp bang made Arthur jump, and he turned to see Merlin burst into his chambers and close the door quickly behind him. Excellent, this saved Arthur the trouble of finding him. Merlin made the best fires, with the kind of warmth that filled the entire room, and if Arthur was lucky he could convince Merlin to indulge with him in a different kind of warmth as well. "Perfect timing Merlin, I'm freezingâ"
Merlin startled like a frightened rabbit. He spun and pressed himself against the door, fingers splayed flat against the wood. His lips parted, but no sound came out save breathless pants.
Arthur took him in. His tunic was wrinkled, torn along the neckline, and the scrap of fabric Merlin called a neckerchief was conspicuously absent. On that pale neck Arthur saw a mark of familiar red, for he knew all too well the way Merlin's skin quickly turned pink when laved at with lips and teeth. But the most damning evidence was the way Merlin's wide eyes trembled with a fear Arthur had never seen him bear before.
His blood turned as cold as the howling winds outside.
"What happened." There was no sound save for Merlin's shallow breathing. "Merlin, what happened? Who did this?"
Still no response. Arthur's hands shook, his heart pounding as if in the midst of battle. He took two quick steps forward, and then saw Merlin's eyes squeeze shut as he tried to flatten himself against the door behind him.
Arthur went perfectly, utterly, still. "Okay, justâ just come here and sit down. Please." He prayed Merlin heard it was a plea, not an order.
But then Merlin's eyes opened, and while he still said nothing, he obeyed. Arthur fought the urge to pull the chair out for Merlin, instead holding himself with a white-knuckled restraint to remain in place. Merlin folded his arms over his chest, and Arthur's chest ached to see how he was trembling. "Didn'tâ didn't think you were back yet," Merlin whispered.
"Rode through the night to beat the storm." Arthur was desperate to keep him talking, for some hint of direction. "Merlin, Iâ"
Now it was his turn to close his eyes, shuddering. He could no more calm himself than could a dog once it caught the scent of its hunt. "Youâ you don't have to say anything, alright? I'llâ I'll go deal with this." He would have his answers, one way or another. He would turn the castle upside down until he learned who hadâ who had laid their handsâ who had violatedâ
It didn't matter. Arthur would solve it. And then he would either cast them out for the storm to take them, or he would throw down his gauntlet and duel as was his right. It was fortunate he hadn't even removed his armor and sword yet, so this could be dealt with all the quicker.
But when he took a step towards the door Merlin lunged at him, grabbing onto his arm. "Arthur, no, stop, you can'tâ"
"Can't?" Arthur sputtered incredulously. "I bloody well can."
Merlin shook his head frantically. "You need to listen, you don't understandâ"
"I don't need to understand," Arthur seethed. "I've seen enough. I don't care what you have to tell me or what you've done to think this is justified, I am the Prince, and there is no one in this castle who will not answer to meâ"
Arthur's mouth slammed shut. He realized, at the same time Merlin's eyes dropped down, that there was only one person whose authority superseded Arthur's. A person who would be bold enough to allow or even encourage the abuse of a servant, even when Camelot law prohibited it. A person who could breathe new law for any infraction that displeased him.
He was so foolish to not foresee this. So prideful to think his father's attention would be focused on Arthur's growing confidence and proclivity to challenge, and not the man that had grown steadily closer to his side. Had dumbly relied on Uther's practice of turning a blind eye to whomever Arthur chose to bed as long as it resulted in no bastards or undue favor. Had lied to himself, calling it mutual convenient pleasure, and nothing more.
Arthur had tasted that lie until he could swallow it no longer, and had resolved to do something about it before he was unexpectedly dispatched to Whitespire. And here lay the price of his folly.
He let out a slow, even breath. "Alright. Alright, Merlin. Just stay here, and catch your breath. I'll be back."
"Noâ"
"He will want to know I've returned," Arthur said, keeping his voice as steady as he could manage. He slowly put his hand over Merlin's where it clutched at his arm, and squeezed gently when he saw Merlin did not pull away. "I will inform him that I've completed the assignment without incident. That is all. Go ahead and make a fire, and I'll return with some food and water." He pried Merlin's fingers from his arm, soft, holding onto them like he would to help a lady off of her horse. "Bar the door behind me. When I return, I'll give three knocks, so you'll know it's me."
Arthur waited for further protest, but after a strained pause Merlin nodded. His trembling had subsided. Arthur dropped his hand. And then, finding he regretted it, leaned in to press his lips to Merlin's forehead, cradling the back of his head as he did so.
He had never touched Merlin like this outside the cover of arousal, but found it a sweet taste he immediately craved. Arthur pulled back regretfully. "I'll be back," he echoed, hoping Merlin could hear the promise in his words.
Then he turned away before he could grow any more heartsick. His armor was still cold from the winter storm, sword still dutifully sheathed by his side.
Uther Pendragon did not know what it meant to be his son's enemy, but in the coming months, he would learn.
Bradley James talks about his friendship with BBC Merlin costar Colin Morgan
âWhen Colin (Morgan) & I met we spoke about what we wanted for our characters, and the dynamic of the relationship. We had a great time working together, hanging out together, we had aligned senses of humour. It was a bit odd honestly, we had an almost telepathic understanding at times, which was beneficial on and off set.â
i know people often talk about the âno man is worth your tearsâ scene as an example of arthur being mean or thoughtless, but i would like everyone to remember that he started that little speech by saying âmerlin, if i die, pleaseâŠâ. his intention wasnât to shame merlin or to call him weak or to tell him to toughen up. he thought he was going to die and he was telling merlin not to cry for him. one of the last things that he ever thought heâd do was try to make sure that merlin would be okay when he was gone. yeah, it was tactless, and it seems particularly so because the audience knows that merlin had just watched his father die, but arthur, who didnât know that, was only trying to protect him, so i would like everyone to put some respect on my husbandâs name because he has a heart of fucking gold and the best of intentions.
The heavens shattered under the weight of divine judgment.
To the gods, Emrysâ love was a sickness, a perversion of the natural order. A demigod should not look upon a mortal with a yawning, clawing hunger for anything but worship.
Emrys stood before the Council of the Goddess, his eyes glaring gold, no longer looking as human as he had been found.
He had watched Arthur Pendragon from the heights at first, watched a man who shone like the sun. He had fallen for the sharp line of a jaw and a heart that beat with honour. He disguised himself as a human, then, to talk to Him.
"You choose the mud?" the Goddess, his mother, hissed. "You choose a life of blood, spit, and age?"
"I choose him," Emrys whispered, his voice low.
They stripped him of his luminescence, casting him out from the light.
He hit the forest floor as a living, physical body, not his previous, shimmering spirit. The transition was an agonising ache in his very marrow.
When Arthur found him, huddled in the dirt and soaked to the bone, he did not see a fallen deity. He saw a boy with messy black hair and covered in mud.
"Merlin?" Arthur asked, offering a steadying hand to him. Merlin looked up, his heart finally feeling whole despite the loss of heaven.
He was a Fallen now, a sinner that could never be redeemed, but as he touched Arthurâs skin, he knew that exile was a small price to pay.
---
Prompt: Exile | Words: 253 | Written for @merthurmicrofic
Merlin stared in disbelief as a glowing red string shimmered into existence, tethering his finger to the arrogant blonde noble currently throwing daggers at a servant.
This was it? His soulmate was a noble prat who looked at him and others with arrogance and superiority?
He tugged at the thread, watching it pull taut against the Princeâs hand. Merlin had expected a fated partner to be a steadying anchor, yet what he got was an insufferable prick.
Arthur felt an agonising ache of realisation as the thread flared, linking him directly to the insolent peasant who had just challenged him.
He was the Crown Prince of Camelot; his life was defined by decorum and bound to the Kingdom he had to serve. That allowed no room for a male soulmate, let alone a peasant. According to his fatherâs rigid world, such a bond was to be discarded.
Yet, looking into those blue eyes, Arthur felt a magnetic pull he couldn't ignore. The world will never see them as equals, but as the string pulsed between them, he knew he would do whatever it took to keep this boy bound to his side every single day.
---
Prompt: Bound | Words: 195 | Written for @merthurmicrofic
Arthur gingerly poked his head around the door of his chambers, then breathed a sigh of relief: there was no smoke, no smell of burning, and everything looked exactly as it shouldâif a little charred around the edges.
âIs she finally feeling better?â
âYeah,â Merlin replied quietly, closing his book and pointing to the top of the wardrobe, âsheâs sleeping the last of it off.â
Arthur could just make out the slight rise and fall of the blankets Aithusa had scavenged to make her nest.
âThank goodness,â Arthur whispered, âdragon colds are the worst.â
Merlin nodded in agreementâand then sneezed. A shower of golden sparks exploded from his nose.
Arthur gave him a horrified look.
âI thought you said humans couldnât catch it!â
âWell, I donât know, maybe itâsââ Merlin had to pause to sneeze again, this time producing tendrils of purple smoke, ââa dragon lord thing?â
âSo, as usual, the rules donât apply to you?â
The colour was already draining from Merlinâs face. Arthur rolled his eyes, steered him to bed, and ordered him to stay put for the rest of the day. He was halfway out the room when a worrying thought occurred to him.
âYou wonât also get the cough, will you? You know, with theâŠfireballs?â
âI donât knowâŠmaybe?â
âRight. Well.â
It had been bad enough with the baby dragonâhe didnât think his room would survive the flammable expectorants of a fully grown dragon lord.
âIâll send George up with some buckets of water, just in case.â
Read it on ao3 at https://archiveofourown.org/works/87321996
by meanoctiss
After Merlinâs magic is revealed to Arthur when he stops an assasination attempt against the king, he is temporarily sent to Ealdor to await his ruling. The letters they exchange reveal more than just Merlinâs fate at Camelot.
-
It had come easy to Merlin after that, to ask about the execution, to offer his life to Arthur. Come, have it, he thought. It was always yours to take it. You know I would die for you, I would die at your hand just the same. But Arthur had the same agony written over his face when he asked, so it was not his life Arthur intended to take after all, it was a life without having to see him. You will return to Ealdor at dawn and wait for word, he had commanded.
Just this once, he had obeyed.
He tries to shake the crushing weight of this memory off of him, and fails miserably. With his heart beating in his hands, he grabs a piece of parchment, quill, and ink; and starts writing.
Words: 4628, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English
Fandoms: Merlin (TV)
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Categories: M/M
Characters: Merlin (Merlin), Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Hunith (Merlin), Gaius (Merlin), Uther Pendragon (Merlin), Percival (Merlin)
Relationships: Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Merlin & Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Additional Tags: Merlinâs Magic Revealed (Merlin), Letters, Love Confessions, Angst with a Happy Ending, Happy Ending, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Merlin and Arthur Pendragon Being Idiots (Merlin), Gaius is So Done (Merlin), Arthur Pendragon Finds Out About Merlinâs Magic (Merlin), Ealdor (Merlin), i love me some letters and angst, merlin and arthur are clueless idiots, gaius saves merthur, idk where any other character is in this, no beta we die like men, Merlinâs Magic Loves Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Canon Era, Court Sorcerer Merlin (Merlin), merlin finally gets recognition, percival ships merthur, but heâs really mad that arthur makes merlin sad
Read it on ao3 at https://archiveofourown.org/works/87321996
[merthur - rated T - 2476 words - gorgeous artwork by @count-pudding!!]
The sight was unfamiliar to Merlin, which in itself was probably cause for some level of concern.
Indeed, Merlin's expertise was second to none when it came to Arthur's various facial expressions. He was also well versed in Arthur's arcane body language, and proficient in the minute nuances lacing Arthur's huffs and hums. Every set of that jaw, every sharpening of those eyes, every twitch of those distracting lips told Merlin something of the inner workings and subtle moods of his princely prat.
It wasn't exactly that Arthur was an open book â far from it. It was just that Merlin had perfected the delicate art of reading him, through many (many, many) hours (days, months, years) of watchful presence and dedicated, selfless service to the emotionally constipated clotpole who had become his raison d'ĂȘtre. It was not strictly a healthy thing to be so cognizant of another man's state of mind at any given moment, but it did help keep them alive â to say nothing of the many hurled boots, pillows and cups Merlin had been able to deftly dodge over the years thanks to said intimate knowledge.
One could say that Merlin had seen Arthur at his glorious best and at his very pathetic worst and all the shades in between.
Which is why Merlin had a bit of a pause when he saw⊠what he was seeing.
Arthur. Utterly drunk. His flushed face a pathetic, glassy-eyed, rubicund mess, resting on the unyielding surface of the sturdy oak table in a smear of his own sweaty misery.
Arthur made a distraught little noise upon recognising his visitor. Just that. A brief, wet, squelching whine that was almost instantly quelled.
"Arthur? WhatâŠ" Merlin immediately closed the door behind him and discreetly released the tendrils of his magic far and wide to find answers. It found none. None but the drunken prince, hugging his tabletop like a drowning man. "Arthur, what are you doing?"
"M'thinkin," he mumbled thickly. "P'ondering. C'ontemplating. Mmmulling."
"Oh boy," Merlin said under his breath. "Care to share the fruit of your reflection, Sire?" he asked lightly as he placed an unassuming and, hopefully, nonthreatening hand over the very pretty flagon of exotic wine that the envoy from Byzantium had brought amongst the cartload of presents for King Uther and his court. A potent brew, apparently.
"What are you doing here?" Arthur muttered, his heated cheek still very firmly stuck to the table. "Thought you were having a little⊠chat with Lord Whatsisface?"
"Lord Julian?"
"Lord Julian Fucking Apollo Coriolan," Arthur corrected pettily.
"Ah." Huh. "Is his middle name really Apollo?" It would've been justified, because there was no denying the man in question was excruciatingly handsome. And rather statuesque in build.
A dark, drunken (and very rude) curse was Arthur's only reply.
"I was actually discussing the use of a remedy that might help Gaius with his bad cold. It turns out His Lordship is very knowledgeable in cures and restoratives."
"Oh His Lordship, eh?"
"Ye-es, he has travelled extensively and been able to study the practices of many a place," Merlin said, quietly going about tidying bits and pieces around the room. "He has collected many herbs and roots and he has some scrolls he thinks I should look at. He promised to show me a few things tomorrow."
A wet snort spilled from Arthur as he pushed himself to a slightly more dignified sitting position, that almost overbalanced into a tumble from his stately seat.
"Oh he wants to show you his thing for sure," the prince muttered, a bitter twist to his sullen mouth.
Ah. Alright. This was new.
"I very much doubt it," Merlin said patiently as he reached to take the sloshing goblet from Arthur's hand. "I think we've had enough of that very nice Byzantine wine, Sire."
"No-o," Arthur whined as he cradled the goblet against his chest and glared at Merlin's whereabouts. Gods, how much of the stuff had he imbibed?
And more importantly, why?
Arthur was always so cautious around drink. He drank with his fellow knights, partook in banquets, toasted merrily with everyone as the situation required, but Merlin knew that he was prudent with his intake. As the heir to the throne and the son of his exacting father, he had been trained in the underestimated yet critical art of engaging in diplomatic libations. In fact, one of the first things Merlin had been taught as manservant and cupbearer to the prince was how to pour his drinks and mix his wine with the right amount of water (an amount which was definitely more than Merlin himself would find enjoyable).
And yet here, one whiff of Arthur's breath told Merlin that the spiced wine had been consumed hardly (if at all) diluted.
"Go away," Arthur sulked, still cuddling his cup. "Leave me to my inoss⊠my interss⊠my introshpection."
Merlin stifled a smile at the fractious yet oddly adorable prince. A tipsy Arthur was a rare sight indeed. Merlin reached out a hand and placed the back of his fingers over Arthur's brow, just to make sure no fever was involved.
"Leave me be," the prince said in a small voice, eyes now brimming with untold emotions and conflicted dampness.
"I just want to make sure you're all right," Merlin informed him as he finally managed to gently pry the cup from the clumsy but grabby hands. "I think you should retire to bed, my Lord."
"And I think you should fuck off, Merlin," Arthur groused as Merlin laboriously hauled him to his feet.
"I most certainly will. As soon as we've put you into bed."
Something undetermined (but no doubt derogatory) was mumbled.
"Come on. That's right," Merlin encouraged. Then, "Nononoâ Gods, why did you have to drink yourself into a stupor?" he griped as the prince sagged unhelpfully in his arms.
"You like him," Arthur hissed accusingly.
"And who are we talking about now?"
"Fffucking Apollo."
"Ah," Merlin replied eloquently as he staggered under the limp, disarticulated weight of his prince.
"What does he have that I don't?"
"What?"
"I'm taller than him."
"Uh⊠I don't thinkâ"
"And I'm a better warrior than him."
"I guess he wouldâ whups, sorry," Merlin said as Arthur collapsed face first onto the bed. "Are you alright there, Sire?"
"He's nothing special," the pickled prince muttered into the pillow.
"Well, he's a Byzantine envoy and he's travelled a long way to meet you and your father," Merlin argued as he rolled the prat right side up.
"Yeah, because I'm special. Not him."
Merlin quashed a smile at the childish remark. He was going to have so much fun tomorrow reminding Arthur just what a rambling, drunken arse he had made of himself. He was going to have months of teasing material by the time Arthur fell asleep tonight.
"His eyes look like puddle water," the prince then noted, a satisfied but wobbly smirk on his flushed features as Merlin peeled him out of his tunic.
"Do they? They seemed grey-green to me."
"Zactly! Dreary colour. Terrible colour."
"I thought they were rather nice, intelligent eyes," Merlin prattled perversely as he wrestled the boots off Arthur's feet.
"Of course you would, wouldn't you?" Followed by a string of mutterings casting aspersions on Merlin's mental acuity, powers of observation and rampant lust for some reason.
Meanwhile, Merlin went on undressing Arthur. Then he fondly arranged the pillows behind him, feeling the heat and affronted misery coming off his inebriated prince. Sometimes, he found the amount of love he carried for Arthur was unfair. Sometimes⊠Well, sometimes he just felt blessed to be able to stand by his side and take care of him in all matters big and small. He would obviously rather rip his own tongue out than admit it out loud, but he could no more deny the sweet ache of his feelings than he could grow feathers and fly.
Probably. He'd never tried.
He was at this familiar and dreadfully tender point in his thoughts, tucking Arthur in for the night as he went, when the prince, who apparently had been following his own chaotic train of plastered thoughts suddenly grabbed his face and drew him up close.
Almost close enough to kiss.
Merlin was about to make light of the uncomfortably delicious situation, but Arthur's gaze was a little wild and oddly entreating.
"Don't go with him," Arthur breathed, voice hoarse yet commanding. "I'm⊠I mean, my⊠That is, I really⊠My eyes are blue," he eventually managed on a desperate splutter.
"So they are," Merlin replied gently, daring to touch a hand to Arthur's heated cheek. "And a very pretty blue, too. The prettiest in the land." Which was, alas, deplorably true as far as Merlin was concerned. Arthur's eyes were blue flecked with constellations of azure and ultramarine. He could lose himself in those eyes. He already had.
"And I'm blonder than him," Arthur went on, fingertips absently doing obscene things to Merlin's sense of duty and honour.
"You are," Merlin promised softly.
"Don't go to bed with him. Please."
Al-right.
"I wouldn't," he promised.
Especially as Lord Julian was clearly enamoured with his aide Nicodemus who also happened to be a powerful mage and a gifted seer. It was on Nicodemus' impulse that they had made the long and fraught journey to Camelot â to meet the foretold Once and Future King and confer with the 'Great Emrys'.
"I promise you Lord Julian has no designs on my virtue," Merlin murmured to the lovely but woefully shitfaced prat.
"That's what you think! He's no fool, he can see how pretty you are. How nice and⊠crafty⊠and funnyâŠ" Arthur's warm, spicy breath ghosted over him, intoxicating to Merlin in a way that had nothing to do with how much wine the prince had imbibed. "The truest friend and companion a man could desire." Then an upset frown creased his brow. "He can't have that. He can't have you," Arthur insisted, his hands awkwardly possessive on either side of Merlin's face, squishing his cheeks with loving fervour. Then Arthur seemed to run out of momentum, and he leaned his forehead against Merlin's. "JustâŠTell him you're mine," he said weakly.
Oh the delightful pain that wrung Merlin's heart at those words. If only. If only he dared.
"I am yours," he agreed on a murmur. "I'm your manservant, aren't I?"
"Yes," Arthur said quietly, a mess of emotions brewed in the too-shiny blue eyes. "Yes, you are." Then with more intensity, "Sometimes it feels like that's not enough."
"Oh you want me to be your friend, now?" Merlin teased lightly, resorting to this old joke to shield them both from the bluntness of Arthur's cup-induced delusions of frankness
"You are my friend," Arthur announced, seemingly dredging up the admission from the innermost sanctum of his proud soul. "It's not right. And it's not what I want. But it's the truth."
Gods, could the clotpole be anymore sweetly hurtful?
"And I want you⊠to want to be by my side," the lost prince spelled out laboriously.
"Well, you know me. I'm apparently the self-sacrificing type," Merlin tried with a little smile. "And I have nowhere else I need to be."
"So⊠do you promise to always be mine?" The gleam of desperate longing in Arthur's wine-earnest eyes was gouging Merlin's heart out of his chest.
And Merlin saved himself with the only defence at his disposal â pained humour.
"Only if you promise to be mine in return?" was all he had the nerve to say.
Arthur closed his eyes, sighed a long tired breath. He released Merlin and leaned back against the pillows, seemingly exhausted.
Well, there was Merlin's answer. And here was his lacerated, shivering heart kindly handed back to him, a little worse for wear.
He let himself sit on the edge of the mattress for a moment â to recover from the ordeal.
He was about to get to his feet, when Arthur's hand found one of his wrists and held it, forcing him to stay. Anchoring him like nothing else could. Arthur then slowly brought Merlin's captive hand towards his own cheek.
"If I had a choice⊠If I didn't already belong to Camelot⊠There is nothing I would want more than to be yours," he vowed, soft and broken.
Merlin was speechless.
And Arthur forged on.
"If I wasn'tâŠ" The princely forefinger drew a wobbly loop in the air "âŠwho I am. If we were not soâŠ" The forefinger now waved back and forth unsteadily "âŠunequal." Arthur blinked and wet his lips unsurely. "Would you have me?" he asked on a poignant croak.
Yes. A thousand times yes.
The answer and the feeling caught painfully in Merlin's chest.
"I⊠I think we shouldâŠ" The rest of the reasonable words momentarily died on his lips as Arthur closed his eyes and leaned into the palm of Merlin's hand. A hand made rough and callused by the daily toil of a serving boy. And here were the prince's lips seeking to meekly brush against the base of Merlin's thumb. The soft, intimate gesture, so full of promise and longing, was too much to bear for Merlin. "I think we should keep this discussion for tomorrow morning," he said in a breathless rush. "When you're well-rested and sober. Sire."
Merlin then gently, very delicately, retrieved his hand from the sweetest trap ever.
"I have upset you," Arthur observed despondently. "You only ever give me 'sires' and 'my lords' when I've upset you."
"You know me too well, Your Highness."
Arthur gave a tired, damp snort. "Now you're just mocking me."
"I wouldn't dare." Said with an easy quirk of the lips. And there, just like that, Merlin had brought them back on a more familiar and more passable path. The one he walked every day, in thoughts simultaneously one step ahead and one step behind the man he loved, but never abreast.
Arthur rolled onto his side, trying to find a comfortable position as his eyes blurrily followed Merlin through the motions of closing down their day. Putting away the warming pan, making sure the chamber pot was clean and within reach, folding Arthur's still-warm clothes, patting the covers, snuffing out the candles. Letting the echoes of the incriminating, too-tender words die out, swallowed by the silk and velvet trappings of Arthur's power and status. All the little things to reset the clockwork of their improper, bristly and at times wildly intimate friendship.
Tomorrow would be another day. Merlin would do his best to forget he'd witnessed the longing because such notions were simply too fraught to entertain.
"I might hold you to it, you know?" Arthur's voice was raspy and drawling, tangled as it was in wine and sleep. "Tomorrow morning. You and I, having that long-overdue discussion."
"Goodnight, Arthur."
"Goodnight. Merlin."
Inspired by @count-pudding's sketches (first posted last December and now embedded in the fic!!). Thank you so much for sharing your beautiful art, my friend. đđ„°
This won't get posted to AO3 (unless it eventually becomes the first chapter of a longer thing instead of a standalone ficlet? đ€), so feel free to reblog, like and let me know in the comments if you enjoyed it.
Merlin frowned. âYou donât think your dead Mum would approve of me?â
âYou have a criminal record!â Arthur screeched.
âIt was a caution! God, you graffiti one bus stop one time and nobody ever lets it go.â
âI think youâre omitting a crucial detail.â
âOh, you are such a tory sometimes! For the last time, it was an expression of my political consciousnessââ
âBe gay do crime? Thatâs the ethos of your politic?â
âExactly! And from what I know about your Mum, that sounds right up her street.â
âMerlin,â Arthur said, in that way that made Merlinâs name into a full sentence.
âWhat? You canât tell me that photo of her and your godmother is not giving girlfriends.â
Arthur sat up, outraged. âAunt Nim did not shag my Mum! Do not put that image in my head!â
Merlin held back a laugh. He changed tactics. âSheâd like me more than your Dad does, thatâs for sure.â
âThatâs true. I donât think heâs ever going to get over The Incident.â
âNo, well, your Dad catching us in flagrante in a disabled loo was never going to do wonders for our relationship.â
âI think Mum would have found that funny,â Arthur admitted. He settled his head back in Merlinâs lap. âI love you,â he said quietly. âYou make me happy. I think that would be enough for her.â
Merlin smiled softly. âI think so too. Come on now, birthday boy, letâs go to bed.â
They had been riding for 5 hours in silence. 5 hours since Arthur had been exiled, and Merlin had followed him without a word.
5 hours since Merlin had stopped a dagger with magic in front of the court. 5 hours since Uther had ordered Merlin's execution. 5 hours since Arthur had taken the blame instead.
5 hours since Arthur had claimed he had been the one to make the dagger freeze in mid-air.
5 hours since Arthur claimed he'd been practicing magic.
And now they were here.
It was getting almost too dark to see. Merlin couldn't bring himself to say they should stop.
He felt like his whole world had come crashing down.
He had no idea how much worse it must be for Arthur. Arthur who had protected him without a second thought.
Yet he'd taken the blame, rather than let Merlin go to the pyre. He couldn't have even been sure Merlin was loyal. He didn't even have a second to think it through. He just acted.
Even though from the brief microsecond before Arthur had decided on his course of action, Merlin had seen a world of betrayal on his face.
Arthur hadn't known Merlin had magic.
He'd done it anyway. That was who Arthur was. Passion. Acting in the heat of the moment. It was part of what Merlin adored about him, even when it gave him headaches at the same time.
The prince couldn't have known exactly how Uther would react. Was the exile worse than he imagined? Or, gods, did he expect he would have ended up on the pyre himself?
Merlin wondered if he regretted it.
He must.
Arthur had been born a prince, and fought with everything he had to be a good one. It was his life.
And now it was gone.
Merlin wished with everything he had that he could turn back time, to before the feast when Arthur had thrown a sock at his head in anger, and Merlin had burst out laughing at the weakest threat he'd ever received - and Arthur had twitched his lips in response.
What would happen now?
"Let's make camp here, Merlin." Arthur suddenly cut through their silence, making Merlin jump. His voice was sure. Not afraid.
It only made Merlin more confused.
"As you say, Sire." He said unsurely, so unlike his usual self, as he got off his horse.
"Just Arthur. I no longer have that title, after all." Arthur said. He sounded tired, but accepting. Merlin wanted to shake him, ask why the hell he wasn't more upset about this when Merlin was breaking into pieces.
"Arthur. I'm - you can't know how sorry-"
"You saved my life, Merlin." Arthur interrupted him, looking away from his ex-manservant, now purely friend, as he tied his horse to a tree.
"I never wanted this." Merlin trembled. Why wasn't Arthur angry? Could it be... might Arthur actually understand? Even if he didn't know the facts? Might he know Merlin's nature, his loyalty - his love for his prince?
Arthur turned to face him. Even in the darkness, his eyes burned bright with emotion he rarely let show. "I don't regret it, Merlin. Even if you hadn't used it to save me, I could never abide you dying."
Merlin sucked in a deep breath. He felt a tear roll down his cheek. Arthur looked softly at him.
"Ever since you barged your way into my life, it's been you and me. And it always will be. I won't have it any other way." Arthur said, and it sounded like a promise. It sounded even more like an unspoken 'I love you' that Merlin had always longed to hear.
"I'll always be yours, Arthur." Merlin replied, even as another tear escaped, and his heart pounced in his chest.
Arthur smiled. "Then tomorrow you'll tell me everything. Including why on earth you'd come to Camelot in the first place. We'll plan from there. It will be okay, Merlin. I promise."
germansingergirl
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