(no subject)
Title: Tall Tales
Author: Razzle
Pairing: Arthur/Merlin
Rating: PG
Summary: Humour. As a prince, Arthur has always been used to having little privacy. But this is ridiculous.
AN: This is a Water Leaper. And there’s a reference to one of the greatest movies ever in here. And *superhugs* for melacita for the beta.
Arthur succumbed to consciousness slowly, smacking his lips as the sunlight fell across his cheek, caressing him into waking. A small smile pulled at his lips as he began to stretch his sleep-stiffened limbs.
His sleepy good mood was destroyed, however, by the clearing of a deep-voiced, disembodied throat. His eyes snapped open and his smile turned into a frown.
Once upon a time, there was a handsome prince...
#
Merlin was used to walking into Arthur’s chambers pretty much as he pleased. He would always knock, partly out of courtesy but mostly for fear of finding Arthur doing something he shouldn’t really see (as tempting as that prospect may have been, Merlin wanted to keep his head).
Sometimes Arthur invited him to enter; sometimes he waited a reasonable amount of time and entered anyway. Occasionally, Arthur would yell, ‘No!’ very loudly and Merlin would make himself scarce for another half an hour.
He had never before knocked the door and actually had it opened for him.
“Merlin,” Arthur said through two inches of open door. “Are you alone?”
“Er, yes?” Merlin said in his default ‘you’re a prat’ tone of voice. “I am still capable of doing my chores on my own.”
Arthur was, apparently, too preoccupied to rise to the bait. He opened the door enough to yank Merlin into his chambers.
“Merlin, I have a serious problem,” Arthur said, cutting to the chase. Merlin stared at him for a moment or two and then sighed with a smile.
“Must be Saturday,” he said kindly. “What’s wrong?”
“It started this morning,” Arthur began to explain. “I was sleeping or, you know, I was just about to wake up and suddenly I could hear this... voice, talking about what I was doing.”
“You’re hearing voices?” Merlin prompted, nodding toward Arthur. “That’s a sign of madness.”
Arthur set his jaw and rolled his eyes, preparing to proclaim his sanity when he was interrupted.
Arthur debated how to reply, which insult he should choose from the arsenal of gloriously witty putdowns he had in his possession.
Merlin’s eyes widened. Arthur extended a hand to indicate the empty room, his jaw set angrily.
“Oh,” Merlin said quietly. “That’s inconvenient.”
“Indeed,” Arthur agreed. “And he’s not even very good! He’s lazy with his adjectives, he uses fruity, flowery language and he says things that are just absolutely not true.”
The prince wished it were true, but he knew all too well the accuracy with which the dashing narrator had recounted the sweet, soul-settling dream that had brought him to waking that morning in a state of...
“Argh!” Arthur interrupted, raising his hands and elongating the loud sound to drown out the unwelcome exposition. Merlin leaned away from the outburst. “Argh, Merlin make it stop!” Arthur shouted, pointing violently at the door. For once, Merlin did as he was told, exiting as quickly as the heavy door would let him and leaving Arthur alone with the voice.
Arthur stared after him, wishing he could ignore the smouldering sensation of longing that coruscated through his abdomen...
“Oh, shut up,” Arthur snapped.
#
Merlin was drawing a blank. He had been through as many books as he could and had found nothing useful. There were mentions of various gods and spirits who were aware of one’s every move, or could read thoughts and feelings, but there were no references to any of them forcibly reading the story of one’s life to anyone within earshot.
He closed the unhelpful tome and sat back, rubbing his eyes. When he blinked them clear again, his gaze fell on a smaller book, set aside from the rest, looking as innocuous as a children’s book could.
He tilted his head, and told himself a story.
#
The prince closed the door to the commode with as much regal refinement as he did all things, and looked down to ensure that his trousers were securely tied, concealing the most-coveted royal...
“I just don’t think that there was any need for you to narrate that in quite so much detail,” Arthur told the empty room.
Before the voice could begin to explain his annoyance or point out the futility of talking to someone who wasn’t there, there came a familiar rapping at the door.
As usual, the staccato rhythm caused Arthur’s heart to stutter and swell a little in his chest.
“You really are just trying to wind me up,” Arthur growled, moving toward the door. The voice was quieter and just a little sarcastic as it answered him.
Arthur’s denial was as pitiful as it was ultimately to be fruitless.
Arthur chose to ignore it, opening the door a crack and passing out two wads of fabric with their ends covered in wax.
“Put them in your ears,” he insisted, then closed the door while his servant did as he was instructed. A moment later, he answered a second knock and let Merlin in.
“Can you hear me?” he asked, closing the door behind Merlin.
“Did you ask me if I could hear you?” Merlin asked, needlessly loudly. Arthur nodded.
“No, I can’t hear you,” Merlin replied, practically yelling. Arthur winced and made a patting motion to suggest Merlin lower his voice. Merlin smiled and Arthur smiled at his own success.
Arthur was rather proud of his plan, the voice sounded a tad condescending.
“You can’t hear him, either?” Arthur asked.
“What?” Merlin replied. Clearly lip reading wasn’t going to work, so Arthur beckoned Merlin over to the table, where he had some paper and a pen prepared. He was lucky, he knew, to have a manservant who could read. Such a thing was a rare quality in the serving classes.
Not to mention all of Merlin’s other evident and singular qualities.
Arthur glanced at Merlin as he sat down. The younger man hadn’t reacted in any way, so Arthur assumed that he couldn’t hear. He sat opposite Merlin and picked up the pen, scribbling ‘Do you have an answer?’ and turning the page so Merlin could read it.
Merlin took the pen out of his hand and started to scrawl his reply. He looked up, pouting in confusion as Arthur plucked the pen out of his hand. Arthur made the shape of a moving mouth with his fingers and Merlin smiled in embarrassment as he understood.
“I don’t know what’s causing it,” Merlin said, clearly disconcerted by not being able to hear himself. Arthur looked despondent and Merlin hurriedly added, “But I think I know how to stop it.”
Arthur looked up, cautiously optimistic. “What was the first thing you heard?” Merlin asked. Arthur sighed, his mouth twitching awkwardly, and he picked up the pen.
‘Once upon a time, there was a handsome prince called Arthur,’ Arthur wrote.
Merlin nodded and drew Arthur’s attention to a small book he had brought with him. He opened it to the first page and ran his finger along the first line. Arthur read aloud.
“Once upon a time, there lived a wealthy merchant and his three lovely daughters.”
Merlin turned further in the book, to a page marked with a scrap of parchment. Arthur read where he pointed.
“Once upon a time, there lived a poor shoemaker.” And again, Merlin turned to another page. “Once upon a time, there lived a miller who had three sons.” Merlin went to turn to the next bookmark but Arthur stopped him. “Yes, yes,” he said out loud, assuming Merlin would be able to decipher that much. “So?”
Merlin held up a finger and turned back to the start of the book, to where a piece of cotton extended from the bottom of the pages. He pointed to the last line of the story.
“And they all lived happily ever after,” Arthur read. Merlin turned to the next skein. “And they all lived... oh,” he said, the implication dawning very quickly. Merlin nodded.
“If you finish the story, I think it’ll go away,” he concluded.
“So all I have to do...” Arthur started, before catching Merlin’s strained look and reaching for the paper again. He wrote ‘So all I have to do is find everlasting happiness and this will stop?’
“Yep,” Merlin said, once he’d read it. Clearly sarcasm didn’t come over well in print.
‘A little easier said than done, don’t you think?’ Arthur scrawled, the violence of his pen scratching indicative of his frustration. Merlin’s face fell. ‘Idiot’ Arthur added to the page.
Merlin let a small smile pinch his cheek.
“Maybe you don’t have to fix everything,” Merlin shrugged. “You just need to...” he looked around for ideas. “Well, almost all of these stories end up with the hero either finding his fortune or falling in love. You don’t need any more fortune, so... maybe you need to...” Arthur stared at him, marvelling inwardly at how furiously uncomfortable the younger man looked. “...win fair lady’s hand,” he concluded, not meeting Arthur’s gaze.
Guinevere. The narrator had been so quiet for so long, Arthur actually jumped when he started to speak again. Undoubtedly, it was she to whom Merlin referred, ignorant of how long it had been since Arthur had thought of her thus. Arthur rested his face on one hand, closing his eyes behind his hand as he let the voice rattle on with its nonsense. Even if he were to enlighten Merlin to the change in his feelings, surely the only suggestion his servant would make would be that Arthur was destined to fall in love once more, being completely ignorant of how swiftly, completely and irrevocably his affections had been secured elsewhere.
“Arthur?” Merlin prompted, his voice loud again. “Are you okay?”
Arthur waved away his concerns.
“I thought...” he caught himself and grabbed the paper. ‘I thought the voice might have some wisdom to impart.’
“Was it helpful?” Merlin asked. Arthur just shook his head. “So, what next?” Merlin asked, duly tentative and apparently prepared for Arthur to have a go at him. Arthur didn’t have the energy. He pulled the page back around and requested that Merlin gave him an hour or so to think about his options.
Reaching out to squeeze his hand supportively, Merlin did as he was asked, leaving word that the prince was not to be disturbed and promising to return in an hour.
Alone in his chambers, Arthur sat back in his chair and rubbed his face with both hands.
Arthur...
“Don’t start.”
#
Merlin was lost in thought as he made his way back to the physician’s rooms. So much so that when a hand landed on his shoulder, he nearly jumped out of his skin. He turned to see Gaius looking at him in some confusion, mouthing concerned words at him.
“Sorry, sorry,” he said, yanking the balled fabric out of his ears.
“Ah,” Gaius said, looking only slightly placated. “I thought you were ignoring me. Do I want to know?”
Merlin considered the question for a while, took a deep breath and concluded, “Probably not.”
Gaius nodded, aware that there were times when it was more stress than his curiosity was worth.
“Are you busy?” he asked.
“Well, I suppose not,” Merlin replied. “I’ve got an hour before I need to attend Arthur again.”
“Good,” Gaius said, oblivious to Merlin’s preoccupied stance. “I need you to go down to the pond and fetch me some Spatterdock.”
“Spatterdock?” Merlin said, wrinkling his nose.
“Spatterdock,” Gaius confirmed. “Not a huge amount, just a handful. A little goes a long way,” he said, a twinkle in his eye. Merlin chose not to reply, just breathed out slowly and agreed. There was no advantage in sitting around waiting for Arthur to call for him and his books held no more wisdom, so he might as well be useful.
#
Merlin was almost half an hour late.
Arthur rolled his eyes. As if he didn’t already know that.
And the prince was growing increasingly impatient.
Arthur knew that, too.
Merlin was, for all Arthur’s teasing, a reliable manservant. In fact, he was the most loyal friend that Arthur had ever known.
Arthur had only recently realised that.
And it pained Arthur to be parted for him, even for the shortest time.
Arthur was trying very hard not to believe that part at all.
Arthur’s frustration quickly grew into anxiety. He knew that Merlin would not have abandoned him when he was in such difficulty, which meant that something must have kept him from attending his prince. He could have fallen ill, or been waylaid by one of Arthur’s knights. The prince was not at ease with the way some of his knights regarded the young servant. Oh, they all considered him to be a friend, a confidant, but some of them looked at him as if they wanted to bed the winsome creature and it disquieted...
“Will you shut up?” Arthur yelled. “For starters, he is not winsome, and do stop making it sound like I have... such impulses toward my friend. I am... fond of him, that’s no secret, but it’s not fair to suggest that I sit around fantasising about him or that I am... that I have...”
Arthur struggled to find the word that would adequately describe his feelings. A single word, fine and simple, sat upon his tongue, waiting to be tasted.
Arthur crossed his arms.
“I will not think of anything,” he said. “If you insist on casting aspersions, I will not do or think anything on which you can comment until I have him back.” He noticed what he had said and made no further comment on it, hoping that the narrator would let it go. Arthur was grateful when the narrator was silent for a time. It didn’t last.
The prince was an expert at wasting time when he wanted to, but rarely had he wasted so much when it was so important to save it.
“What?” Arthur said, struggling to understand. There was a rush, as if the narrator was sighing in exasperation.
While the prince sat around like a petulant child, waiting for his manservant to attend him, his friend was in grave danger.
“What?” Arthur said more loudly. “Why didn’t you say so, where is he?”
Little did he know that Merlin was, at that very moment, fighting for his life, as a water leaper did its level best to rob him of it.
“Well, I know now!” Arthur said, grabbing his jacket and searching for his sword. “Where is he, then?” The room was silent for a long moment. “Please! If you want this story to have a happy ending you have to tell me where he is!” There was a pause, before a slightly reluctant answer.
If only the prince would visit the Westerly Pond at the edge of the forest, tragedy could be averted.
“Thank you!” Arthur said, wrenching the door open with one hand and making a run for it.
He was a foolish prince, the empty room surmised.
#
Merlin flattened himself as hard as he could against the slick mud wall behind his back. He’d been hiding in the mud-and-roots cave at the side of the pond (and who ever started calling it a pond he didn’t know, it was practically a lake) for at least forty minutes, and it wouldn’t last much longer. The creature seemed determined to make a meal of him, and had spent every moment since he had found his hiding place working away at the heavy dirt overhang with its formidable tail.
He had never seen such a creature before; a giant frog with the wings of a bat and a lizard-like tail. It was, quite frankly, rather ridiculous, except for the very real stinger at the end. And the fact that it looked like it could have swallowed him whole if it got close enough.
He had tried blasting it out of existence, but each blow had ricocheted off its scaly hide and barely slowed it down. Now it was using its strong tail to mine away at the outcropping and gradually uncover him where he sat. And there was nothing he could do about it.
He didn’t want to die, and he certainly didn’t want to die in pursuit of Spatterdock. And he most definitely didn’t want to die here, in the cold, in the belly of a frog, without ever having told Arthur...
“Merlin!”
Instantly, the Water Leaper turned its attention to the new, exposed prey. Merlin ran to the opening of his hideaway and called after him.
“Arthur, look out!”
“Merlin, what the hell is that?”
It was a Llamhigyn Y Dwr. A Water Leaper. Relentless and merciless, it was permanently hungry and knew no fear.
“Fantastic,” Arthur said, hitching his sword up to shoulder level as the creature advanced. “Merlin,” he called out. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” Merlin called back. “Watch out for yourself!”
Arthur inclined his head as if to suggest that that had been his intention, and stood ready.
Like the great warrior he was destined to be, the young prince fought with bravery and skill.
Arthur ground his teeth and ignored the voice, ducking and diving to avoid the huge snapping jaws, thrusting and slicing wherever he saw flesh. His blows were fruitless, glancing off and barely scarring the surface of the creature’s glittering skin.
The prince refused to give up, even as his arms began to tire and his conviction began to wane. Not just to preserve his own life, but for that which was infinitely more dear to him. There was nothing in the world more important than this, no quest greater than the fight to save the person he loved.
There was no way Merlin had missed that. Arthur’s sword dropped as he turned to regard his friend, to see the disgust or the horror on his face. His timing could have been better, as the Water Leaper swung its massive tail and knocked Arthur off his feet, tossing him through the air.
“Arthur!” Merlin cried in dismay, running from the relative safety of the bank, with complete disregard for his own wellbeing.
The beast turned its attention back to him, propelling itself toward him with a single beat of its massive wings. He reached out to steady himself and his hand found a sturdy log. The young warlock hefted it as best he could and swung the wood, forcing the creature to abandon its attack once, twice, three times. Merlin barely had time to raise the wood again before the poisonous tail came whipping out of nowhere, impaling itself on the branch and tearing it out of his hands.
And then it was back, unthreatened by the makeshift weapon, opening its massive jaw and roaring with such fury, such force that it nearly knocked him off his feet. Merlin closed his eyes and raised his hand, preparing to unleash a final bolt of magic with everything he had, hoping that if he sent it straight down the monster’s gullet it would have the desired effect.
The creature’s scream drew his attention before he could act, and he opened his eyes to see what had caused it. Before him stood the prince, every muscle tensed, his sword buried so deep in the Water Leaper’s palate that the tip could be seen coming out above its bulbous eyes, stained with glittering purple blood.
The creature gurgled its last breath, its tail twitching and shuddering to a halt first, followed by every other part in sequence until its eyes rolled back, growing glassy and giving up their life. It would never know how honoured it should feel to have died at the hands of the greatest knight, the most legendary of all kings.
“That’s enough of that,” Arthur said loudly, dragging his sword free of the oozing skull and scowling at the sticky blood that covered it. He didn’t look at Merlin, but inclined his head toward him. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” Merlin said quietly. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” Arthur said. “Good servants are hard to find.”
“It’s true, isn’t it?” Merlin asked without preamble. “What your narrator is saying?”
“It’s creatively put,” Arthur replied after a pause, looking at a point somewhere above Merlin’s head. “Exaggerated. But, yes,” he confessed. “I suppose it is true.” He finally met Merlin’s eyes. “I’m sorry.”
“You’re sorry?” Merlin asked, his voice mostly surprise, but with enough awe and just a touch of humour that let Arthur know he was still well in control of all his faculties. He reached out, his fingers finding Arthur’s cheek and stroking away the tense lines beside his eye. Merlin shook his head. “For goodness’ sake, don’t be sorry.”
The prince was almost in a daze as his servant leaned forward, bringing their lips together in the softest, most tender kiss that Arthur had ever known or could ever imagine. He brought his arms up to surround the younger man, one hand resting in the small of his back and the other cradling his head. His limbs encircled the slight frame, encasing the long-coveted body in the hope that Merlin would never, could never escape enough to rethink.
Merlin tried to pull back, perhaps to reassure Arthur that he wouldn’t, that he couldn’t ever pull himself away from Arthur now he had him, but Arthur shook his head and drew him back into another kiss.
They moved together like a symphony, with the satisfaction of a key moving within its perfect lock. This was a kiss that moved into legend; joining a select group of oft-recalled fellows, both passionate and pure.
Arthur pulled back, eventually, when his head grew too light for him to stand without fear of losing consciousness. He met Merlin’s gaze and they shared a slow smile, their foreheads coming to rest together as Merlin’s thumb continued to move against his cheek.
“Do you think this means it’s over?” Merlin whispered, as the dead frogmonster slid noisily back into the pond beside them.
“Not even close,” Arthur said with quiet confidence, and kissed him again.
And they all lived happily ever after.
The End.
Author: Razzle
Pairing: Arthur/Merlin
Rating: PG
Summary: Humour. As a prince, Arthur has always been used to having little privacy. But this is ridiculous.
AN: This is a Water Leaper. And there’s a reference to one of the greatest movies ever in here. And *superhugs* for melacita for the beta.
Arthur succumbed to consciousness slowly, smacking his lips as the sunlight fell across his cheek, caressing him into waking. A small smile pulled at his lips as he began to stretch his sleep-stiffened limbs.
His sleepy good mood was destroyed, however, by the clearing of a deep-voiced, disembodied throat. His eyes snapped open and his smile turned into a frown.
Once upon a time, there was a handsome prince...
#
Merlin was used to walking into Arthur’s chambers pretty much as he pleased. He would always knock, partly out of courtesy but mostly for fear of finding Arthur doing something he shouldn’t really see (as tempting as that prospect may have been, Merlin wanted to keep his head).
Sometimes Arthur invited him to enter; sometimes he waited a reasonable amount of time and entered anyway. Occasionally, Arthur would yell, ‘No!’ very loudly and Merlin would make himself scarce for another half an hour.
He had never before knocked the door and actually had it opened for him.
“Merlin,” Arthur said through two inches of open door. “Are you alone?”
“Er, yes?” Merlin said in his default ‘you’re a prat’ tone of voice. “I am still capable of doing my chores on my own.”
Arthur was, apparently, too preoccupied to rise to the bait. He opened the door enough to yank Merlin into his chambers.
“Merlin, I have a serious problem,” Arthur said, cutting to the chase. Merlin stared at him for a moment or two and then sighed with a smile.
“Must be Saturday,” he said kindly. “What’s wrong?”
“It started this morning,” Arthur began to explain. “I was sleeping or, you know, I was just about to wake up and suddenly I could hear this... voice, talking about what I was doing.”
“You’re hearing voices?” Merlin prompted, nodding toward Arthur. “That’s a sign of madness.”
Arthur set his jaw and rolled his eyes, preparing to proclaim his sanity when he was interrupted.
Arthur debated how to reply, which insult he should choose from the arsenal of gloriously witty putdowns he had in his possession.
Merlin’s eyes widened. Arthur extended a hand to indicate the empty room, his jaw set angrily.
“Oh,” Merlin said quietly. “That’s inconvenient.”
“Indeed,” Arthur agreed. “And he’s not even very good! He’s lazy with his adjectives, he uses fruity, flowery language and he says things that are just absolutely not true.”
The prince wished it were true, but he knew all too well the accuracy with which the dashing narrator had recounted the sweet, soul-settling dream that had brought him to waking that morning in a state of...
“Argh!” Arthur interrupted, raising his hands and elongating the loud sound to drown out the unwelcome exposition. Merlin leaned away from the outburst. “Argh, Merlin make it stop!” Arthur shouted, pointing violently at the door. For once, Merlin did as he was told, exiting as quickly as the heavy door would let him and leaving Arthur alone with the voice.
Arthur stared after him, wishing he could ignore the smouldering sensation of longing that coruscated through his abdomen...
“Oh, shut up,” Arthur snapped.
#
Merlin was drawing a blank. He had been through as many books as he could and had found nothing useful. There were mentions of various gods and spirits who were aware of one’s every move, or could read thoughts and feelings, but there were no references to any of them forcibly reading the story of one’s life to anyone within earshot.
He closed the unhelpful tome and sat back, rubbing his eyes. When he blinked them clear again, his gaze fell on a smaller book, set aside from the rest, looking as innocuous as a children’s book could.
He tilted his head, and told himself a story.
#
The prince closed the door to the commode with as much regal refinement as he did all things, and looked down to ensure that his trousers were securely tied, concealing the most-coveted royal...
“I just don’t think that there was any need for you to narrate that in quite so much detail,” Arthur told the empty room.
Before the voice could begin to explain his annoyance or point out the futility of talking to someone who wasn’t there, there came a familiar rapping at the door.
As usual, the staccato rhythm caused Arthur’s heart to stutter and swell a little in his chest.
“You really are just trying to wind me up,” Arthur growled, moving toward the door. The voice was quieter and just a little sarcastic as it answered him.
Arthur’s denial was as pitiful as it was ultimately to be fruitless.
Arthur chose to ignore it, opening the door a crack and passing out two wads of fabric with their ends covered in wax.
“Put them in your ears,” he insisted, then closed the door while his servant did as he was instructed. A moment later, he answered a second knock and let Merlin in.
“Can you hear me?” he asked, closing the door behind Merlin.
“Did you ask me if I could hear you?” Merlin asked, needlessly loudly. Arthur nodded.
“No, I can’t hear you,” Merlin replied, practically yelling. Arthur winced and made a patting motion to suggest Merlin lower his voice. Merlin smiled and Arthur smiled at his own success.
Arthur was rather proud of his plan, the voice sounded a tad condescending.
“You can’t hear him, either?” Arthur asked.
“What?” Merlin replied. Clearly lip reading wasn’t going to work, so Arthur beckoned Merlin over to the table, where he had some paper and a pen prepared. He was lucky, he knew, to have a manservant who could read. Such a thing was a rare quality in the serving classes.
Not to mention all of Merlin’s other evident and singular qualities.
Arthur glanced at Merlin as he sat down. The younger man hadn’t reacted in any way, so Arthur assumed that he couldn’t hear. He sat opposite Merlin and picked up the pen, scribbling ‘Do you have an answer?’ and turning the page so Merlin could read it.
Merlin took the pen out of his hand and started to scrawl his reply. He looked up, pouting in confusion as Arthur plucked the pen out of his hand. Arthur made the shape of a moving mouth with his fingers and Merlin smiled in embarrassment as he understood.
“I don’t know what’s causing it,” Merlin said, clearly disconcerted by not being able to hear himself. Arthur looked despondent and Merlin hurriedly added, “But I think I know how to stop it.”
Arthur looked up, cautiously optimistic. “What was the first thing you heard?” Merlin asked. Arthur sighed, his mouth twitching awkwardly, and he picked up the pen.
‘Once upon a time, there was a handsome prince called Arthur,’ Arthur wrote.
Merlin nodded and drew Arthur’s attention to a small book he had brought with him. He opened it to the first page and ran his finger along the first line. Arthur read aloud.
“Once upon a time, there lived a wealthy merchant and his three lovely daughters.”
Merlin turned further in the book, to a page marked with a scrap of parchment. Arthur read where he pointed.
“Once upon a time, there lived a poor shoemaker.” And again, Merlin turned to another page. “Once upon a time, there lived a miller who had three sons.” Merlin went to turn to the next bookmark but Arthur stopped him. “Yes, yes,” he said out loud, assuming Merlin would be able to decipher that much. “So?”
Merlin held up a finger and turned back to the start of the book, to where a piece of cotton extended from the bottom of the pages. He pointed to the last line of the story.
“And they all lived happily ever after,” Arthur read. Merlin turned to the next skein. “And they all lived... oh,” he said, the implication dawning very quickly. Merlin nodded.
“If you finish the story, I think it’ll go away,” he concluded.
“So all I have to do...” Arthur started, before catching Merlin’s strained look and reaching for the paper again. He wrote ‘So all I have to do is find everlasting happiness and this will stop?’
“Yep,” Merlin said, once he’d read it. Clearly sarcasm didn’t come over well in print.
‘A little easier said than done, don’t you think?’ Arthur scrawled, the violence of his pen scratching indicative of his frustration. Merlin’s face fell. ‘Idiot’ Arthur added to the page.
Merlin let a small smile pinch his cheek.
“Maybe you don’t have to fix everything,” Merlin shrugged. “You just need to...” he looked around for ideas. “Well, almost all of these stories end up with the hero either finding his fortune or falling in love. You don’t need any more fortune, so... maybe you need to...” Arthur stared at him, marvelling inwardly at how furiously uncomfortable the younger man looked. “...win fair lady’s hand,” he concluded, not meeting Arthur’s gaze.
Guinevere. The narrator had been so quiet for so long, Arthur actually jumped when he started to speak again. Undoubtedly, it was she to whom Merlin referred, ignorant of how long it had been since Arthur had thought of her thus. Arthur rested his face on one hand, closing his eyes behind his hand as he let the voice rattle on with its nonsense. Even if he were to enlighten Merlin to the change in his feelings, surely the only suggestion his servant would make would be that Arthur was destined to fall in love once more, being completely ignorant of how swiftly, completely and irrevocably his affections had been secured elsewhere.
“Arthur?” Merlin prompted, his voice loud again. “Are you okay?”
Arthur waved away his concerns.
“I thought...” he caught himself and grabbed the paper. ‘I thought the voice might have some wisdom to impart.’
“Was it helpful?” Merlin asked. Arthur just shook his head. “So, what next?” Merlin asked, duly tentative and apparently prepared for Arthur to have a go at him. Arthur didn’t have the energy. He pulled the page back around and requested that Merlin gave him an hour or so to think about his options.
Reaching out to squeeze his hand supportively, Merlin did as he was asked, leaving word that the prince was not to be disturbed and promising to return in an hour.
Alone in his chambers, Arthur sat back in his chair and rubbed his face with both hands.
Arthur...
“Don’t start.”
#
Merlin was lost in thought as he made his way back to the physician’s rooms. So much so that when a hand landed on his shoulder, he nearly jumped out of his skin. He turned to see Gaius looking at him in some confusion, mouthing concerned words at him.
“Sorry, sorry,” he said, yanking the balled fabric out of his ears.
“Ah,” Gaius said, looking only slightly placated. “I thought you were ignoring me. Do I want to know?”
Merlin considered the question for a while, took a deep breath and concluded, “Probably not.”
Gaius nodded, aware that there were times when it was more stress than his curiosity was worth.
“Are you busy?” he asked.
“Well, I suppose not,” Merlin replied. “I’ve got an hour before I need to attend Arthur again.”
“Good,” Gaius said, oblivious to Merlin’s preoccupied stance. “I need you to go down to the pond and fetch me some Spatterdock.”
“Spatterdock?” Merlin said, wrinkling his nose.
“Spatterdock,” Gaius confirmed. “Not a huge amount, just a handful. A little goes a long way,” he said, a twinkle in his eye. Merlin chose not to reply, just breathed out slowly and agreed. There was no advantage in sitting around waiting for Arthur to call for him and his books held no more wisdom, so he might as well be useful.
#
Merlin was almost half an hour late.
Arthur rolled his eyes. As if he didn’t already know that.
And the prince was growing increasingly impatient.
Arthur knew that, too.
Merlin was, for all Arthur’s teasing, a reliable manservant. In fact, he was the most loyal friend that Arthur had ever known.
Arthur had only recently realised that.
And it pained Arthur to be parted for him, even for the shortest time.
Arthur was trying very hard not to believe that part at all.
Arthur’s frustration quickly grew into anxiety. He knew that Merlin would not have abandoned him when he was in such difficulty, which meant that something must have kept him from attending his prince. He could have fallen ill, or been waylaid by one of Arthur’s knights. The prince was not at ease with the way some of his knights regarded the young servant. Oh, they all considered him to be a friend, a confidant, but some of them looked at him as if they wanted to bed the winsome creature and it disquieted...
“Will you shut up?” Arthur yelled. “For starters, he is not winsome, and do stop making it sound like I have... such impulses toward my friend. I am... fond of him, that’s no secret, but it’s not fair to suggest that I sit around fantasising about him or that I am... that I have...”
Arthur struggled to find the word that would adequately describe his feelings. A single word, fine and simple, sat upon his tongue, waiting to be tasted.
Arthur crossed his arms.
“I will not think of anything,” he said. “If you insist on casting aspersions, I will not do or think anything on which you can comment until I have him back.” He noticed what he had said and made no further comment on it, hoping that the narrator would let it go. Arthur was grateful when the narrator was silent for a time. It didn’t last.
The prince was an expert at wasting time when he wanted to, but rarely had he wasted so much when it was so important to save it.
“What?” Arthur said, struggling to understand. There was a rush, as if the narrator was sighing in exasperation.
While the prince sat around like a petulant child, waiting for his manservant to attend him, his friend was in grave danger.
“What?” Arthur said more loudly. “Why didn’t you say so, where is he?”
Little did he know that Merlin was, at that very moment, fighting for his life, as a water leaper did its level best to rob him of it.
“Well, I know now!” Arthur said, grabbing his jacket and searching for his sword. “Where is he, then?” The room was silent for a long moment. “Please! If you want this story to have a happy ending you have to tell me where he is!” There was a pause, before a slightly reluctant answer.
If only the prince would visit the Westerly Pond at the edge of the forest, tragedy could be averted.
“Thank you!” Arthur said, wrenching the door open with one hand and making a run for it.
He was a foolish prince, the empty room surmised.
#
Merlin flattened himself as hard as he could against the slick mud wall behind his back. He’d been hiding in the mud-and-roots cave at the side of the pond (and who ever started calling it a pond he didn’t know, it was practically a lake) for at least forty minutes, and it wouldn’t last much longer. The creature seemed determined to make a meal of him, and had spent every moment since he had found his hiding place working away at the heavy dirt overhang with its formidable tail.
He had never seen such a creature before; a giant frog with the wings of a bat and a lizard-like tail. It was, quite frankly, rather ridiculous, except for the very real stinger at the end. And the fact that it looked like it could have swallowed him whole if it got close enough.
He had tried blasting it out of existence, but each blow had ricocheted off its scaly hide and barely slowed it down. Now it was using its strong tail to mine away at the outcropping and gradually uncover him where he sat. And there was nothing he could do about it.
He didn’t want to die, and he certainly didn’t want to die in pursuit of Spatterdock. And he most definitely didn’t want to die here, in the cold, in the belly of a frog, without ever having told Arthur...
“Merlin!”
Instantly, the Water Leaper turned its attention to the new, exposed prey. Merlin ran to the opening of his hideaway and called after him.
“Arthur, look out!”
“Merlin, what the hell is that?”
It was a Llamhigyn Y Dwr. A Water Leaper. Relentless and merciless, it was permanently hungry and knew no fear.
“Fantastic,” Arthur said, hitching his sword up to shoulder level as the creature advanced. “Merlin,” he called out. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” Merlin called back. “Watch out for yourself!”
Arthur inclined his head as if to suggest that that had been his intention, and stood ready.
Like the great warrior he was destined to be, the young prince fought with bravery and skill.
Arthur ground his teeth and ignored the voice, ducking and diving to avoid the huge snapping jaws, thrusting and slicing wherever he saw flesh. His blows were fruitless, glancing off and barely scarring the surface of the creature’s glittering skin.
The prince refused to give up, even as his arms began to tire and his conviction began to wane. Not just to preserve his own life, but for that which was infinitely more dear to him. There was nothing in the world more important than this, no quest greater than the fight to save the person he loved.
There was no way Merlin had missed that. Arthur’s sword dropped as he turned to regard his friend, to see the disgust or the horror on his face. His timing could have been better, as the Water Leaper swung its massive tail and knocked Arthur off his feet, tossing him through the air.
“Arthur!” Merlin cried in dismay, running from the relative safety of the bank, with complete disregard for his own wellbeing.
The beast turned its attention back to him, propelling itself toward him with a single beat of its massive wings. He reached out to steady himself and his hand found a sturdy log. The young warlock hefted it as best he could and swung the wood, forcing the creature to abandon its attack once, twice, three times. Merlin barely had time to raise the wood again before the poisonous tail came whipping out of nowhere, impaling itself on the branch and tearing it out of his hands.
And then it was back, unthreatened by the makeshift weapon, opening its massive jaw and roaring with such fury, such force that it nearly knocked him off his feet. Merlin closed his eyes and raised his hand, preparing to unleash a final bolt of magic with everything he had, hoping that if he sent it straight down the monster’s gullet it would have the desired effect.
The creature’s scream drew his attention before he could act, and he opened his eyes to see what had caused it. Before him stood the prince, every muscle tensed, his sword buried so deep in the Water Leaper’s palate that the tip could be seen coming out above its bulbous eyes, stained with glittering purple blood.
The creature gurgled its last breath, its tail twitching and shuddering to a halt first, followed by every other part in sequence until its eyes rolled back, growing glassy and giving up their life. It would never know how honoured it should feel to have died at the hands of the greatest knight, the most legendary of all kings.
“That’s enough of that,” Arthur said loudly, dragging his sword free of the oozing skull and scowling at the sticky blood that covered it. He didn’t look at Merlin, but inclined his head toward him. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” Merlin said quietly. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” Arthur said. “Good servants are hard to find.”
“It’s true, isn’t it?” Merlin asked without preamble. “What your narrator is saying?”
“It’s creatively put,” Arthur replied after a pause, looking at a point somewhere above Merlin’s head. “Exaggerated. But, yes,” he confessed. “I suppose it is true.” He finally met Merlin’s eyes. “I’m sorry.”
“You’re sorry?” Merlin asked, his voice mostly surprise, but with enough awe and just a touch of humour that let Arthur know he was still well in control of all his faculties. He reached out, his fingers finding Arthur’s cheek and stroking away the tense lines beside his eye. Merlin shook his head. “For goodness’ sake, don’t be sorry.”
The prince was almost in a daze as his servant leaned forward, bringing their lips together in the softest, most tender kiss that Arthur had ever known or could ever imagine. He brought his arms up to surround the younger man, one hand resting in the small of his back and the other cradling his head. His limbs encircled the slight frame, encasing the long-coveted body in the hope that Merlin would never, could never escape enough to rethink.
Merlin tried to pull back, perhaps to reassure Arthur that he wouldn’t, that he couldn’t ever pull himself away from Arthur now he had him, but Arthur shook his head and drew him back into another kiss.
They moved together like a symphony, with the satisfaction of a key moving within its perfect lock. This was a kiss that moved into legend; joining a select group of oft-recalled fellows, both passionate and pure.
Arthur pulled back, eventually, when his head grew too light for him to stand without fear of losing consciousness. He met Merlin’s gaze and they shared a slow smile, their foreheads coming to rest together as Merlin’s thumb continued to move against his cheek.
“Do you think this means it’s over?” Merlin whispered, as the dead frogmonster slid noisily back into the pond beside them.
“Not even close,” Arthur said with quiet confidence, and kissed him again.
And they all lived happily ever after.
The End.