Cages or Wings (which do you prefer?)
Arthur Pendragon x Reader
Summary: Some say a life with the person you love is perfection—they never say what happens when that life is spun from lies.
TW: panic attack, lying, magic, angst
WC: 2240
The repeated scratching of a quill against paper floats through the air as you quietly slip through the door, pausing to reassure yourself no one else is in the room. As your eyes sweep over the empty chairs to land on the only person in the light, you take a deep breath and prepare to move out of the shadows.
You take a deep breath as you move toward the man writing in the dimming candlelight, words and phrases flitting through your head in half-questions and half-conversations. Finally, you ask: “Long day?”
“Hmm?” The quill stops as Arthur glances up, eyes blinking wearily before they clear as he smiles up at you. “I’m sorry, I didn’t hear you come in.” He sighs, the quill falling from his fingers as he lifts his hand to run his fingers through his hair. “Yes, it’s been a very long day. Leon ran into some trouble with the new recruits this morning, and as I’m sure you’ve heard by now one of the visiting nobles was caught using magic so I had to deal with that with Father instead of going over the wedding protocol, and I-” Arthur pauses, his mouth open as his eyes stare out into the darkness of the world beyond the window. You bite your lip, carefully bringing your hands to his shoulders and rubbing as he groans. “I forgot about our dinner plans, didn’t I? Again.”
“It’s alright.” You swallow the growing lump in your throat as Arthur leans into your touch. “Three more weeks and you’ll be stuck with me for life. We can eat together then.”
A pained laugh echoes in the room as Arthur shakes his head. “Still. I’m sorry. I’ll make it up to you; I swear.”
You press your lips together and shut your eyes, forcing yourself to take another deep breath before carefully pressing your lips to Arthur’s head. “I know,” you whisper. Arthur just tilts his head back.
“And how exactly am I supposed to do that?” Merlin drops his head onto the table, groaning as Gaius closes the book in front of him. You glance over the various pages in front of you, scanning the paragraphs and drawings of the creature Gaius determined is being used to try and kill your fiancé.
“I could try talking to him,” you offer.
“That might do more harm than good.” You open your mouth to argue, but Gaius tilts his head in a knowing manner and the resolve drains from your shoulders into the ground. “Arthur trusts you, loves you, but is it strong enough to withstand the notion of you knowing about creatures of magic?”
“Probably more trust and love in that relationship then in his friendship with me,” Merlin mutters.
You swallow to dissolve the growing lump in your throat, but it pushes back, expanding to constrict your airway as Gaius’ words and Merlin’s next response fade into distorted noise in your ears. “Not enough to still love me if he ever found out I have magic.” The words leave your mouth with your next exhale, and if either of your companions heard they ignore it as they continue to debate the best course of action.
You blink as your ears prickle with the sound of a chair being pushed away, and your eyes focus on Merlin as he stands, arms folded over his chest and lips turned down in a frown, and stomps out of the room. Your eyes turn to Gaius as he shakes his head and shuffles toward the bookcase on the other side of the room.
“Excuse me,” You mutter. Gaius doesn’t turn, and the lump in your throat reels the words back into your chest as you push your way from the table and stumble out of the room. The walls shift, chasing you as you stumble, foot after foot after foot after foot, until you find yourself falling onto a patch of green and crisp, fresh air found the morning after a storm wraps itself around you in a comforting hug. Your lungs scream joyously as you breathe.
Your fingers clench around blades of grass and you force your brain to focus on the ticklish feeling as you shift to kneel on the ground, head bowed low as you regain the breath you had lost in Gaius’ chambers.
Your eyes shut as you swallow once more, and when you open them it is to the shadow of someone walking up behind you. You slowly push yourself to your feet and turn, letting your shoulders drop with relief at Gwen’s smile.
“Are you okay?” At your nod, she nods her chin back toward the castle. “Well, Arthur asked me to tell you that the tailor finished your outfit for tonight so he sent it to your room.”
“Thank you, Gwen. Did he say anything else?”
“Just that he’s excited. As am I. I can’t believe tonight’s the last feast before you and Arthur’s wedding; I’m sure it’ll be a lovely event.”
Your lips tentatively pull up in a small smile. “As if Uther would let it be anything else. Only the best for his only son, right?”
Gwen laughs. “True enough. Well, I’d better be on my way. I have to pick up material for a new dress for Morgana. I’ll see you later, Y/N.”
You say farewell to Gwen and slowly make your way up to your room in the castle. Once the door has shut, a loose barrier protecting you from the world of Camelot and Uther’s hatred of magic, you turn to look at the new outfit sprawled out on the bed. You take the fabric in your hands, smiling at the colors, and pick up the note next to it. Your fingers aimlessly trace Arthur’s handwriting, and you close your eyes to force the pain from your heart and gut.
He loves me, he loves me, he loves me, you tell yourself. Not if he knew the truth.
You turn quickly, moving to replace your current clothes with the new outfit made specifically for the feast. A final feast before the wedding, a final goodbye to life before…it will be all right, love shapes life, and I love him and he loves me; that is all that matters…
Arthur smiles when he sees you. A wide, unconscious, loving, terrible smile that holds a world of possibilities, hopes, and future dreams within it.
“You look lovely,” he whispers in your ear as you link your arm through his and he leads you into the main hall. You thank him, and let the warmth of his arm guide you past the nobles chattering and whispering, your eyes desperately searching the corners of the room until Gwen’s reassuring smile slows your beating heart and Merlin and Gaius’ waves slow the spinning world to an acceptable pace.
“Ah, there you are.” The world crashes into motion again, your heart slamming into your chest.
“Father,” Arthur nods in greeting and you instinctively bow your head.
“Your Majesty.”
Uther Pendragon waves his hand dismissively. “None of that. We are to be family, after all.” You silently nod as Uther moves to greet someone else.
“See. I told you he doesn’t hate you.”
You sigh. “So you did.”
Arthur laughs. “Come, let us sit down.” You let Arthur guide you toward a seat, frowning when something shifts in your peripheral vision. You turn your head to see Merlin talking animatedly with Gwen, head turning and eyes searching. “Y/N?” You turn back to Arthur, his once smiling face fallen into worry.
“I-” The words constrict in your throat as the world slows, slower than before, your vision locked on the figure of someone—the daughter of a noble, your brain supplies—as their fingers shift and they point at Arthur’s back, sparks flitting through the air. A gasp tears its way from your throat as you push him away, arms rising instinctively to stop, protect, keep the lightning away.
The sparks bounce away from the shield as they have every time Merlin practiced the spell with you in the privacy of Gaius’ chambers, and your heart plummets when, instead of his praise, your ears receive the gasping horror of an entire room of nobles and knights of Camelot.
“Magic.” The word breathes itself into existence, a small, quiet sound uttered from the most protected corner where Uther stands, face white, through the jaded room and into your soul, shaking, cracking, as Uther gestures for knights to restrain you.
You turn helplessly toward Arthur, mouth opening with unsaid words, but the gaze in his eyes stops you. He backs away, knights push him behind them, and your arms are forced behind your back and tied together. Behind Arthur, you see Gaius grab Merlin’s arm, forcing him to stay still. He watches, eyes wide and mouth moving in an unheard, unforgiven, apology. Next to him, Gwen’s hands clasp together under her chin as she mutters into them, watching with shaking shoulders as the guards force you out of the room.
Your gaze falls to the ground as you’re pushed from hallway to hallway, out of the sun, out of the moon, down a flight of stairs, into the freezing, damp dungeon. You only lift your gaze once the clanking echo of the cell door being slammed shut has faded and, alone, you let your tears fall.
He arrives an hour later. Silent, guarded. He stays in the shadows for the first few minutes, watching, waiting. You keep your head down, eyes watching the edge of his shoes as he moves to step closer, hesitates, and then speaks.
“So you have magic, then.”
You swallow, throat dry. “Yes.”
“You never told me.”
“No.”
He pauses, perhaps unsure, perhaps confused, perhaps wanting to know but not wanting to ruin the image of what you were with what you are. “Why?” You flinch, the word cutting through the defenses you had prepared for this very conversation with its soft, quiet, desperate tone.
“I’m sorry.”
“That’s not an answer!” Arthur slams his palm against the door of the cell, and you close your eyes until you hear him take a step back. “That’s not an answer,” he repeats.
“I know. That doesn’t mean it’s not true.”
“Was nothing true?”
“Everything was true.” You lift your head to stare at him. He raises his eyebrow. “It was. It is. I love you, Arthur. I have always loved you, and I always will. Yes, I have magic and I never told you. What did you expect me to do? Tell you the day we met? Your father would have had me executed.”
“And now he’s planning your execution in place of our wedding.”
“Better that than your funeral.”
Arthur swallows, stares a moment more, and turns to leave. “Get some rest.”
“Whatever for? I’ll be dead by nightfall.”
He pauses, and you wait in the silence as he shakes his head and continues on his way. In the quiet that follows, you hold back a scream.
The cell door opens. You press your fingernails into your palms, silently recounting every promise and every truth and every lie and every dream you have ever made and every face that will mourn when you are gone and every face that will laugh and say good riddance and every face that will be unsure of how to mourn your erasure from existence without mourning the loss of the magic you possess.
A hand grabs your shoulder. Your eyes shut, and your throat closes in on itself. You’re pulled to your feet, and your mind counts the laughs and smiles you’ve shared with Gwen, Merlin, Gaius, Morgana, Arthur.
The hand pushes you and you stumble as you’re guided out of the cell. Arthur, Arthur, Arthur, sweet, loving, Arthur, trying to please his father, the smile he only shared with you, please let him find happiness again.
The hand presses firmly into your shoulder and your breath catches in your throat as another hand grasps your wrist. Fingers delicately draw circles into your wrist before something presses against your skin, moving, and the rope tying your hands together falls to the ground. Your eyes open as the hand urges you forward again. You stare at the dimly lit hallway, turning your head as Arthur leans whisper in your ear.
“I have two horses waiting just outside here. Quietly, come on.”
You follow as he leads you, eyes scanning for the missing guards, and soon Arthur is helping you onto a horse before mounting his own and leading you through Camelot and out into the wilderness.
You ride in silence, fear gripping your throat, until dawn breaks through the sky and Arthur pauses, drawing his horse to a stop. You stop next to him, watching as he turns his horse around. His eyes stare into the distance as he speaks.
“You are to leave Camelot. Do not return. Ever.”
“Yes, Your Highness.”
Arthur nods, and urges his horse back toward Camelot. You watch as he pauses again, several feet from you. You wait as his shoulders rise with the need to say something, and then drop as he says nothing, and his horse moves again. You watch, tears filling your eyes, as he continues to move away from you. You watch until he is too far to see and, once you are sure he has not looked back, you turn your horse away from Camelot.
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