After centuries, Merlin finally realises that Arthur will not return. He's completely dead. There was no guide to bring him to Avalon to rest, no priestess to heal his wounds, no good relationship with the Sidhe whose magic could rise him. He's dead, bones mingled with soil. There is no even the lake anymore. No hope. Merlin's heart breaks the last final time...and it releases magic so powerful, raw and pure that it is enough to resurrect Arthur.
arthur loves to ask merlin for advice and then cut him off with “seriously, merlin, stick to polishing armor would you?” and other such classist microaggressions. unfortunately twitter doesn’t exist in camelot yet so he cannot be properly cancelled
My little addition to the @merthurmicrofic for the prompt "stars" :) 1,586 words. Can be read platonic or romantic.
Arthur knows how to use the stars to navigate. It was taught to him at a young age; originally meant for boat navigation, his teacher explained that he could use them even in the depths of the forest. All he had to do was find an open spot in the canopy. He knows how to use them to make his way back home.
So it wasn't hard to believe the travelling minstrel who told him that some destinies were written in the stars. It had been on his eighth birthday, memorable because his father had bothered to attempt a celebration - hence the minstrel. Arthur hadn't understood what "written in the stars" meant at the time; most of the story had gone over his head. The phrase, though, stuck with him. If stars could be read for guidance on a dark night then it would make sense they could be read in other ways. He believed that if he stared at them enough, learned to understand them properly, perhaps he could gain some insight into his own destiny. Learn what he's meant to do.
Staring at the stars became a guilty habit, something he turns to when his father is disappointed in him (often) or when he feels like a failure (even more often). Though he grew out of the childish belief in destiny, there is still a part of him that wants the comfort of knowing his purpose. Nearly every clear night, he can be caught leaning out some window or over a balustrade, staring at the sky, hoping the stars will do more than just shine for once.
Secretly he wishes they could speak to him, tell him how he's meant to carry the weight of the crown, but they never do, preferring to be silent supervisors of fate.
Arthur had never met anyone who stared at the night sky as often as he did until Merlin came. Sometime around his first week as the worst manservant Arthur had ever known, they bumped into each other on a late night quest to find clear skies and sparkling lights. They don't speak of it, but Arthur takes note.
He notices when Merlin sits at the window after dinner, polishing a sword or boot with slow, smooth strokes, face turned toward the night sky.
He notices that Merlin also takes nightly strolls along the walls, hands in his pockets, ridiculous neckerchief flapping in the breeze, eyes focused up into the sky.
He notices when they ride home from some quest or other, and Merlin lets the reins go slack, trusting the horse to stay with Arthur, and tosses his head back to stare into the sky with an abandon that Arthur would call reckless. Once, when their conversation had fallen into an easy sort of silence, Merlin even had the gall to lay back on the horse as they walked along the road.
Eventually, noticing isn't enough. Arthur needs to know if Merlin too feels that the divination of their cryptic celestial gods will tell of his future, or if Merlin just views them as something lovely without any deeper meaning. Merlin is often taken with lovely things: a bouquet of flowers, a pretty dish in the market, a particularly ornate goblet. Merlin takes in the world around him with a depth of emotion Arthur had never seen. Merlin seems to enjoy being in a state of awe. Merlin once started crying while staring at a painting gifted to Uther by a visiting dignitary. Arthur stared at the painting long after Merlin left to assist Gaius with gathering herbs, but couldn't figure out what had caused such a strong reaction. The pastoral setting was pretty, deftly painted, and well composed, but nothing more.
Certainly nothing as close to awe inspiring as the stars.
So when Arthur finds Merlin, lying on the stone floor of a turret, staring at the sky and openly weeping, he feels a desperate and sudden tug in his soul to understand. Instead of turning back and finding his own place to look at the sky, he makes his way toward his loyal servant.
(and he is loyal, isn't he? Despite his many faults, Merlin's loyalty remains steadfast. A lighthouse in the storm of Arthur's life.)
Merlin startles when Arthur steps forward.
"Oh.. I..." Merlin begins, scrambling to his feet, "my lord, I thought you went to bed, that I was dismissed for the evening." Then a furrowed brow, a concerned tilt of the head, "did you need something? Is everything alright?"
"oh, sit back down Merlin," Arthur answers with a dismissive wave of his hand. "I hadn't meant to interrupt. Just to enjoy the stars in peace myself." Like a cat, Arthur settles himself against the wall of the turret, craning his neck up, pretending this was his goal all along, and ignoring the quick flutter of his heart that Merlin might somehow reject him. As if Merlin were the prince and Arthur the servant. As if Merlin could send him away. Merlin does not try to send him away, just gives Arthur another long, puzzled look before lowering himself back to where he was laying on the ground. The limbs aren't sprawled in the same carefree way but his face still relaxes once it's pointed heavenward again. Arthur waits for what seems like an appropriate amount of time before speaking again.
"Do you know the constellations?" For some reason this is what comes out of Arthur's mouth and not the question he meant to ask. There is a comfort in teaching, in giving Merlin information. It feels like the right thing for a prince to do for a servant, albeit a close one.
"Some of them" Merlin answers, "the ones that everyone knows. My mother once told me a story about that gathering of seven but it was many years ago." He goes still and quiet for a moment, trying to remember, "I can't recall it now."
Arthur hums a soft agreement and lets the conversation die while he tries to figure out the right words for what he wants to ask; how to say it without changing the shape of their relationship.
"I love looking at the stars," Merlin says after a while, unable to withstand the quiet. "It reminds me that I am small. My problems feel less when considering the vastness of the sky."
Arthur takes the opening Merlin offers him before he has time to regret it, "I used to think I could divine my fate if I understood them well enough."
Merlin sniffs, swiping at his face with a quick motion that Arthur realizes he isn't supposed to have noticed. He does notice. It's Arthur's job to notice, to pay attention to the people around him, to remain vigilant. "I did too, when I was young."
"And now?" Arthur asks too quickly to remain nonchalant. Merlin shifts his legs.
"Now I think destiny is bigger than even them," Merlin replies in that voice he takes on sometimes where he sounds older than his years. "Trying to understand it only makes it harder to see properly."
Arthur stares at his servant, trying to determine where these things come from, these ideas that feel bigger than the young man lying in front of him. Merlin looks particularly young here in the soft glow of the moonlight.
"You're a mystery, Merlin," Arthur replies eventually with a bit of a sigh, suddenly weary of everything. "I feel like I know you one moment, and then once I have you figured out, you say something almost... Wise."
Then Merlin snorts a quick silly laugh and a bit of the spell that's fallen over them has broken and they are once again two not-quite-friends sharing a patch of stone on a cool evening.
"Why were you crying?" Arthur asks now, feeling more confident. He really does want to know, even if he suspects it will be something stupid.
"I was missing home," Merlin answers with that simple honesty that he usually has when answering Arthur's prying questions. "Sometimes it helps to look at the sky and remember that my mother is looking at the same sky back in Ealdor."
Arthur doesn't know how to respond. He can't call Merlin a pansy or a girl for missing his mother. Arthur didn't even know his mother but he still misses her all the same. Arthur's mother is dead, though, and cannot look at the stars even from somewhere else. She can only rot away in her stone casket somewhere deep below the castle.
The thought leaves him cold, and he stands with little ceremony.
"Well," he says to the boy who has no fear of laying himself bare before Arthur in the strangest of ways, "I think it's bedtime for the both of us. You have to clean and polish all of my armor before training tomorrow, as well as repairing my mail, and my laundry needs washing, and who knows what chores Gaius will have for you."
Merlin rolls his eyes at Arthur who leans over to replace the depth of the night sky with his own face, filling Merlin's vision with his own presence. Then Arthur offers down a hand, and Merlin grabs it with his own, and Arthur hefts Merlin to his feet, trying not to think about the way his hand feels as though it burns wherever Merlin touches it.
The stars will always be here tomorrow night, just as Merlin will always be by his side. This much Arthur knows.
you couldn’t make bbc merlin today because they would spend bajillions of dollars on the cgi and bribing josh o’connor to play merlin and there would be no money left over for the ‘merlin’s gay little scarves’ budget
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."
Arthur had dismissed Merlin hours and hours ago, it being the middle of the bloody night and all, so the absolute last thing he could have anticipated upon opening his chamber door was to find the exact same man standing in the hallway. He looked a bit sheepish, and a lot tired.
“Oh. Well, hello, Arthur.”
“Why are you creeping?” Arthur asked. He hadn’t been able to fall asleep yet, instead just rolling around in his sheets like a hound in mud, and so had heard the footsteps approaching his door—and then eerily stopping in front of his door—with astounding clarity. As it was, he was holding a dagger in his hand, having expected something far more sinister to be awaiting him outside.
Not Merlin, who was about as threatening as a wet cat.
“I didn’t even knock,” Merlin said instead of answering.
“I know.”
They continued to stare at each other.
“Well, goodnight,” Merlin said, awkwardly, and turned to leave. Arthur caught his arm.
“Nuh uh. You don’t get to show up in the middle of the night acting all weird and then just—leave.”
Merlin relented immediately, which was surprising. He exhaled, almost folding in on himself as he followed Arthur back into his chambers, and flopped down at the table.
“Came to make sure you were alright, is all,” he mumbled, not looking at Arthur. He was too focused on fidgeting with the hem of his sleepshirt. Arthur realized he’d never really seen Merlin in sleepclothes; whenever they were traveling, he tended to just sleep in variations on his usual theme.
“Why wouldn’t I be?” Arthur demanded, perhaps a bit too harshly.
“I don’t know.”
Silence again. Arthur hated this. It was weird.
“Are you alright?” Arthur asked pointedly, intending to do the talking for both of them. “Have you gotten any sleep?”
“I…”
Merlin finally tilted his head upwards to look at him, and the pure weariness in face caught Arthur off guard. The blue eyes he had come to know so well looked distant and uncertain, more akin to those of a soldier after a terrible battle than a royal manservant.
“I keep having this dream,” Merlin said softly, “where something terrible happens to you. Something I could’ve stopped, and yet I fail. Every time.”
Arthur blinked. He didn’t know what to say to that.
(The truth was he did know exactly what to say to that, but he was having trouble convincing himself to actually, you know, say it.)
“I believe that’s called a nightmare, Merlin,” Arthur said dryly, which was not the thing he wanted to say. Merlin scoffed and rolled his eyes.
“Thank you for your infinite wisdom, o great Prince Arthur.”
“I get them too, you arse,” Arthur shot back. “About you.”
Merlin’s expression softened, though there was still something unreadable about it. “I suppose we’re in good company, then,” he said after a moment.
“Indeed.” Arthur was not going to do the uncomfortable silence thing again, so he continued. “Well, I’m going to try to sleep now. You’re welcome to sit there and watch me like some bizarre bird of prey or something, if it will give you peace.”
Merlin gave a tired laugh, and, to Arthur’s surprise, settled further into the chair like he might actually do it. “It might bore me to sleep, sure.”
Arthur snorted. “I should certainly hope watching me sleep is boring, else I might believe you a pervert.”
He crawled back into bed, wrapping the blankets tightly around his shoulders. Even with a fire in the hearth, it was bloody freezing.
“Will you at least offer your guard dog a blanket, your Royal Pratness?”
“I am not moving,” Arthur replied, voice muffled by his pillow. It wasn’t like Merlin didn’t know where the spare blankets were anyhow. In fact— “While you’re over there, grab me an extra. Tonight is bizarrely cold.”
His bed dipped with far more weight than that of an extra blanket, and he rolled over in surprise. Merlin was sitting there, glowering at him, and threw the blanket in his face.
“Hey!” Arthur cried, now muffled by Merlin’s paltry attempt at suffocation. He fought the blanket off and poked his head out of the thick fur, returning Merlin’s look. “Rude.”
Merlin rolled his eyes again, giving a hint of a smile as he moved to stand up. Arthur snagged him by the sleeve, letting his intrusive thoughts win with absolutely no hesitation. He blamed it on the sleepiness.
“You’re already here,” he said, and Merlin’s eyes widened slightly in surprise. “Might as well. It’s nothing we haven’t done while traveling.”
“Those are distinctly separate and unpleasant cots that give me back pain. This is your bed.”
“Which, as you’ve pointed out, is big enough for a herd of small horses.”
Merlin barked out a surprised laugh. “I don’t think I’ve ever said that.”
“You definitely have. Anyways, goodnight,” Arthur announced, rolling back over and away from Merlin. His dignity had finally caught up to him, and he was beyond mortified.
A few moments later, Merlin shocked him by actually sliding under the heap of blankets next to him, giving a soft sigh of contentment that did something to Arthur’s insides. “Good lord. This is like sleeping on a fucking cloud.”
Arthur chuckled. Their backs touched.
“Now you understand why I’m so loath to wake up in the mornings.”
“No, that’s because you’re lazy and annoying and refuse to listen to anything I have to say.”
Arthur reached an arm over to swat Merlin’s shoulder, which just earned him a laugh in response.
“Okay, okay. Night, Arthur.”
Arthur tried to sleep then, he really did. But, like Merlin, he’d been awake in the first place because he kept dreaming about a gory end to Merlin’s life that he was unable to stop. He knew that people knew he cared for Merlin, and it had been used against him more than once. The thought that someone someday might actually succeed scared him to fucking death.
It was with that spike of fear and adrenaline that Arthur made the truly insane decision to roll over so he was facing Merlin again, watching his chest rise and fall in the firelight. Merlin hummed inquisitively.
“The guard dog thing only works if one of us is actually looking at the other,” Arthur murmured in response. Merlin huffed, and then, being the horrible little shit he was, inched backwards until Arthur had no choice but to put one arm around him and spoon him.
“Brat,” he muttered. Merlin huffed again.
“You invited me,” he retorted, voice thick with sleep.
Several moments passed, no longer in the awkward silence Arthur had hated but in something close to peace. He found his eyes could actually slip closed without a spike of panic, spurred onward by the warmth emanating from where Merlin was pressed against him.
“We can’t talk about this come morning,” Merlin whispered.
“No,” Arthur agreed, and was sad to do it. “But perhaps another night.”
“Yes. Another night.”
Arthur smiled, knowing no one would ever see it, and finally drifted off to sleep.
Merlin's barely recovered from the shock of hearing a polite knock on his very remote little cottage, when he swings the door open to find Arthur Pendragon staring at him. "I've been exiled," Arthur says calmly. "May I come in?"
"What?" Merlin wheezes.
Arthur seems to take that as invitation enough, shouldering past Merlin to enter. Dimly, Merlin notices he's wearing his long traveling coat, his sword at his hip, and a pack slung over his shoulder. "You keep this place just as messy as you did my chambers," Arthur tuts, looking over the humble interior of Merlin's cottage. His nose wrinkles in distaste as he looks at the dirty bowls on the table sat next to tinctures of bitter and poisonous plants, and Merlin's few articles of clothing drying on all the chair-backs. "Honestly, Merlin, what would your mother think?"
He swings his pack around, throws it down on the table, and begins to remove his coat. "I," Merlin breathes. "You. What are you—"
"Please tell me you have some actual meat in this hovel," Arthur adds. "It's a very long ride from Camelot, and I didn't stop to hunt for fear that I wouldn't make it here before nightfall."
He removes his coat, folding it and putting it up on a nail that sticks out from a wall. He turns and looks at Merlin expectantly. "Well?"
"EXILE?!" Merlin shrieks. "What are you— you're not— how did you even—"
His magic is bubbling up inside of him, confused, hurt, and restless. If Merlin hadn't already checked that it is indeed Arthur standing in front of him, he'd have thought the man an imposter. "How did you find me?" he settles on, hands curling into fists in an effort to control his raging emotions.
"I didn't," Arthur says. He leans over, absentmindedly straightening a pile of scrolls Merlin left askew. "I always knew where you went."
"What?"
"Lancelot is a very good tracker," Arthur says, in the tone of voice that indicates it explains everything Merlin needs to know. "Although he got a little too close following that business with the Sluagh. I told him to make sure you were well, not press his face into the windows."
"The wards," Merlin says faintly. He felt them thrum a couple weeks prior, indicating that someone had approached his cottage, although Merlin was unable to discover who.
His magic gave him no such warning for Arthur's arrival, the bastard.
"You've known where I've been ever since you sent me away," Merlin says slowly, trying to make his mind understand. Arthur is still looking at him with the expression he has whenever he thinks Merlin is being particularly slow about something. "And you didn't… mind? Say something?" Scream at me to leave? Show up with a company of Camelot's knights to dole out the law?
Arthur looks cross. "Well, you could have chosen someplace further than a day's ride out from Camelot," he says, and Merlin winces. Arthur then suddenly looks apologetic, and Merlin doesn't know why. "But it's for the best that you didn't. It would have been too hard for me to reach you had I need of you."
"Need of me," Merlin echoes faintly.
Arthur's apologetic expression melts into one of guilt. "I— I made sure I wasn't followed," Arthur says, and it is as he is instinctively flexing his hand that Merlin notices the bruises on his knuckles. "But I should have been more careful. My father, well—" A pained expression crosses his face. "Out of the two options, I was betting that he wouldn't choose exile. The other, I could handle."
Oh. So that's what this is about. Arthur has done something to irritate Uther, and he has turned to Merlin to fix it. He is desperate enough to decide he has need of Merlin again to seek him out. Merlin supposes it shouldn't be surprising that Arthur knows where he is, since it doesn't matter where he lives, as long as it is away from Arthur. Or maybe Arthur just wants the security of knowing Merlin can't run if Arthur decides to renege on his mercy.
If Merlin were his own friend, he would advise himself to have more self-respect. As it stands, at least there is no one else in the cottage to witness how pathetic he is. "What do you need?" Merlin says quietly.
Arthur shoots him a look. "Well, a fire would be nice, for starters. And I wasn't kidding about needing a meal—"
"With Uther," Merlin says exasperatedly. "Surely you must have some idea of how to calm his anger. I could conjure a kelpie and make sure there are witnesses to you heroically slaying it—"
"I've got my father under control," Arthur says. "Sure, it does make things a bit harder having to conduct a base of operations from this…." He looks around, and decides on a word that won't spark Merlin's ire, "abode, but my knights and I have been using coded communication for months now. The council was losing faith in him even before he chose to exile the crown prince. I give it less than a month before he brings Camelot to the brink of crisis, and then I'm sure the guards will be more than happy to allow me to return."
Merlin blinks. Perhaps this really is an imposter that has entered his home wearing Arthur's skin, or maybe he has finally gone utterly mad. He would have thought it would take more than half a year of broken-hearted solitude to get to that point. "Arthur, what are you talking about—"
"Oh, right. I'm sorry, I considered sending Lancelot with a message, but I didn't want him to be caught with anything on him were he found. I couldn't—" His thumb brushes over his lip, and Merlin sees a scab there. "I couldn't risk anything pointing to your location. Hence why I told my father I wouldn't give up that information, even under torture."
"What?!"
"Don't ruffle your petticoat, I'm fine," Arthur says quickly, as if Merlin had not just felt his magic jumping under his skin with all the fury of a dragon guarding its treasure. "I was expecting him to take me up on the offer, and then I wouldn't have to bother you. But it seems my father decided it more appropriate to strip me of my rank and title until I told him where you've been hiding."
Merlin stares at Arthur dumbly. There's no doubt about it, he has gone mad.
At least one of them, anyway.
"Why wouldn't you just tell your father where I am?"
"Very funny. Should I have offered to lead the knights to capture you myself, then?"
Merlin keeps his face blank to conceal the pain. "I suppose."
Arthur gives him a queer look. "You're acting odd. Did your brain wither away from having a forest respite for a few months?"
"Forest respite," Merlin sputters, and he may be pathetic but he still has enough dignity to grow angry. "I don't know what you want, and I'll help you with whatever you need, but might I remind you that you were the one that exiled me!"
Arthur rolls his eyes, and Merlin's hands curl into fists. "You're being dramatic."
It's so casual, so thoughtlessly cruel, that Merlin's magic lashes out before he can stop it. It doesn't hurt Arthur—he never would, never could—but Arthur's mouth falls open as he is shoved into a chair and held in place with invisible hands. For a second, fear flashes across his face, but even that is not enough to quell the anger inside Merlin. Like the first crack of ice across a frozen lake, it only splinters under further pressure.
"I did everything for you," Merlin rasps. "I bled, I killed, I would do it again without hesitation, and I know I lied to you, I know I hurt you, but— but you can't just turn up again like nothing has happened, when you sent me away—"
"—Merlin—"
"It's not fair, it's not fair to take me up one day and cast me away the next, so after this," Merlin's voice trembles, but he juts his chin upwards, he is stronger than this, damn it, "if you no longer wish to see me, then respect your own wishes and leave me be—"
"Merlin!" Arthur is still straining against the weight of the magic holding him in place. But he doesn't look angry, more confused and irritated. And sweaty. "When did I exile you?"
"Oh, I don't know," Merlin snaps. "Maybe this will refresh your recollection: 'Leave here now and don't come back.'"
He knows his voice is a harsh imitation of Arthur's exact words, as they have been ringing in his head since the moment he first heard them. They had barely sunk in, leaving their impression in the grove of his mind—a permanent scar that would never fade—when Arthur barked, "Now," his expression utterly furious. And Merlin had listened.
He breathes out harshly, trying to get a rein on his anger. And Arthur looks—
—well. He doesn't have a word to describe how Arthur looks, exactly.
"Merlin. You did magic in front of my father and his entire court." Arthur is speaking very clearly and slowly. "It was all I could do to buy you enough time so you wouldn't be caught while you fled."
Merlin blinks. He hasn't focused on that part of the situation, truly. He has been more concerned with the hurt in Arthur's eyes, the way his expression turned cold and commanding within a second. All of it, targeted at Merlin. "You were angry."
"I was frightened." Something shudders across Arthur's face before he can conceal its honesty. "I always knew you were a reckless idiot, with how little you cared for doing magic in plain sight, but I knew even I couldn't save you from that display—"
"You." Merlin feels dizzy. He sinks heavily into one of his chairs, and he hears Arthur take a deep breath as his magic releases his hold on him. "You knew. About my magic."
"Of course I knew; I'm not blind," Arthur says, aghast. "I just figured you were pretending otherwise so we wouldn't have to talk about it. Did you really not—" And then his mouth closes. He blinks. Merlin can almost see the coals inside of Arthur's head producing steam. When he speaks again, his voice is small. "I see now. How things might have occurred differently to you."
Part of Merlin wants to cry, part of him wants to scream, part of him wants to laugh hysterically, and he very bravely and wisely does not do any of that. "So you weren't sending me away. Forever, that is."
"No." There is a similar edge of hysteria to Arthur's voice. "Just until I could make it safe for you again. Until I could bring you back to Camelot."
"You kept track of where I was," Merlin says distantly. "You—" He shakes his head quickly. "Arthur, you didn't— please tell me you didn't tell Uther to torture you rather than reveal where I was— I'm not worth it, why did you, why—"
He stops when he finally catches Arthur's eye. Arthur is looking at him in a way Merlin had only caught in glimpses before, like a beam piercing through the clouds, but now the full force of the sun is shining upon him. "How is it obvious to everyone other than you?" Arthur asks.
Merlin's face shatters, and Arthur is out of his chair, making his way over with apologies, and Merlin hears him saying something about how he assumed, he was wrong, he didn't mean to, and that nothing needs to change. He puts his hand on Merlin's shoulder, and Merlin realizes they are both great idiots, and it is probably better to speak with their actions, rather than words. So he does exactly that.
It is only when Arthur has his breeches half undone that he pauses to speak, as he hikes Arthur's tunic up for better access to his chest. "I do love you too, by the way."
"Glad we got that sorted," Arthur replies, and they tumble into bed, basking in the privilege of an undisturbed exile.
the thing about arthur pendragon is he's suuuuch a blustery guy. but in his final moments he wanted to say the true and right things. to merlin. while being held.
@merthurmicrofic for the prompt 'stars' | 737 words
They were seated under a giant oak when Arthur told Merlin Gwen and him broke up. It was a warm evening in September and with every hour that slipped by the buzzing of the bees and flies grew more quiet. But the crickets sure made up for it.
Merlin had not known how to handle the mixture of relief, sadness and guilt once Arthur informed him, head bowed while he played with a stick he found on the ground. So for a long time he said nothing, even though he felt himself, or an echo of his former self at least, become angry.
Had Arthur given it up because of Agravaine? Or did he once again decide Guinevere couldn't be trusted to choose for herself so he had made the choice for her? Claiming she deserved better?
All of these points had been subject of countless discussions between the servant and the king leading up to the courtship with Gwen. And while Merlin still thought all of them were mainly Arthur's insecurities and fear of opening up to people, he felt so tired.
Last night he had a fight with Gaius again, as the healer caught him slipping into their shared rooms in the middle of the night. He was covered in bruises and blood, though most of it wasn't his own.
Gaius scolded him, why hadn't he said anything? Where had he been? And where was the boy he once was?
Questions born of fear and desperation, Merlin knew that but what choice did he have? Pull all his friends with him into this darkness? No, he would pay the price of Arthur's protection and he would pay it alone, just as destiny intended. The king had told him countless times he needed to stop whining and just accept what needs to be done.
Still why did he feel so goddamn tired all the time?
By now the moon had taken over and the sun had dissappeared behind the horizon, leaving both of them underneath this blanket of stars while a slight breeze carried the faintest touch of autumn with it.
In the dark he felt better, safer, hidden from the scrutinizing looks of everyone.
The king sighed. Merlin coninued to rest his head on his knees. He was too exhausted to react, too exhausted to sleep.
"Merlin?" Arthur whispered.
He couldn't respond. He couldn't even move to acknowledge it. His body felt heavy, like the world was pressing down on him. So he answered with a hum.
"You can talk to me." The back of a hand came to rest against his own and this time he found the energy to turn his head.
In the dark he could only see the outlines of his king. And a hint of gold.
Arthur breathed out. "I'm here." And to stress his words the thumb brushed against Merlin’s wrist.
It was a clumsy attempt at consolation but that made it honest. It also made Merlin question how far Arthur was willing to go. Months ago he wouldn't have dared, he would have been too scared to let this part of him show even if it was only in the dark and just the two of them. But it barely mattered now anyways, didn't it? Every part of him was hurting no matter if Arthur rejected him or not. And maybe they would be able to ignore it afterwards, like when they looked into each others eyes and got so lost they found themselves staring at each others lips instead. They never talked about that either so...
Merlin looked at his king, staring into the spot where the light of the stars was mirrored by Arthur's eyes as he turned his hand around, palm facing Arthur's and lifted his finger enough to make contact. It was a request, a plea really but Merlin hoped Arthur didn't know the desperation the servant felt or at least felt something similarly.
Their hearts continues to beat and the crickets played their song but Merlin was frozen in place.
Stupid.
It was stupid.
His hand retreated again, shame burning inside his chest when Arthur's fingers curled around his wrist. Another request. This time to stay.
Another second passed before the grip loosened and the fingers finally slipped between Merlin's own.
They held onto each other for hours even when both of them lost the fight against the sleep their hands stayed intertwined.
Has Arthur returned yet? @magicrevealed - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
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