Fall From Grace Part 2 for nyargles
Part One
<3<3<3
To say that Merlin was in no mood for Arthur's prattish, albeit royal, mood was an understatement. He had spent the entire morning in a temper, the guilt of Morgana weighing heavily. He had failed her so completely, from comforting her about magic to saving her from the Dragon's foretold nightmares. He had created their destiny. He alone would have to take responsibility for turning away a most trusted friend and molding her into an enemy. The knowledge was unbearable. And in light of that, his own half truths floated through his mind and made him second guess everything he thought he wanted and thought he was destined to do.
The word alone made him ill.
Merlin spent the rest of the morning trying to avoid people because his magic was acting up. He was so full of longing and want that it seemed to bubble up in him at the most inopportune moments. Cool watered flannels were jumping to wipe his forehead in comfort, inanimate objects kept leaping to help him with his tasks and looked incredibly sad whenever Merlin or Gaius chastised the object. His magic just wanted to comfort him, but it wasn't really doing Merlin any good. Gaius had taken to smacking him around the back of his head when he started murmuring ancient words to snap him out of whatever trance he was in, be it moving objects around without a thought or unconsciously trying to contact Morgana.
"Merlin, if you can't get your magic under control then you'll have to leave."
Merlin looked up from a kettle that was pouring him a cup of tea (it had been pouring him cups of tea for almost an hour and Merlin had to magic them away when he realized they were filling up the room). He nodded lazily. It was so bloody hot. He understood that but his magic didn't seem to give one grain of thought to rules.
"Is Arthur back yet?" Merlin said absently as he wiped his forehead of sweat. The temperature outside the castle had finally risen to a point that not even the cool stone could escape the onslaught of the heat. Gaius had already advised Uther to issue a heat advisory, warning people to stay inside their houses or in the shade due to the likelihood of exhaustion. Uther had decreed the advisory, sending out porters to the lower town even though many people were likely tending to the fields. Well, what was left of the fields to tend. With Samhain approaching and the heat being so oppressive for the past months, Merlin wasn't confident that there would be much of a Samhain crop to gather. Arthur had been reluctant to leave on his trip due to the drought but there honestly wasn't anything he could do. Both Uther and Merlin knew that no matter how much Arthur willed the weather to tend to the crops so that Camelot citizens would eat well in the winter, the prince was not capable of making anything happen.
"Merlin?"
Merlin shook his head, thoughts clouding his vision for a few seconds before he sought Gaius' gaze. "Sorry, my mind was elsewhere. Has Arthur returned?"
"He's in with with the king."
Merlin frowned. It was rare that Arthur went straight to his father's chambers without bathing or at least letting Merlin know how worthless his existence was. "Is something the matter?"
Gaius raised a bushy eyebrow, his hands busy pouring what smelled like a tonic for heat exhaustion. "Where has your mind been, boy? The lightning storm from yesterdays unexpected deluge started a fire in the northwestern fields."
"What? But the rain!"
"The rain did nothing to protect the earth from the lightning when it has been so dry for too long," Gaius said firmly, although not unkindly.
"But Gaius, that means I started the fire! I burnt the crops."
"Nonsense. The Earth is temperamental as Nimueh has passed on, and with Kilgharrah now free to interact with the Old Religion again, nothing is safe." Merlin watched as Gaius turned away to pour the tonic into a different container for distribution. "You were just a vehicle for the magic that created that storm, Merlin. I don't think you created it, so much as the Earth wanted it and called on you to channel magic for it."
"I started a fire, Gaius. If the northwestern fields burn, the lower town will starve this winter. I heard Arthur speaking about it before he left and the northwestern fields were the only crops doing decently in the heat," Merlin said desperately.
"Why do you think Arthur is now with the king instead of ordering you about?"
Merlin struggled, the heat tangling his mind around the facts and constantly getting stuck on the fact that he started the fire. People would starve because he couldn't control his magic.
He choked on a sob. "Gaius-"
"Enough," Gaius said quietly. "Earth magic is volatile, Merlin. It does as it chooses and as a creature of the Old Religion you are its greatest conduit of magic."
Merlin nodded, head foggy, but Gaius' words didn't relieve the sense of guilt boiling inside of him. This was his fault. And he had to fix this, for the people of Camelot and for Arthur. He had no idea how he was going to solve the crop problems but he knew it had to be done. With Merlin's lightening, the threat of starvation was not an if but a when. If Merlin closed his eyes tight enough, he could still remember the one winter that Ealdor went with little food because of the raiders. He was only a boy then but he could still remember the tightness in his belly and the gentle fatigue, feeling dizzy and light, that came with scarce food. As much as Merlin remembered the ache in his stomach and the lightness in his head, he could recall his mother's face the clearest. Between the food shortage and Merlin's random acts of magic getting more frequent, she was worried sick and Merlin had felt that she aged years in those few cold months. The lines in her face had hardened, deep with concern, the crinkle in her mouth quivering in the cold of the house and her hands shaking when she held Merlin close to her chest, trying to keep the cold and the hunger at bay. It was the worst winter of his life and it seemed so far away from him now, yet the memory of that frozen winter and his current life were colliding.
"Here," Gaius said, once again breaking Merlin out of his thoughts. "Take these round. I've labeled the bottles with their beneficiary's names."
"Gaius, I've condemned people to their deaths and you're sending me on errands!"
"Stop being so dramatic," Gaius said with a wave of his weathered hand. "Your magical identity crisis doesn't stop the comings and goings of the castle."
Merlin took the basket of bottles and left the workroom without looking back. Gaius might be used to the repercussions of his actions killing innocent people, but Merlin wasn't there yet. He hadn't been in Camelot long enough to feel flippant about life and death. He'd never accidentally killed anyone who hadn't earned it and the thought of killing children from the inside out was horrific. The closest he had ever come was the devastation that Great Dragon had created; even then, the presence of magic had been deep in Camelot and destiny had felt balanced after the attack. This looming starvation didn't feel deserved from Destiny's might hand; it felt like a mistake.
He was going to fix this. He and Arthur were going to fix this before winter came. Samhain was in a couple of weeks and there would be something to celebrate. Merlin would make sure of it.
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Merlin completed his deliveries as swiftly as possible. Thankfully, it was too hot for much of the castle to be doing anything remotely productive and it kept the servants busy attending their whining royal masters in the heat. Since Arthur was still with the king, Merlin had plenty of time to slip back to his room and do a bit of research.
It was not promising. Apparently, growing food on a mass scale was tricky magic. Why was it that Merlin could create a storm to drown the whole kingdom of Camelot without a second thought, but growing food was going to be near impossible?
Because this was his life and Merlin was convinced he was being punished.
"What the hell," Merlin said as he flicked through the large magic tome. "I'm not killing a unicorn again, let alone disemboweling one. Maybe there is a substitute?"
He scanned the spell.
"Why is disembowelment of unicorns comparable to disembowelment of princes? I've met both of them and they aren't even remotely a like. Every unicorn I've met has been quite sweet."
He shook his head and flipped further into the book.
"Oh, well I could just traipse down to the Isle of the Blessed and hand myself over," Merlin said with disdain. "Been there, done that. It was wet. I almost caught my death of pneumonia, and that was after almost dying and slaying witches."
The Isle of the Blessed was off the list of things to do today.
"My choices are to cut up a woman's womb, her first born child and drain their blood into the earth through a portal of pain... or sex magic."
Merlin closed his eyes.
"Seriously?"
When he opened him, his hands had already turned from the sacrificial section to the smutty section of the magic book. Somewhere, the Old Religion and Kilgharrah were laughing their asses off. Merlin was sure of it.
Settling deeper into the pillows, he started to examine the specifics of the spell.
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Sex magic didn't look very hard. He was so used to focusing on control of his magic while he was having a roll in the hay that for once, he thought it should be nice to have somewhere to concentrate his power so he didn't have to levitate chairs and grow flowers out of the blue. And even then, he would have to enchant his partners ears to muffle the casting and then there was the spell itself, which was supposed to be cast just before he climaxed so that he "gave his seed to the earth".
Not even remotely joking.
He had to read that line five times before he fully worked out the meaning. Turns out, spell books are just as naughty as the ones Merlin had caught Arthur reading in the flickering candlelight of his room. Merlin hadn't figured out where he kept them yet, because even when Merlin was actually cleaning with his hands, he had yet to find the small books bound in deep red leather, cracked from frequent reading and their pages stained with greedy fingerprints. He couldn't imagine Geoffery letting Arthur keep them in the castle library. The thought made him vomit a bit in his mouth.
"Merlin?"
He looked up from the book, trying to see anything he might need to remember. Surprisingly, there weren't too many warnings about the power of the spell or the end of the world or what-have-you that he normally had to be aware of. It was something he was getting used to while working on saving Camelot and Arthur... lots and lots of fickle fine print.
But the only thing it said was that performing the spell while sleeping with someone who mattered to the caster was preferable and that doing it close to the earth helped channel the magic. Merlin doubted that channeling magic was going to be a problem since the earth couldn't seem to keep its hands to itself lately. As for a person who mattered, Merlin wasn't too worried about it. He was confident enough in his powers that performing the ritual would be enough because the someone he cared for was currently unavailable... for life.
"Merlin! The prince is bellowing for you!" Gaius said through the door and Merlin nodded, closing the magic book and slipping it underneath the bed before making his way out of his chambers, nodding to Gaius and going to find Arthur, who was undoubtedly bellowing.
When Merlin arrived at Arthur's chambers, he was already devouring his food with a surly look on his face. Merlin took a deep breath and closed the door as quietly as he could. He knew that Arthur took his kingdom seriously and that every life meant something to him. He was acutely aware of how much the crop shortage was going to effect Arthur and he wasn't looking forward to it. In fact, it was extra motivation to fix the damage. Not that he needed any.
"About time you got here," Arthur said as he tore into a piece of boar with enough ill temper to kill it twice. "There are plenty of things for you to do. You can start with the armor, the laundresses need to be sent for, my daggers need polishing, I think there is a hole in every one of my breeches and my sword is so dull, I'm better off defending Camelot with a wooden one."
Merlin looked at Arthur's face, carefully controlled fury rolled through his features and clenched his jaw painfully. Merlin decided to play it safe. "Yes, sire," he said quietly, going to round up the splay of Arthur's things, undoubtedly thrown around the room in a mild tantrum.
He tried to stay in Arthur's periphery, because usually just seeing Merlin caused Arthur to lash out in times of high stress. And, not for the first time, Merlin felt like he deserved it. The combination of guilt and anticipation to make it right were enough to drive Merlin into silent compliance. He dried the armor first, taking extra care to oil the hinges before rounding up the laundry and sending a passing maid to fetch a few others to carry the loads down to the laundresses' hot bins.
Arthur barely spoke. Merlin could hear him chewing, the violent jerking of his jaw a very present reminder of the controlled frustration Arthur was feeling. Merlin tried to be as quiet as he could, only knocking the pile of armor over once and cursing just twice after he dropped the basket of laundry on his foot while handing it off to three serving girls.
"Be careful," Arthur hissed from where he was sipping his wine. Merlin turned to reply but Arthur wasn’t looking at him. "And watch your mouth around the ladies, you cur."
Merlin rolled his eyes as the serving girls smiled at him. They were no stranger to his violent tongue. In fact, his foul mouth was the only thing they ever laughed at when Merlin brought down basket after basket of Arthur's clothes.
"Sorry, sire."
Merlin smiled at the girls before they left, pleased with himself for keeping the sarcasm out of his tone. It was hard to be civil to Arthur most of the time and it was harder still when he was being an ass. Merlin honestly had no idea how other servants managed it.
The polishing of the daggers could wait until morning, since Arthur liked to have his large and pretty sword on hand when he was feeling particularly helpless and so it took priority. Merlin moved the daggers to their new place by the door and took up sorting the rest of Arthur's clothing that weren't in need of a wash. He could hardly keep his huffing silent. At least four of Arthur's jackets needed a serious mending and one was probably ruined. He wanted to ask just what the hell they got up to in the forest but after opening his mouth four times, he decided against it. By the time he set aside the clothes in need of sewing and put the others away, Arthur was done with his dinner, plate pushed aside and his eyes staring resolutely at the fire place that wasn't lit up.
This time last year, they had already had to put on a fire to keep the room manageable.
"More wine, sire?" Merlin tried to smile around the odd words in his mouth. He'd probably said 'sire' more tonight than he had all year. And it was nearly Samhain.
Arthur replied with a grunt, not taking his eyes away from the cold fire place. Merlin poured with care, only spilling a few drops on his hand. Arthur already had the goblet to his lips before Merlin could even step back.
"Anything else, sire?"
"Stop fucking saying it!" Arthur roared, standing up from his chair and flinging his goblet against the wall. Merlin gasped when the goblet shattered, the splatter of wine across the wall arched like blood and the stillness rang out across the room in deep shuddering breaths taken from Arthur's chest.
Merlin's eyes moved from the wall back to Arthur's profile. He looked so beautifully tortured in the moment and Merlin could only stare, unwilling to move if Arthur proved angrier than his control could handle. It had never happened before, true fear of Arthur in the form of violence, but when the lives of Camelot's people were at stake, Merlin wouldn't put anything past him.
"You know about the fields," Arthur said quietly, his voice measured. It was not a question and Merlin nodded, sure that Arthur was watching him even though his face was still staring at the spilled wine along the wall.
"People will die."
"I know," Merlin said, echoing Arthur’s tone, but unable to control his feet, which carried him to Arthur's side without a second thought. All his desire was rooted in taking away this pain from Arthur. His hand lifted, slowly stroking the nape of Arthur's neck where the hair was curled, damp with sweat from the heat and his own troubled mind. "I know," he repeated, softer still when Arthur's face relaxed and his eyes closed, visibly pushing into Merlin's fingertips.
Merlin wanted to move, wanted to take more of Arthur's burden but he knew how much he had already stepped over the line. Physical comfort was rarely sanctioned and never welcomed with more than silence.
"People will starve," Arthur murmured.
Merlin didn't respond, his fingers kneading slightly at the taught muscles of Arthur's neck. It could only have been a minute, maybe two, that Arthur's face relaxed to so-very-sad but wonderfully expressive in a way that Merlin often longed to see. But just as quickly and swiftly as the vulnerability came, it retreated. As soon as the stiffness in Arthur's body returned, Merlin let his hand fall, but he couldn't bring himself to step back.
"Turn down my bed," Arthur said stiffly. "I've an early morning tomorrow."
Merlin nodded, barely holding the 'yes, sire' on his tongue. He turned and busied himself with the lush bedding, not trusting himself to watch Arthur undress. It amazed him how his desire for the prince always appeared in the most inappropriate times. Merlin wasn't ignorant; he knew it had to do with the human side of Arthur, the side of Arthur that would be free of King Uther. The moments when Merlin could glimpse the great King Arthur would once be were the moments Merlin had to guard against. Yes, those provoked a longing inside of him that he simply could not control. Especially not in the soft lighting of Arthur's chambers, so private their setting with the warm breeze and the play of vulnerable emotions over Arthur's face.
Arthur slid into bed in silence, but Merlin heard the soft sigh of relief. Bedrolls weren't all together that comfortable, even the prince's, add the stress of the crops to that and Merlin was sure that Arthur's rest in the forest was limited. Except for maybe the night it rained.
Arthur always slept well to the sound of rain.
"Merlin," Arthur said, as Merlin bent to blow out the candles. Merlin closed his eyes. Arthur's voice was soft and raw, squirming into Merlin's heart and taking root in the most tender places. "Do the mending here."
"Arthur-"
"No," Arthur interrupted Merlin's choked version of his name. "The light is better here."
"You need your rest," Merlin managed with vigilance. "I'll just keep you up."
"Merlin, do the mending here tonight."
Merlin sighed softly but nodded, keeping his eyes averted as he dragged a chair to Arthur's bedside and took up the needle and thread next to the lit candles. He dared not look at Arthur because there was no way he could control himself if the prince kept up his meticulous tenderness. Merlin was half afraid he'd melt from the sweetness of it.
By the time Merlin was done, the candles were burnt half down and Arthur was sleeping lightly. Merlin allowed himself a few careful minutes to watch the rhythmic rise and fall of Arthur's chest, mouth open slightly and his head turned toward Merlin and his now stilled hands. Arthur looked so peaceful and trusting, a look that Merlin dreamed about seeing all the time, in a new land, with a new life ahead of them.
Merlin let his fingers ghost Arthur's face, sweeping his messy bangs from his forehead.
"We'll save them," Merlin whispered. "We'll save them, I promise you."
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Arthur went out to the northwestern fields early in the morning, taking two knights and a few lords with him. Luckily, he didn't take Sir Balen and Merlin made quick plans to bombard him in the armory around lunch because the armory was underground and that was pretty close to the earth, right? Even though Sir Balen wasn't anything special to Merlin, he was sweet and insatiable and surely his desire for Merlin counted for something. Merlin spent the rest of the morning sharpening daggers, folding laundry and not thinking about Arthur's pretty face or the way his lips had moved around softly spoken words.
As lunch came and went, the knights grumbling their way off the practice fields and into the cooler shade of the castle, Merlin made his way to the armory, running the spell over inside his mind. The halls to the armory were blissfully empty and Merlin enjoyed how cool the stone was compared to the heat of the upper halls; he trailed his fingers across it as he carefully navigated the labyrinth of identical looking stone corridors.
Sir Balen was no where in sight.
"Thought you were back in the prince's favors?" Merlin said as he leaned against the entrance, watching as Sir Gallahad, not the expected Sir Balen, emptied out a sack of various instruments of destruction.
Merlin normally felt uncomfortable taking two knights in the same week. He usually stuck with one partner for a couple of months or until they were obviously done with him, moving on to a more permanent bedmate or courtship. But Sir Gallahad was here and Sir Balen was not.
Merlin couldn't afford the luxury of not being promiscuous. Not now.
Gallahad laughed, his face shifting from surprise to something softer and hungrier, which boded well for Merlin's plans. Merlin wasn't sure where the knights took their pleasures when Merlin was busy, but he had yet to find a knight who wasn't ready to be rode hard and hung up wet. Merlin was almost sure that Arthur had frowned upon brothels as a stern rule. But surely these brave knights had a sweetheart running around Camelot somewhere, or at least a squire who was eager to climb the ranks.
"Balen had to tend to his horse because his new squire is dim-witted," Sir Gallahad explained, putting down the rope he was holding and taking a few steps toward Merlin.
If Merlin squinted hard enough in the darkened armory, he could see a bulge in Gallahad's breeches. Christ, they hadn't even started yet.
"He was probably just trying to get out of it, you know."
Merlin adjusted his position on the archway, stretching his body out as coyly as possible. Where Sir Balen would have been convenient because he loved to bend over for a tumble and seemed eager to repeat his last encounter with Merlin, Sir Gallahad had only laid with Merlin for a few weeks before moving on to a sweetheart. The more problematic fact was Gallahad's fondness for choking on cock. It would take a bit more finesse to make it work, but at least it wasn't Sir Leon. He never welcomed Merlin's advances, even though Merlin knew that Leon preferred to lay with men, but he never challenged them either. He simply stood silently by as Merlin worked his way through bedmates.
"Yes, well," Sir Gallahad murmured, his eyes followed Merlin's body with a keen eye. "Better for me, eh?"
Merlin stepped forward, gladly taking the opportunity to hurry their interaction on. He had to be back upstairs in an hour to get Arthur cleaned up for a council meeting that evening, and if he had to get sucked before he fucked Sir Gallahad, he had better get started.
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Merlin didn't waste his time getting back up to the main part of the castle. He kissed Gallahad goodbye with a muttered 'thanks', which the knight had replied with a smile and a further invitation. Merlin had felt awkward, almost sorry for having to use Gallahad for sex magic, but he hadn't said anything about Merlin's mutterings or how Merlin's eyes were tightly shut for most of their encounter. In fact, Gallahad had rolled over and stretched, his lean body making a very good advertisement for Camelot's knights.
"You were vocal today," he had said lazily as Merlin blushed and struggled into his breeches, before giving into temptation and kissing Gallahad's smiling mouth and fleeing, anticipation unfurling in his gut. Arthur would be back soon and Merlin would find out then if his enchantment had worked based on Arthur’s mood.
In the mean time, Merlin folded himself up onto the ledge of the largest window in Arthur's room and watched for any sign of Fall.
The hours creaked by and Merlin worried that something might have attacked Arthur in the fields but then thought better of it because it was mostly miles of flat fields out there and farm houses and the open area would deter any thoughts of ambush. Unless Arthur got attacked by a rampant chicken or something.
Merlin whimpered at the thought. He honestly wouldn't put it past Arthur to get attacked by something seemingly harmless. Merlin witnessed it all the time when the Ladies of the Court came for dinner.
Two long hours passed the marked time that Arthur was supposed to return and Merlin grew restless, his eyes trained on the window until he could bare it no longer. He turned to do something, like scrub the floors for the second time this week, when he saw the evidence of his errant mind.
Arthur's room was sparkling; literally shining in a violent way as the sun reflected off of it. The bed looked as though made up by Gwen; perfectly pressed corners and smoothed wrinkles. Even the cobwebs in the corners of the arching ceilings that Arthur made Merlin clean when he was feeling particularly bored were devoid of anything resembling filth. A lingering dust rag was polishing a goblet, both merrily bobbing up and down in the air, as if it was suspended by magic.
Suspended by Merlin’s rampant and annoying magic.
"Fuck," Merlin muttered and tried several hissed-out spells. The dust rag stopped, looking forlornly at Merlin as if its only desire was to please Merlin by dispelling any dust the room had ever harbored.
"Stop it!" Merlin whispered, terrified someone would hear him talking to himself. He sighed with relief when the dust rag shrugged a bit, looking dejected, before the goblet was set back onto the table and the dust rag slinked across the floor and underneath Arthur's bed.
Merlin buried his head in his hands. What the hell had he been thinking? He couldn't even get inanimate objects to obey him and yet he was going to try and save Camelot from starvation? Everything was spiraling out of control so quickly. It was only a few months ago that trolls had been his biggest issue. Oh, oh how he wished for trolls.
"Shirking you duties again," Arthur's voice said without heat and Merlin looked up from his preoccupied state, leaping from his place at the windowsill and rushing to help Arthur off with his tunic, which he was struggling to untangle from his body.
"How were the fields?" Merlin tugged a bit to the left and the shirt sprung free and dropped with a sickening plop to the floor. It was soaked in sweat.
Arthur grunted, his face obscured from Merlin as he pulled off his boots. "The fields are recovering remarkably well."
Merlin brightened up. "Yeah?"
"Indeed," Arthur tugged off his other boot and gestured rudely when Merlin simply stood there. Merlin smiled meekly before going to the wardrobe and pulling out a different set of clothes.
"How remarkable is remarkably well?"
"Merlin, you have no interest in crops. What could this conversation possibly hold that would entertain you?"
"Sorry, sorry," Merlin squeaked into the cabinet, nearly dropping the clothes he had pulled out for Arthur. He glared at the back of the cabinet before turning and handing Arthur his clothes. He refused to linger on the prince's glistening chest, or his flushed face or the fact that his thin under-breeches were clinging to his hips in ways that were illegal in most parts of Camelot. He was ignoring all that. Because Arthur being a prat and the possibility of people starving were not in the least bit arousing. And Merlin had just had sex, twice!
Merlin bustled around, picking up Arthur's sopping clothes and moving toward the door. He could run down and put these in with the laundry and then go ask one of the squires how the trip went. Merlin was picking up a runaway sock, Arthur had a problem keeping socks in pairs, when a long but very regal sigh came from behind him.
"The crops look good, suspiciously so. So much that people suspect sorcery," Arthur said with a tired voice that Merlin felt down to his bones. He closed his eyes. "Not that the people care, because they would rather have food, sorcery or no."
"Will you hunt for the magic?"
Merlin didn't turn around; the air around them was suddenly thick with tension and his own voice wavered a little. Would Uther see his people starve for the sake of stamping out sorcery? Merlin had no doubt that he would. But Arthur? Merlin was never sure where Arthur's wavering stance on magic lay in the murky honor and loyalty that Arthur had for the people of Camelot-for his kingdom.
"No," Arthur said quietly. "No, I won't."
Merlin felt the tension in his shoulders seep out. He nodded and opened the door.
"Merlin."
Merlin turned by habit. Arthur was still sitting on the bed, his clothes in a pile in his lap with the sun shining in the room behind him causing him to light up as if he were an angel. He looked sad and so utterly lost that Merlin had to grip the door as to not run over to him and touch him or hug him or even spell the sadness from him.
"Those crops will not flourish for long. Not in this heat. If the heat does not abate, there is no hope," Arthur said in a tone that brokered no argument but so much ambiguity in meaning that Merlin had no idea what Arthur was trying to say to him. They often had silent conversations but lately so many of their conversations were with words that held more meaning between the two of them than anyone else.
And Merlin was often lost in the translation.
"It is neither here nor there," Arthur said with a shake of his head. "Bring my bath, will you? I've got to meet with the council soon."
Merlin left, knowing that whatever little magic had happened, it wasn't enough. He was going to have to try again and he was going to have to do it soon.
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Arthur held no want for company after Merlin brought his bath and dismissed him until after the council meeting that would likely run into the night. Merlin nodded and took his leave silently. It was both a blessing and a curse to be around Arthur when he was having a wash. All that golden skin, glimmering under droplets of teasing water, was a bit much for Merlin's fragile sanity. But more often than not, it was the only time Merlin saw Arthur relax. His shoulders would ease into the water and unwind as the air blew out of the prince in a sigh. Merlin wouldn't be able to look away from his face in those moments and it was nice to enjoy the silence between them.
However, Merlin was thankful for the time to deal with other arrangements.
Merlin scribbled a note and gave it to a passing squire for Sir Balen before ducking back into his quarters and reading the spell over and over again, making sure to read the fine print in the margins to look for anything that might be hindering the full effects of the spell. He would follow the directions implicitly this time. Although Balen didn't mean anything to Merlin, they would meet in the forest and Merlin would cast a stronger muffling spell on Balen than he did on Gallahad so that he could speak the spell properly. This would work. If the crops were doing well then all Merlin had to do was bring around Fall.
All Merlin had to do was urge the earth to time travel.
"You can do this," Merlin said to himself as he grabbed a cloak Arthur had given him for Christmas the past year, claiming that the cloak displeased him, when Merlin knew for a fact that it was Arthur's favorite. He had accepted the gift without comment. If he couldn't 'give his seed' to the earth with someone he loved, he could at least have something of Arthur's with him when he did it.
"For Arthur," Merlin said as he stepped out into the too warm night, headed for the cover of the forest.
He just hoped Balen wouldn't notice their audience of woodland creatures because Merlin was sure, that even after all this was over, furry animals wouldn't stop following him.
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Arthur was already asleep when Merlin got back to the castle, but he hadn't been there long because his clothes were still warm when Merlin picked them off the floor. Not that he clung to them, smelling the soft smell of sandalwood and apricots from Arthur's soap and the heated smell of Arthur underneath it all. Not that he held them as if they were Arthur.
Right.
Merlin only lingered a few moments, watching the lines of Arthur's face as he cycled through his dreams, before he left. In the morning, Arthur would ride out to the fields and Merlin would watch the sky for the first signs of autumn.
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The morning dawned bright but hot and Merlin cursed, his anger flowing out of his fingers and completely trashing his room until all that was left of his furniture were shattered wooden boards and scattered hay.
Gaius didn't say a word when Merlin stormed out to attend to Arthur.
Arthur, who was equally tense and unusually silent. He didn't make a sound when Merlin accidentally laced up his tunic wrong, simply restrung the worn leather and waved Merlin off when he stuttered out an apology that sounded dead to his own ears.
Merlin had never felt so far away from Arthur. He wanted to reach out and grasp him, to say something--anything, but Arthur was already gone, his boots making solid sounds as he made his way down the hallway and out into the sun.
Merlin set off to find another variation of the harvest spell.
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Maybe it had to be someone new. It was the only variation he could think of to make the spell work. It was the last chance he had.
"Merlin?"
Merlin looked up from his bread and cheese. "Sorry," he said. "I was far away."
"Obviously," Gwen said as she sipped from her goblet. "You look like you haven't slept in days."
Merlin shook his head. "I don't sleep well when Arthur-" Merlin cut himself off and stuffed a piece of bread into his mouth. It felt odd to talk about Arthur with Gwen like this. Merlin was tired of secrets.
"You two will save the crops. You'll figure something out."
Merlin swallowed the lump of bread, his throat dry. Gwen looked so hopeful and trusting, like they could do anything if it meant saving the kingdom. But Merlin wasn't sure anymore. He wasn't sure of anything.
"Don't worry, Merlin," Gwen said softly, her hand finding his over the table. "Prince Arthur will think of something. You two always do."
He had thought. He had worked through every situation in his head, and the spell was working but it wasn't strong enough. It wasn't enough to move the seasons but he had to try. Whoring himself out wasn't ideal. In fact, he was feeling a bit sickly because of it, flung open and wanting but so very desperate. But the book said he might, that the act of self sacrifice and magic channeling to the earth was tiring-it was using him in a way that brought him to the edge of vulnerability and back. He felt like a whore for magic and a whore for Arthur; neither felt satisfying.
Merlin closed his eyes and chewed thoughtfully on a piece of cheese. He opened his mouth and painted a smile on his face, trying to look reassuring to Gwen's careful eye. It must have worked because she smiled back and released his hand.
"So," he said with false cheer. "Where is the new knight staying?"
"Sir Percival?"
"Oh, is that is name?"
<3<3<3
Merlin dressed Arthur for the council meeting. It was still an hour or so before the council would meet but Arthur was anxious, poring over countless grain reports and scrutinizing numbers until his eyes went fuzzy and Merlin had to bring up a warm water basin to soak Arthur's face in.
"The summer won't leave," Arthur said, his head laying on the rim of the basin. Merlin stilled from where he was polishing a dagger. He looked carefully at Arthur's face, lined with hopelessness and frustration, as the water dripped off of it. "Why, why won't the summer leave?"
"Maybe we're being punished."
Merlin heard himself speak without thought. He braced himself for some sort of verbal chastising but none came. He watched as Arthur blinked open his eyes, troubled blue that swirled with regret and anguish, before he closed them again and turned his head back into the water.
"Maybe we are," Arthur said as he reached for a hand cloth. "Maybe we are being punished."
Merlin wanted to cry.
"Arthur-"
"Enough," Arthur said as he stripped off his tunic and grabbed an embroidered one, slipping it over his head. "We have to face the facts. The numbers do not lie."
Merlin stepped closer, batting Arthur's hands away to do up the laces. "What do the numbers say?"
"They say over a two-thousand will starve this winter."
Merlin gasped, his hands falling from Arthur's chest. Arthur's face turned to stone, resignation and burden etching into his features until they solidified into the features of a seasoned Prince-of a warrior.
"Two-thousand Camelot subjects will starve at our hands," Arthur said. "The numbers don't lie and therefore, we cannot lie to ourselves."
Merlin fumbled as Arthur slide into his boots. He felt as if Arthur was sliding farther away, his figure blurry in front of him and thin, cast as shadow.
"There must be something-"
Arthur looked up sharply. "There is nothing for you do to," Arthur said with a voice that spoke volumes. "We must accept defeat."
Arthur rose and strode to the door. "There is nothing more, Merlin."
The door slammed against its frame and Merlin flinched.
<3<3<3
Merlin fucked the young Sir Percival until he passed out. He hammered him into the ground with thrusts that seemed compelled by magic, bruises scattering over the knights back and his pain-pleasure cries filling the silence of the forest as Merlin bit and clawed his way inside him. Merlin fucked him until he came not once but twice from Merlin's cock before he passed out and Merlin waited, power thudding through him as Merlin chanted the spell over and over again. When Percival, young and eager and stupid, awoke he begged Merlin for more.
"Gods, yes, please," he whined as he body squirmed desperate and needy over Merlin's length. "Please, give me more. I need it."
And so Merlin did as he was asked. He pounded into the young knight until he cried, ecstasy driving his body mad with pleasure and scorching pain. Merlin used Percival until there was hardly anything left for the earth to want and there was hardly anything left of Merlin to give.
Merlin fucked Sir Percival until the skies opened up and flooded the earth in Merlin's anguish.
<3<3<3
The rain didn't stop. It poured through the night, rivers flooding and many residents having to take shelter in the upper town. It poured through the morning, the rain cascading in sheets outside the castle windows and pooling on the ground as the earth rejected its sudden avalanche-its sudden reprieve from the brittle state of scorched and cracked oblivion.
Merlin ignored it.
He put Sir Percival to bed, leaving a pot of salve by his bed and a few whispered words to slip the memory of their night into a cleaner, more human version of events. Merlin shook as the charm worked its way inside of Percival's mind and he didn't stop quaking when he left, the door clicking shut behind him in the pale morning light that was fighting through the thick storm clouds.
If it was possible, the heat was even more oppressive. It was heavy on Merlin's lungs as he climbed the stairs. The sticky, damp heat crawled all over his body and snarled at his heart until he felt mad.
"This is madness," he said desperately when he finally reached Arthur's quarters.
When Merlin opened the door, he found the room in a state of chaos. It looked very similar to Merlin's own, only the wardrobe was gaping open with clothes spilling out and strewn across the room. The bed was a jar from the wall, as if someone shook it violently before wrenching away. The table was on its side, its legs looking battered, and there are were shards of what looked to be a mirror close to the window pane where Arthur was standing. Merlin closed the door behind him, keeping his eyes trained on Arthur's broad shoulders that seemed to tremble beneath the thin fabric of his tunic. The tension of his posture ran heavy down the length of his spine and into the firm definition of his thighs.
"I thought you were trying to help."
Merlin noticed the calm and eerie quality that jumped alone Arthur's words. He took only two steps into the room but he didn't say anything. Arthur's body didn't move an inch and the air charged.
"I thought-" Arthur started and then stopped. Merlin felt the bottom of his belly hollow out when Arthur's huffed out laughter was ragged and too thin to be anything but malicious. "I thought you were doing something to help but it turns out you were just getting your dick wet."
The perfect pitched tone, meticulously groomed to be cruel, curled around Merlin like a wet blanket.
"Arthur," Merlin choked out. But Arthur shook his head.
"Who are you? People are going to die! And what are you doing? Seducing every knight with a loose hole like a slag," Arthur said with startling bitterness. Not for the first time, Merlin felt like he was missing the final piece to the puzzle to make everything right again. It was just out of his reach, laughing at him as he grasped and grappled in thin-air as everything turned to dust, falling through the cracks in his fingers to spill all around him.
"I thought you were doing something," Arthur went on with a revolting twist of his words that sounded so much like disappointment that Merlin felt his knees weaken. "You were supposed to do something!"
"Arthur, you don't understand."
Merlin took another step forward, dodging the scattered plates and disregarded clothes.
"You're right. I don't understand how you could spend all your time fucking knights when you have the power to do something-to save people's lives. Is this a game to you?"
Merlin closed his eyes against the harsh words laced with spiteful laughter. Sir Percival's back stretched out before his minds eye and the bruises, the bite marks, the magical surge of unforgiving power smiled like a Cheshire cat.
"I was trying. It's a ritual," Merlin stuttered out. He stepped forward until he was only a footfall from Arthur's convulsing shoulders.
"Why didn't you do it?"
It. Oh, the litany of what Arthur could mean. It was too numerous for Merlin to count or decipher and he cursed the way they never spoke with words, not real ones. Not real words that could be cataloged and saved, analyzed and kept safe; no, they had always stayed in the in-between spaces.
Merlin reached out, his hand hovering over Arthur's shoulder as Arthur whispered, "Why don't you save them?"
Because I was too busy trying to save myself, Merlin wanted to say. I was too busy trying to save you but I got lost.
"I can't save them, Arthur," Merlin said instead. The truth as plain as can be. "I can't save anyone."
"LIAR!" Arthur whirled around, grabbing Merlin by the neckerchief and throwing him into the wall before Merlin could take another breath; the wind stopping and stuttering out of his chest from the force of Arthur's palm. "You bloody fucking liar!"
Arthur roared in Merlin's face, but it was through his eyes that everything shifted into focus. In his eyes, Merlin read his cues and there, that was where he found the devastation that racked Arthur's shoulders and tore through his lungs, separating every word he had ever spoken into careful categories with careful names to be spoken in careful, careful silences.
This wasn't how this was supposed to end. This wasn't what destiny felt like. This was what heartbreak felt like... but then again, maybe they were always meant to be the same thing.
"I'm trying, Arthur," Merlin said with a sorrow and tenacity he had never felt before, bring his hands up to frame Arthur's face, letting Arthur twist his hand into the already tight neckerchief. "I'm trying but I can't do it. I don't know how, not without you."
The tension didn't leave Arthur, if anything it mounted and Merlin whimpered when confusion and hurt twisted over Arthur's features. Merlin gulped in a breath and stared wide-eyed when Arthur didn't run away, didn't call the guards, didn't summon the pyres or sharpen the blade himself for the lies that had laced Merlin’s tongue for so long. Instead, he breathed in deeply. Merlin watched in rapture as Arthur took deep breaths in through his mouth and out through his nose, his face ever nearer to Merlin's until their foreheads were touching.
Merlin was cross-eyed from trying to take every bit of Arthur's face into his memory.
"It," Arthur said, as if the word has been wrenched from his chest. "Why didn't it work?"
Shame slithered up from the pit of Merlin's belly, flushing his cheeks and raising the temperature of the room. What was worse than having your lies flung open for the most honest man in the world to see? The secret of your heart too, flayed open and still beating for him to devour before casting the carcass away in disgust.
Legends, Merlin thought. Legends were nothing like fairytales.
"I didn't love them," he whispered out his air deprived throat. It felt scratchy and thinly worn but as the last confession was wrought from his lips, Merlin felt the burden of everything slump onto his lips as if he was his father's murderer, Morgana's executioner, Kilgharrah's slain kin, Nimueh's vanished body, Gwen's scorched dreams and Arthur... gods, Arthur's dagger wedged deep inside the Once and Future King's chest.
It was funny, but destiny didn't look so daunting on the other end of revelation. Merlin had been expecting something less anti-climactic. He probably wouldn't even get his head chopped off or his body burnt at the stake. No, it would be worse. He would die here in Arthur's chambers, by Arthur's words first and then his hand lastly.
"I didn't love them," Merlin repeated. "I can't save anyone because I don't love them."
Merlin closed his eyes, searching for the heartbeat he always looked for when Arthur was away from him. He searched until he found it, beating heavy and heard against the vein in his own neck. Two deep breaths, still choked, smoothed his own frantic pulse in time to Arthur's.
"What if they love you?"
Merlin opened his eyes, utterly confused. "What?"
"Will it work," Arthur said with a swallow. "Will it work if they love you, even if you don't love them?"
It seemed that words, even now in this plane of brutal truth and nakedness, these words would fail them even still.
Merlin pressed his hands to the strong bones in Arthur's face, pressing until Arthur opened his eyes. Merlin let himself stay there for a moment. He stared into Arthur's open and completely beautiful face and loved him more than anything in the world. For a moment, it didn't matter to Merlin if the whole world went up in flames or drowned in the most violent seas. Nothing mattered but the man in front of him; the man who wanted to save the world and would lead Merlin to the ends of the earth in the name of honor and loyalty and love.
"Arthur," Merlin said softly, and then he kissed him.
It was gentle, not teasing or devouring but healing. Merlin felt happiness so deeply, he couldn't even smile. Instead, he peppered Arthur's face with kisses, pressing and bestowing them as gifts that begged forgiveness and provided a litany of atonement.
"Arthur, Arthur, Arthur," Merlin murmured as he made his way over the sharp angles of Arthur's face and traced his raised brow until Arthur pulled back, blue eyes wide and, for the first time in many months, shining with clarity.
"Merlin."
He only said it once but he meant it. Merlin smiled then, Arthur's mouth curving in response before he pressed messily and honestly against Merlin's own. It was then that Merlin found Arthur's hands not around his neck, but tangled in his hair to control the angle of his lips and the slide of their tongues against each other.
They barely pulled away as they backed themselves back to the bed, dodging splintered mirror shards and other debris. Merlin laughed when Arthur murmured a hasty 'sorry', pushing at the prince's shoulders until he flopped back onto the messy bed. "Spoiled," Merlin said when he pressed his mouth to Arthur's hand and then followed its descent onto the bed. There would be time to look later, Merlin was sure of it. He concentrated instead on pressing his face, his hands, his skin to every stretch of Arthur's skin he could. Merlin wanted to commit it all to memory, so that if he ever died-if Merlin ever had to confront the messy cliff of his destiny, he would rise again from the memory of Arthur's skin, this very first time, against his own.
They wasted no time. They let clothes litter the floor with the mess Arthur had already made and they pressed messy kisses into damp skin and smiled wide, forgiving and welcoming as the spaces between them closed.
It was a deluge of its own.
This time, when oil slicked fingers were twisted and turned, searching and finding, it was Merlin's back that arched off the bed; it was Merlin's mouth that fell open when Arthur's finger found that spot inside of him that made the world fall apart; it was Merlin who keened in desperation; it was Merlin's hips that hitched and wanted; it was Merlin's mouth that begged and was granted sloppy kisses; it was Merlin who received heavily murmured endearments; and it was Merlin's legs that were wrapped tightly, breath hitching and hiccuping as Arthur slid deep inside of him.
"Merlin, Merlin, Merlin," Arthur said against his skin, pressing into the damp skin of Merlin's neck that was strained with fullness. "Merlin, Merlin, gods, yes."
Merlin's hips struggled, squirmed and arched until Arthur moved. Merlin tried to pry his eyes open long enough to memorize the sweat on Arthur's brow, the rippling play of his muscles in each thrust of his hips, the gentle motion of his lips as they warped around Merlin's name-but all Merlin could see was Arthur's eyes, soulful and trusting and adoring.
This time, when Merlin felt his orgasm barreling toward him, he clawed at Arthur's back as the prince's rhythm faulted at Merlin's choked gasps and tightened channel.
"Arthur, Arthur, please," Merlin asked, eyes glowing gold with pleasure and asking for consent. He wouldn't do this, even to save the world, unless Arthur sanctioned all of him. "Please, youyouyou."
With a final arched thrust, Arthur's voice sloshed up and washed over them, "Yes, gods yes, Merlin!"
This time, when Merlin came, Arthur came with him and the air swirled with magic that hummed through the air like it was sewing it together and creating something wholly new and glorious. They both cried out, clutching each other and riding out their orgasms in messy heat as magic flowed, not from Merlin's mouth, but from his heart:
Forhtian na mara se hat sunne
Weaxan wintersufel weaxan
<3<3<3
Merlin had never felt so bone tired. His head was pillowed on Arthur's chest, which was just as firm and delicious as it looked. They were a mess of long limbs, pointy elbows and gangly knees but Merlin wouldn't have asked for anything more than the soft splay of Arthur's hands over his body and his even breath skating across his skin as their hearts synched in a steady throb.
"Merlin?"
"Hmm?"
"Merlin, stop the rain."
Merlin smiled against Arthur's chest. "What makes you think I started it?" He said sleepily, even as his eyes went golden and the deluge ceased to light smatterings on stone.
"Because," Arthur said, voice intimate and enveloping, "everything started with you."
<3<3<3
The next day, the temperature dropped and the earth seemed to relax, allowing the rain in. And as the castle shuttered, the cold seeping quickly in the stone walls, the townspeople of Camelot stepped out into the streets to watch the crops stay tall. Children came alive in the streets, their faces lit up with happy thoughts of Samhain's feasts because their mothers' and fathers' were embracing each other-their faces no longer able to remind Merlin of Hunith's that one dreadful winter. All around Camelot tension eased away from worry-worn shoulders and thankful praise filtered through the air. Samhain would not only be a day of feasts but a celebration of life and gratitude.
In the walled fortress of the Crown Prince's room, Merlin started a fire with a flint and a few pieces of wood before be climbed back into bed and Arthur's waiting arms. He dreamt of gloved hands over chilly skin, thickly woven wool cloaks and fur-lined blankets. He dreamt of brisk and biting cold that drove lovers back into bedchambers and deep inside covers. He dreamt of lazy kisses against wind-bitten cheeks and cold feet pressing against warm, princely calves with royal tantrums to follow. He dreamt of leaves falling from trees as tall as castle towers and woodland creatures, annoying as ever, scurrying over the first snow and snowball fights when hunting was the game of the day.
Merlin dreamt and the world emulated his visions twice as vibrantly, cradled in the palm of his hand and all hinged on Arthur, his Once and Future King.
<3<3<3 The End <3<3<3
<3<3<3
To say that Merlin was in no mood for Arthur's prattish, albeit royal, mood was an understatement. He had spent the entire morning in a temper, the guilt of Morgana weighing heavily. He had failed her so completely, from comforting her about magic to saving her from the Dragon's foretold nightmares. He had created their destiny. He alone would have to take responsibility for turning away a most trusted friend and molding her into an enemy. The knowledge was unbearable. And in light of that, his own half truths floated through his mind and made him second guess everything he thought he wanted and thought he was destined to do.
The word alone made him ill.
Merlin spent the rest of the morning trying to avoid people because his magic was acting up. He was so full of longing and want that it seemed to bubble up in him at the most inopportune moments. Cool watered flannels were jumping to wipe his forehead in comfort, inanimate objects kept leaping to help him with his tasks and looked incredibly sad whenever Merlin or Gaius chastised the object. His magic just wanted to comfort him, but it wasn't really doing Merlin any good. Gaius had taken to smacking him around the back of his head when he started murmuring ancient words to snap him out of whatever trance he was in, be it moving objects around without a thought or unconsciously trying to contact Morgana.
"Merlin, if you can't get your magic under control then you'll have to leave."
Merlin looked up from a kettle that was pouring him a cup of tea (it had been pouring him cups of tea for almost an hour and Merlin had to magic them away when he realized they were filling up the room). He nodded lazily. It was so bloody hot. He understood that but his magic didn't seem to give one grain of thought to rules.
"Is Arthur back yet?" Merlin said absently as he wiped his forehead of sweat. The temperature outside the castle had finally risen to a point that not even the cool stone could escape the onslaught of the heat. Gaius had already advised Uther to issue a heat advisory, warning people to stay inside their houses or in the shade due to the likelihood of exhaustion. Uther had decreed the advisory, sending out porters to the lower town even though many people were likely tending to the fields. Well, what was left of the fields to tend. With Samhain approaching and the heat being so oppressive for the past months, Merlin wasn't confident that there would be much of a Samhain crop to gather. Arthur had been reluctant to leave on his trip due to the drought but there honestly wasn't anything he could do. Both Uther and Merlin knew that no matter how much Arthur willed the weather to tend to the crops so that Camelot citizens would eat well in the winter, the prince was not capable of making anything happen.
"Merlin?"
Merlin shook his head, thoughts clouding his vision for a few seconds before he sought Gaius' gaze. "Sorry, my mind was elsewhere. Has Arthur returned?"
"He's in with with the king."
Merlin frowned. It was rare that Arthur went straight to his father's chambers without bathing or at least letting Merlin know how worthless his existence was. "Is something the matter?"
Gaius raised a bushy eyebrow, his hands busy pouring what smelled like a tonic for heat exhaustion. "Where has your mind been, boy? The lightning storm from yesterdays unexpected deluge started a fire in the northwestern fields."
"What? But the rain!"
"The rain did nothing to protect the earth from the lightning when it has been so dry for too long," Gaius said firmly, although not unkindly.
"But Gaius, that means I started the fire! I burnt the crops."
"Nonsense. The Earth is temperamental as Nimueh has passed on, and with Kilgharrah now free to interact with the Old Religion again, nothing is safe." Merlin watched as Gaius turned away to pour the tonic into a different container for distribution. "You were just a vehicle for the magic that created that storm, Merlin. I don't think you created it, so much as the Earth wanted it and called on you to channel magic for it."
"I started a fire, Gaius. If the northwestern fields burn, the lower town will starve this winter. I heard Arthur speaking about it before he left and the northwestern fields were the only crops doing decently in the heat," Merlin said desperately.
"Why do you think Arthur is now with the king instead of ordering you about?"
Merlin struggled, the heat tangling his mind around the facts and constantly getting stuck on the fact that he started the fire. People would starve because he couldn't control his magic.
He choked on a sob. "Gaius-"
"Enough," Gaius said quietly. "Earth magic is volatile, Merlin. It does as it chooses and as a creature of the Old Religion you are its greatest conduit of magic."
Merlin nodded, head foggy, but Gaius' words didn't relieve the sense of guilt boiling inside of him. This was his fault. And he had to fix this, for the people of Camelot and for Arthur. He had no idea how he was going to solve the crop problems but he knew it had to be done. With Merlin's lightening, the threat of starvation was not an if but a when. If Merlin closed his eyes tight enough, he could still remember the one winter that Ealdor went with little food because of the raiders. He was only a boy then but he could still remember the tightness in his belly and the gentle fatigue, feeling dizzy and light, that came with scarce food. As much as Merlin remembered the ache in his stomach and the lightness in his head, he could recall his mother's face the clearest. Between the food shortage and Merlin's random acts of magic getting more frequent, she was worried sick and Merlin had felt that she aged years in those few cold months. The lines in her face had hardened, deep with concern, the crinkle in her mouth quivering in the cold of the house and her hands shaking when she held Merlin close to her chest, trying to keep the cold and the hunger at bay. It was the worst winter of his life and it seemed so far away from him now, yet the memory of that frozen winter and his current life were colliding.
"Here," Gaius said, once again breaking Merlin out of his thoughts. "Take these round. I've labeled the bottles with their beneficiary's names."
"Gaius, I've condemned people to their deaths and you're sending me on errands!"
"Stop being so dramatic," Gaius said with a wave of his weathered hand. "Your magical identity crisis doesn't stop the comings and goings of the castle."
Merlin took the basket of bottles and left the workroom without looking back. Gaius might be used to the repercussions of his actions killing innocent people, but Merlin wasn't there yet. He hadn't been in Camelot long enough to feel flippant about life and death. He'd never accidentally killed anyone who hadn't earned it and the thought of killing children from the inside out was horrific. The closest he had ever come was the devastation that Great Dragon had created; even then, the presence of magic had been deep in Camelot and destiny had felt balanced after the attack. This looming starvation didn't feel deserved from Destiny's might hand; it felt like a mistake.
He was going to fix this. He and Arthur were going to fix this before winter came. Samhain was in a couple of weeks and there would be something to celebrate. Merlin would make sure of it.
<3<3<3
Merlin completed his deliveries as swiftly as possible. Thankfully, it was too hot for much of the castle to be doing anything remotely productive and it kept the servants busy attending their whining royal masters in the heat. Since Arthur was still with the king, Merlin had plenty of time to slip back to his room and do a bit of research.
It was not promising. Apparently, growing food on a mass scale was tricky magic. Why was it that Merlin could create a storm to drown the whole kingdom of Camelot without a second thought, but growing food was going to be near impossible?
Because this was his life and Merlin was convinced he was being punished.
"What the hell," Merlin said as he flicked through the large magic tome. "I'm not killing a unicorn again, let alone disemboweling one. Maybe there is a substitute?"
He scanned the spell.
"Why is disembowelment of unicorns comparable to disembowelment of princes? I've met both of them and they aren't even remotely a like. Every unicorn I've met has been quite sweet."
He shook his head and flipped further into the book.
"Oh, well I could just traipse down to the Isle of the Blessed and hand myself over," Merlin said with disdain. "Been there, done that. It was wet. I almost caught my death of pneumonia, and that was after almost dying and slaying witches."
The Isle of the Blessed was off the list of things to do today.
"My choices are to cut up a woman's womb, her first born child and drain their blood into the earth through a portal of pain... or sex magic."
Merlin closed his eyes.
"Seriously?"
When he opened him, his hands had already turned from the sacrificial section to the smutty section of the magic book. Somewhere, the Old Religion and Kilgharrah were laughing their asses off. Merlin was sure of it.
Settling deeper into the pillows, he started to examine the specifics of the spell.
<3<3<3
Sex magic didn't look very hard. He was so used to focusing on control of his magic while he was having a roll in the hay that for once, he thought it should be nice to have somewhere to concentrate his power so he didn't have to levitate chairs and grow flowers out of the blue. And even then, he would have to enchant his partners ears to muffle the casting and then there was the spell itself, which was supposed to be cast just before he climaxed so that he "gave his seed to the earth".
Not even remotely joking.
He had to read that line five times before he fully worked out the meaning. Turns out, spell books are just as naughty as the ones Merlin had caught Arthur reading in the flickering candlelight of his room. Merlin hadn't figured out where he kept them yet, because even when Merlin was actually cleaning with his hands, he had yet to find the small books bound in deep red leather, cracked from frequent reading and their pages stained with greedy fingerprints. He couldn't imagine Geoffery letting Arthur keep them in the castle library. The thought made him vomit a bit in his mouth.
"Merlin?"
He looked up from the book, trying to see anything he might need to remember. Surprisingly, there weren't too many warnings about the power of the spell or the end of the world or what-have-you that he normally had to be aware of. It was something he was getting used to while working on saving Camelot and Arthur... lots and lots of fickle fine print.
But the only thing it said was that performing the spell while sleeping with someone who mattered to the caster was preferable and that doing it close to the earth helped channel the magic. Merlin doubted that channeling magic was going to be a problem since the earth couldn't seem to keep its hands to itself lately. As for a person who mattered, Merlin wasn't too worried about it. He was confident enough in his powers that performing the ritual would be enough because the someone he cared for was currently unavailable... for life.
"Merlin! The prince is bellowing for you!" Gaius said through the door and Merlin nodded, closing the magic book and slipping it underneath the bed before making his way out of his chambers, nodding to Gaius and going to find Arthur, who was undoubtedly bellowing.
When Merlin arrived at Arthur's chambers, he was already devouring his food with a surly look on his face. Merlin took a deep breath and closed the door as quietly as he could. He knew that Arthur took his kingdom seriously and that every life meant something to him. He was acutely aware of how much the crop shortage was going to effect Arthur and he wasn't looking forward to it. In fact, it was extra motivation to fix the damage. Not that he needed any.
"About time you got here," Arthur said as he tore into a piece of boar with enough ill temper to kill it twice. "There are plenty of things for you to do. You can start with the armor, the laundresses need to be sent for, my daggers need polishing, I think there is a hole in every one of my breeches and my sword is so dull, I'm better off defending Camelot with a wooden one."
Merlin looked at Arthur's face, carefully controlled fury rolled through his features and clenched his jaw painfully. Merlin decided to play it safe. "Yes, sire," he said quietly, going to round up the splay of Arthur's things, undoubtedly thrown around the room in a mild tantrum.
He tried to stay in Arthur's periphery, because usually just seeing Merlin caused Arthur to lash out in times of high stress. And, not for the first time, Merlin felt like he deserved it. The combination of guilt and anticipation to make it right were enough to drive Merlin into silent compliance. He dried the armor first, taking extra care to oil the hinges before rounding up the laundry and sending a passing maid to fetch a few others to carry the loads down to the laundresses' hot bins.
Arthur barely spoke. Merlin could hear him chewing, the violent jerking of his jaw a very present reminder of the controlled frustration Arthur was feeling. Merlin tried to be as quiet as he could, only knocking the pile of armor over once and cursing just twice after he dropped the basket of laundry on his foot while handing it off to three serving girls.
"Be careful," Arthur hissed from where he was sipping his wine. Merlin turned to reply but Arthur wasn’t looking at him. "And watch your mouth around the ladies, you cur."
Merlin rolled his eyes as the serving girls smiled at him. They were no stranger to his violent tongue. In fact, his foul mouth was the only thing they ever laughed at when Merlin brought down basket after basket of Arthur's clothes.
"Sorry, sire."
Merlin smiled at the girls before they left, pleased with himself for keeping the sarcasm out of his tone. It was hard to be civil to Arthur most of the time and it was harder still when he was being an ass. Merlin honestly had no idea how other servants managed it.
The polishing of the daggers could wait until morning, since Arthur liked to have his large and pretty sword on hand when he was feeling particularly helpless and so it took priority. Merlin moved the daggers to their new place by the door and took up sorting the rest of Arthur's clothing that weren't in need of a wash. He could hardly keep his huffing silent. At least four of Arthur's jackets needed a serious mending and one was probably ruined. He wanted to ask just what the hell they got up to in the forest but after opening his mouth four times, he decided against it. By the time he set aside the clothes in need of sewing and put the others away, Arthur was done with his dinner, plate pushed aside and his eyes staring resolutely at the fire place that wasn't lit up.
This time last year, they had already had to put on a fire to keep the room manageable.
"More wine, sire?" Merlin tried to smile around the odd words in his mouth. He'd probably said 'sire' more tonight than he had all year. And it was nearly Samhain.
Arthur replied with a grunt, not taking his eyes away from the cold fire place. Merlin poured with care, only spilling a few drops on his hand. Arthur already had the goblet to his lips before Merlin could even step back.
"Anything else, sire?"
"Stop fucking saying it!" Arthur roared, standing up from his chair and flinging his goblet against the wall. Merlin gasped when the goblet shattered, the splatter of wine across the wall arched like blood and the stillness rang out across the room in deep shuddering breaths taken from Arthur's chest.
Merlin's eyes moved from the wall back to Arthur's profile. He looked so beautifully tortured in the moment and Merlin could only stare, unwilling to move if Arthur proved angrier than his control could handle. It had never happened before, true fear of Arthur in the form of violence, but when the lives of Camelot's people were at stake, Merlin wouldn't put anything past him.
"You know about the fields," Arthur said quietly, his voice measured. It was not a question and Merlin nodded, sure that Arthur was watching him even though his face was still staring at the spilled wine along the wall.
"People will die."
"I know," Merlin said, echoing Arthur’s tone, but unable to control his feet, which carried him to Arthur's side without a second thought. All his desire was rooted in taking away this pain from Arthur. His hand lifted, slowly stroking the nape of Arthur's neck where the hair was curled, damp with sweat from the heat and his own troubled mind. "I know," he repeated, softer still when Arthur's face relaxed and his eyes closed, visibly pushing into Merlin's fingertips.
Merlin wanted to move, wanted to take more of Arthur's burden but he knew how much he had already stepped over the line. Physical comfort was rarely sanctioned and never welcomed with more than silence.
"People will starve," Arthur murmured.
Merlin didn't respond, his fingers kneading slightly at the taught muscles of Arthur's neck. It could only have been a minute, maybe two, that Arthur's face relaxed to so-very-sad but wonderfully expressive in a way that Merlin often longed to see. But just as quickly and swiftly as the vulnerability came, it retreated. As soon as the stiffness in Arthur's body returned, Merlin let his hand fall, but he couldn't bring himself to step back.
"Turn down my bed," Arthur said stiffly. "I've an early morning tomorrow."
Merlin nodded, barely holding the 'yes, sire' on his tongue. He turned and busied himself with the lush bedding, not trusting himself to watch Arthur undress. It amazed him how his desire for the prince always appeared in the most inappropriate times. Merlin wasn't ignorant; he knew it had to do with the human side of Arthur, the side of Arthur that would be free of King Uther. The moments when Merlin could glimpse the great King Arthur would once be were the moments Merlin had to guard against. Yes, those provoked a longing inside of him that he simply could not control. Especially not in the soft lighting of Arthur's chambers, so private their setting with the warm breeze and the play of vulnerable emotions over Arthur's face.
Arthur slid into bed in silence, but Merlin heard the soft sigh of relief. Bedrolls weren't all together that comfortable, even the prince's, add the stress of the crops to that and Merlin was sure that Arthur's rest in the forest was limited. Except for maybe the night it rained.
Arthur always slept well to the sound of rain.
"Merlin," Arthur said, as Merlin bent to blow out the candles. Merlin closed his eyes. Arthur's voice was soft and raw, squirming into Merlin's heart and taking root in the most tender places. "Do the mending here."
"Arthur-"
"No," Arthur interrupted Merlin's choked version of his name. "The light is better here."
"You need your rest," Merlin managed with vigilance. "I'll just keep you up."
"Merlin, do the mending here tonight."
Merlin sighed softly but nodded, keeping his eyes averted as he dragged a chair to Arthur's bedside and took up the needle and thread next to the lit candles. He dared not look at Arthur because there was no way he could control himself if the prince kept up his meticulous tenderness. Merlin was half afraid he'd melt from the sweetness of it.
By the time Merlin was done, the candles were burnt half down and Arthur was sleeping lightly. Merlin allowed himself a few careful minutes to watch the rhythmic rise and fall of Arthur's chest, mouth open slightly and his head turned toward Merlin and his now stilled hands. Arthur looked so peaceful and trusting, a look that Merlin dreamed about seeing all the time, in a new land, with a new life ahead of them.
Merlin let his fingers ghost Arthur's face, sweeping his messy bangs from his forehead.
"We'll save them," Merlin whispered. "We'll save them, I promise you."
<3<3<3
Arthur went out to the northwestern fields early in the morning, taking two knights and a few lords with him. Luckily, he didn't take Sir Balen and Merlin made quick plans to bombard him in the armory around lunch because the armory was underground and that was pretty close to the earth, right? Even though Sir Balen wasn't anything special to Merlin, he was sweet and insatiable and surely his desire for Merlin counted for something. Merlin spent the rest of the morning sharpening daggers, folding laundry and not thinking about Arthur's pretty face or the way his lips had moved around softly spoken words.
As lunch came and went, the knights grumbling their way off the practice fields and into the cooler shade of the castle, Merlin made his way to the armory, running the spell over inside his mind. The halls to the armory were blissfully empty and Merlin enjoyed how cool the stone was compared to the heat of the upper halls; he trailed his fingers across it as he carefully navigated the labyrinth of identical looking stone corridors.
Sir Balen was no where in sight.
"Thought you were back in the prince's favors?" Merlin said as he leaned against the entrance, watching as Sir Gallahad, not the expected Sir Balen, emptied out a sack of various instruments of destruction.
Merlin normally felt uncomfortable taking two knights in the same week. He usually stuck with one partner for a couple of months or until they were obviously done with him, moving on to a more permanent bedmate or courtship. But Sir Gallahad was here and Sir Balen was not.
Merlin couldn't afford the luxury of not being promiscuous. Not now.
Gallahad laughed, his face shifting from surprise to something softer and hungrier, which boded well for Merlin's plans. Merlin wasn't sure where the knights took their pleasures when Merlin was busy, but he had yet to find a knight who wasn't ready to be rode hard and hung up wet. Merlin was almost sure that Arthur had frowned upon brothels as a stern rule. But surely these brave knights had a sweetheart running around Camelot somewhere, or at least a squire who was eager to climb the ranks.
"Balen had to tend to his horse because his new squire is dim-witted," Sir Gallahad explained, putting down the rope he was holding and taking a few steps toward Merlin.
If Merlin squinted hard enough in the darkened armory, he could see a bulge in Gallahad's breeches. Christ, they hadn't even started yet.
"He was probably just trying to get out of it, you know."
Merlin adjusted his position on the archway, stretching his body out as coyly as possible. Where Sir Balen would have been convenient because he loved to bend over for a tumble and seemed eager to repeat his last encounter with Merlin, Sir Gallahad had only laid with Merlin for a few weeks before moving on to a sweetheart. The more problematic fact was Gallahad's fondness for choking on cock. It would take a bit more finesse to make it work, but at least it wasn't Sir Leon. He never welcomed Merlin's advances, even though Merlin knew that Leon preferred to lay with men, but he never challenged them either. He simply stood silently by as Merlin worked his way through bedmates.
"Yes, well," Sir Gallahad murmured, his eyes followed Merlin's body with a keen eye. "Better for me, eh?"
Merlin stepped forward, gladly taking the opportunity to hurry their interaction on. He had to be back upstairs in an hour to get Arthur cleaned up for a council meeting that evening, and if he had to get sucked before he fucked Sir Gallahad, he had better get started.
<3<3<3
Merlin didn't waste his time getting back up to the main part of the castle. He kissed Gallahad goodbye with a muttered 'thanks', which the knight had replied with a smile and a further invitation. Merlin had felt awkward, almost sorry for having to use Gallahad for sex magic, but he hadn't said anything about Merlin's mutterings or how Merlin's eyes were tightly shut for most of their encounter. In fact, Gallahad had rolled over and stretched, his lean body making a very good advertisement for Camelot's knights.
"You were vocal today," he had said lazily as Merlin blushed and struggled into his breeches, before giving into temptation and kissing Gallahad's smiling mouth and fleeing, anticipation unfurling in his gut. Arthur would be back soon and Merlin would find out then if his enchantment had worked based on Arthur’s mood.
In the mean time, Merlin folded himself up onto the ledge of the largest window in Arthur's room and watched for any sign of Fall.
The hours creaked by and Merlin worried that something might have attacked Arthur in the fields but then thought better of it because it was mostly miles of flat fields out there and farm houses and the open area would deter any thoughts of ambush. Unless Arthur got attacked by a rampant chicken or something.
Merlin whimpered at the thought. He honestly wouldn't put it past Arthur to get attacked by something seemingly harmless. Merlin witnessed it all the time when the Ladies of the Court came for dinner.
Two long hours passed the marked time that Arthur was supposed to return and Merlin grew restless, his eyes trained on the window until he could bare it no longer. He turned to do something, like scrub the floors for the second time this week, when he saw the evidence of his errant mind.
Arthur's room was sparkling; literally shining in a violent way as the sun reflected off of it. The bed looked as though made up by Gwen; perfectly pressed corners and smoothed wrinkles. Even the cobwebs in the corners of the arching ceilings that Arthur made Merlin clean when he was feeling particularly bored were devoid of anything resembling filth. A lingering dust rag was polishing a goblet, both merrily bobbing up and down in the air, as if it was suspended by magic.
Suspended by Merlin’s rampant and annoying magic.
"Fuck," Merlin muttered and tried several hissed-out spells. The dust rag stopped, looking forlornly at Merlin as if its only desire was to please Merlin by dispelling any dust the room had ever harbored.
"Stop it!" Merlin whispered, terrified someone would hear him talking to himself. He sighed with relief when the dust rag shrugged a bit, looking dejected, before the goblet was set back onto the table and the dust rag slinked across the floor and underneath Arthur's bed.
Merlin buried his head in his hands. What the hell had he been thinking? He couldn't even get inanimate objects to obey him and yet he was going to try and save Camelot from starvation? Everything was spiraling out of control so quickly. It was only a few months ago that trolls had been his biggest issue. Oh, oh how he wished for trolls.
"Shirking you duties again," Arthur's voice said without heat and Merlin looked up from his preoccupied state, leaping from his place at the windowsill and rushing to help Arthur off with his tunic, which he was struggling to untangle from his body.
"How were the fields?" Merlin tugged a bit to the left and the shirt sprung free and dropped with a sickening plop to the floor. It was soaked in sweat.
Arthur grunted, his face obscured from Merlin as he pulled off his boots. "The fields are recovering remarkably well."
Merlin brightened up. "Yeah?"
"Indeed," Arthur tugged off his other boot and gestured rudely when Merlin simply stood there. Merlin smiled meekly before going to the wardrobe and pulling out a different set of clothes.
"How remarkable is remarkably well?"
"Merlin, you have no interest in crops. What could this conversation possibly hold that would entertain you?"
"Sorry, sorry," Merlin squeaked into the cabinet, nearly dropping the clothes he had pulled out for Arthur. He glared at the back of the cabinet before turning and handing Arthur his clothes. He refused to linger on the prince's glistening chest, or his flushed face or the fact that his thin under-breeches were clinging to his hips in ways that were illegal in most parts of Camelot. He was ignoring all that. Because Arthur being a prat and the possibility of people starving were not in the least bit arousing. And Merlin had just had sex, twice!
Merlin bustled around, picking up Arthur's sopping clothes and moving toward the door. He could run down and put these in with the laundry and then go ask one of the squires how the trip went. Merlin was picking up a runaway sock, Arthur had a problem keeping socks in pairs, when a long but very regal sigh came from behind him.
"The crops look good, suspiciously so. So much that people suspect sorcery," Arthur said with a tired voice that Merlin felt down to his bones. He closed his eyes. "Not that the people care, because they would rather have food, sorcery or no."
"Will you hunt for the magic?"
Merlin didn't turn around; the air around them was suddenly thick with tension and his own voice wavered a little. Would Uther see his people starve for the sake of stamping out sorcery? Merlin had no doubt that he would. But Arthur? Merlin was never sure where Arthur's wavering stance on magic lay in the murky honor and loyalty that Arthur had for the people of Camelot-for his kingdom.
"No," Arthur said quietly. "No, I won't."
Merlin felt the tension in his shoulders seep out. He nodded and opened the door.
"Merlin."
Merlin turned by habit. Arthur was still sitting on the bed, his clothes in a pile in his lap with the sun shining in the room behind him causing him to light up as if he were an angel. He looked sad and so utterly lost that Merlin had to grip the door as to not run over to him and touch him or hug him or even spell the sadness from him.
"Those crops will not flourish for long. Not in this heat. If the heat does not abate, there is no hope," Arthur said in a tone that brokered no argument but so much ambiguity in meaning that Merlin had no idea what Arthur was trying to say to him. They often had silent conversations but lately so many of their conversations were with words that held more meaning between the two of them than anyone else.
And Merlin was often lost in the translation.
"It is neither here nor there," Arthur said with a shake of his head. "Bring my bath, will you? I've got to meet with the council soon."
Merlin left, knowing that whatever little magic had happened, it wasn't enough. He was going to have to try again and he was going to have to do it soon.
<3<3<3
Arthur held no want for company after Merlin brought his bath and dismissed him until after the council meeting that would likely run into the night. Merlin nodded and took his leave silently. It was both a blessing and a curse to be around Arthur when he was having a wash. All that golden skin, glimmering under droplets of teasing water, was a bit much for Merlin's fragile sanity. But more often than not, it was the only time Merlin saw Arthur relax. His shoulders would ease into the water and unwind as the air blew out of the prince in a sigh. Merlin wouldn't be able to look away from his face in those moments and it was nice to enjoy the silence between them.
However, Merlin was thankful for the time to deal with other arrangements.
Merlin scribbled a note and gave it to a passing squire for Sir Balen before ducking back into his quarters and reading the spell over and over again, making sure to read the fine print in the margins to look for anything that might be hindering the full effects of the spell. He would follow the directions implicitly this time. Although Balen didn't mean anything to Merlin, they would meet in the forest and Merlin would cast a stronger muffling spell on Balen than he did on Gallahad so that he could speak the spell properly. This would work. If the crops were doing well then all Merlin had to do was bring around Fall.
All Merlin had to do was urge the earth to time travel.
"You can do this," Merlin said to himself as he grabbed a cloak Arthur had given him for Christmas the past year, claiming that the cloak displeased him, when Merlin knew for a fact that it was Arthur's favorite. He had accepted the gift without comment. If he couldn't 'give his seed' to the earth with someone he loved, he could at least have something of Arthur's with him when he did it.
"For Arthur," Merlin said as he stepped out into the too warm night, headed for the cover of the forest.
He just hoped Balen wouldn't notice their audience of woodland creatures because Merlin was sure, that even after all this was over, furry animals wouldn't stop following him.
<3<3<3
Arthur was already asleep when Merlin got back to the castle, but he hadn't been there long because his clothes were still warm when Merlin picked them off the floor. Not that he clung to them, smelling the soft smell of sandalwood and apricots from Arthur's soap and the heated smell of Arthur underneath it all. Not that he held them as if they were Arthur.
Right.
Merlin only lingered a few moments, watching the lines of Arthur's face as he cycled through his dreams, before he left. In the morning, Arthur would ride out to the fields and Merlin would watch the sky for the first signs of autumn.
<3<3<3
The morning dawned bright but hot and Merlin cursed, his anger flowing out of his fingers and completely trashing his room until all that was left of his furniture were shattered wooden boards and scattered hay.
Gaius didn't say a word when Merlin stormed out to attend to Arthur.
Arthur, who was equally tense and unusually silent. He didn't make a sound when Merlin accidentally laced up his tunic wrong, simply restrung the worn leather and waved Merlin off when he stuttered out an apology that sounded dead to his own ears.
Merlin had never felt so far away from Arthur. He wanted to reach out and grasp him, to say something--anything, but Arthur was already gone, his boots making solid sounds as he made his way down the hallway and out into the sun.
Merlin set off to find another variation of the harvest spell.
<3<3<3
Maybe it had to be someone new. It was the only variation he could think of to make the spell work. It was the last chance he had.
"Merlin?"
Merlin looked up from his bread and cheese. "Sorry," he said. "I was far away."
"Obviously," Gwen said as she sipped from her goblet. "You look like you haven't slept in days."
Merlin shook his head. "I don't sleep well when Arthur-" Merlin cut himself off and stuffed a piece of bread into his mouth. It felt odd to talk about Arthur with Gwen like this. Merlin was tired of secrets.
"You two will save the crops. You'll figure something out."
Merlin swallowed the lump of bread, his throat dry. Gwen looked so hopeful and trusting, like they could do anything if it meant saving the kingdom. But Merlin wasn't sure anymore. He wasn't sure of anything.
"Don't worry, Merlin," Gwen said softly, her hand finding his over the table. "Prince Arthur will think of something. You two always do."
He had thought. He had worked through every situation in his head, and the spell was working but it wasn't strong enough. It wasn't enough to move the seasons but he had to try. Whoring himself out wasn't ideal. In fact, he was feeling a bit sickly because of it, flung open and wanting but so very desperate. But the book said he might, that the act of self sacrifice and magic channeling to the earth was tiring-it was using him in a way that brought him to the edge of vulnerability and back. He felt like a whore for magic and a whore for Arthur; neither felt satisfying.
Merlin closed his eyes and chewed thoughtfully on a piece of cheese. He opened his mouth and painted a smile on his face, trying to look reassuring to Gwen's careful eye. It must have worked because she smiled back and released his hand.
"So," he said with false cheer. "Where is the new knight staying?"
"Sir Percival?"
"Oh, is that is name?"
<3<3<3
Merlin dressed Arthur for the council meeting. It was still an hour or so before the council would meet but Arthur was anxious, poring over countless grain reports and scrutinizing numbers until his eyes went fuzzy and Merlin had to bring up a warm water basin to soak Arthur's face in.
"The summer won't leave," Arthur said, his head laying on the rim of the basin. Merlin stilled from where he was polishing a dagger. He looked carefully at Arthur's face, lined with hopelessness and frustration, as the water dripped off of it. "Why, why won't the summer leave?"
"Maybe we're being punished."
Merlin heard himself speak without thought. He braced himself for some sort of verbal chastising but none came. He watched as Arthur blinked open his eyes, troubled blue that swirled with regret and anguish, before he closed them again and turned his head back into the water.
"Maybe we are," Arthur said as he reached for a hand cloth. "Maybe we are being punished."
Merlin wanted to cry.
"Arthur-"
"Enough," Arthur said as he stripped off his tunic and grabbed an embroidered one, slipping it over his head. "We have to face the facts. The numbers do not lie."
Merlin stepped closer, batting Arthur's hands away to do up the laces. "What do the numbers say?"
"They say over a two-thousand will starve this winter."
Merlin gasped, his hands falling from Arthur's chest. Arthur's face turned to stone, resignation and burden etching into his features until they solidified into the features of a seasoned Prince-of a warrior.
"Two-thousand Camelot subjects will starve at our hands," Arthur said. "The numbers don't lie and therefore, we cannot lie to ourselves."
Merlin fumbled as Arthur slide into his boots. He felt as if Arthur was sliding farther away, his figure blurry in front of him and thin, cast as shadow.
"There must be something-"
Arthur looked up sharply. "There is nothing for you do to," Arthur said with a voice that spoke volumes. "We must accept defeat."
Arthur rose and strode to the door. "There is nothing more, Merlin."
The door slammed against its frame and Merlin flinched.
<3<3<3
Merlin fucked the young Sir Percival until he passed out. He hammered him into the ground with thrusts that seemed compelled by magic, bruises scattering over the knights back and his pain-pleasure cries filling the silence of the forest as Merlin bit and clawed his way inside him. Merlin fucked him until he came not once but twice from Merlin's cock before he passed out and Merlin waited, power thudding through him as Merlin chanted the spell over and over again. When Percival, young and eager and stupid, awoke he begged Merlin for more.
"Gods, yes, please," he whined as he body squirmed desperate and needy over Merlin's length. "Please, give me more. I need it."
And so Merlin did as he was asked. He pounded into the young knight until he cried, ecstasy driving his body mad with pleasure and scorching pain. Merlin used Percival until there was hardly anything left for the earth to want and there was hardly anything left of Merlin to give.
Merlin fucked Sir Percival until the skies opened up and flooded the earth in Merlin's anguish.
<3<3<3
The rain didn't stop. It poured through the night, rivers flooding and many residents having to take shelter in the upper town. It poured through the morning, the rain cascading in sheets outside the castle windows and pooling on the ground as the earth rejected its sudden avalanche-its sudden reprieve from the brittle state of scorched and cracked oblivion.
Merlin ignored it.
He put Sir Percival to bed, leaving a pot of salve by his bed and a few whispered words to slip the memory of their night into a cleaner, more human version of events. Merlin shook as the charm worked its way inside of Percival's mind and he didn't stop quaking when he left, the door clicking shut behind him in the pale morning light that was fighting through the thick storm clouds.
If it was possible, the heat was even more oppressive. It was heavy on Merlin's lungs as he climbed the stairs. The sticky, damp heat crawled all over his body and snarled at his heart until he felt mad.
"This is madness," he said desperately when he finally reached Arthur's quarters.
When Merlin opened the door, he found the room in a state of chaos. It looked very similar to Merlin's own, only the wardrobe was gaping open with clothes spilling out and strewn across the room. The bed was a jar from the wall, as if someone shook it violently before wrenching away. The table was on its side, its legs looking battered, and there are were shards of what looked to be a mirror close to the window pane where Arthur was standing. Merlin closed the door behind him, keeping his eyes trained on Arthur's broad shoulders that seemed to tremble beneath the thin fabric of his tunic. The tension of his posture ran heavy down the length of his spine and into the firm definition of his thighs.
"I thought you were trying to help."
Merlin noticed the calm and eerie quality that jumped alone Arthur's words. He took only two steps into the room but he didn't say anything. Arthur's body didn't move an inch and the air charged.
"I thought-" Arthur started and then stopped. Merlin felt the bottom of his belly hollow out when Arthur's huffed out laughter was ragged and too thin to be anything but malicious. "I thought you were doing something to help but it turns out you were just getting your dick wet."
The perfect pitched tone, meticulously groomed to be cruel, curled around Merlin like a wet blanket.
"Arthur," Merlin choked out. But Arthur shook his head.
"Who are you? People are going to die! And what are you doing? Seducing every knight with a loose hole like a slag," Arthur said with startling bitterness. Not for the first time, Merlin felt like he was missing the final piece to the puzzle to make everything right again. It was just out of his reach, laughing at him as he grasped and grappled in thin-air as everything turned to dust, falling through the cracks in his fingers to spill all around him.
"I thought you were doing something," Arthur went on with a revolting twist of his words that sounded so much like disappointment that Merlin felt his knees weaken. "You were supposed to do something!"
"Arthur, you don't understand."
Merlin took another step forward, dodging the scattered plates and disregarded clothes.
"You're right. I don't understand how you could spend all your time fucking knights when you have the power to do something-to save people's lives. Is this a game to you?"
Merlin closed his eyes against the harsh words laced with spiteful laughter. Sir Percival's back stretched out before his minds eye and the bruises, the bite marks, the magical surge of unforgiving power smiled like a Cheshire cat.
"I was trying. It's a ritual," Merlin stuttered out. He stepped forward until he was only a footfall from Arthur's convulsing shoulders.
"Why didn't you do it?"
It. Oh, the litany of what Arthur could mean. It was too numerous for Merlin to count or decipher and he cursed the way they never spoke with words, not real ones. Not real words that could be cataloged and saved, analyzed and kept safe; no, they had always stayed in the in-between spaces.
Merlin reached out, his hand hovering over Arthur's shoulder as Arthur whispered, "Why don't you save them?"
Because I was too busy trying to save myself, Merlin wanted to say. I was too busy trying to save you but I got lost.
"I can't save them, Arthur," Merlin said instead. The truth as plain as can be. "I can't save anyone."
"LIAR!" Arthur whirled around, grabbing Merlin by the neckerchief and throwing him into the wall before Merlin could take another breath; the wind stopping and stuttering out of his chest from the force of Arthur's palm. "You bloody fucking liar!"
Arthur roared in Merlin's face, but it was through his eyes that everything shifted into focus. In his eyes, Merlin read his cues and there, that was where he found the devastation that racked Arthur's shoulders and tore through his lungs, separating every word he had ever spoken into careful categories with careful names to be spoken in careful, careful silences.
This wasn't how this was supposed to end. This wasn't what destiny felt like. This was what heartbreak felt like... but then again, maybe they were always meant to be the same thing.
"I'm trying, Arthur," Merlin said with a sorrow and tenacity he had never felt before, bring his hands up to frame Arthur's face, letting Arthur twist his hand into the already tight neckerchief. "I'm trying but I can't do it. I don't know how, not without you."
The tension didn't leave Arthur, if anything it mounted and Merlin whimpered when confusion and hurt twisted over Arthur's features. Merlin gulped in a breath and stared wide-eyed when Arthur didn't run away, didn't call the guards, didn't summon the pyres or sharpen the blade himself for the lies that had laced Merlin’s tongue for so long. Instead, he breathed in deeply. Merlin watched in rapture as Arthur took deep breaths in through his mouth and out through his nose, his face ever nearer to Merlin's until their foreheads were touching.
Merlin was cross-eyed from trying to take every bit of Arthur's face into his memory.
"It," Arthur said, as if the word has been wrenched from his chest. "Why didn't it work?"
Shame slithered up from the pit of Merlin's belly, flushing his cheeks and raising the temperature of the room. What was worse than having your lies flung open for the most honest man in the world to see? The secret of your heart too, flayed open and still beating for him to devour before casting the carcass away in disgust.
Legends, Merlin thought. Legends were nothing like fairytales.
"I didn't love them," he whispered out his air deprived throat. It felt scratchy and thinly worn but as the last confession was wrought from his lips, Merlin felt the burden of everything slump onto his lips as if he was his father's murderer, Morgana's executioner, Kilgharrah's slain kin, Nimueh's vanished body, Gwen's scorched dreams and Arthur... gods, Arthur's dagger wedged deep inside the Once and Future King's chest.
It was funny, but destiny didn't look so daunting on the other end of revelation. Merlin had been expecting something less anti-climactic. He probably wouldn't even get his head chopped off or his body burnt at the stake. No, it would be worse. He would die here in Arthur's chambers, by Arthur's words first and then his hand lastly.
"I didn't love them," Merlin repeated. "I can't save anyone because I don't love them."
Merlin closed his eyes, searching for the heartbeat he always looked for when Arthur was away from him. He searched until he found it, beating heavy and heard against the vein in his own neck. Two deep breaths, still choked, smoothed his own frantic pulse in time to Arthur's.
"What if they love you?"
Merlin opened his eyes, utterly confused. "What?"
"Will it work," Arthur said with a swallow. "Will it work if they love you, even if you don't love them?"
It seemed that words, even now in this plane of brutal truth and nakedness, these words would fail them even still.
Merlin pressed his hands to the strong bones in Arthur's face, pressing until Arthur opened his eyes. Merlin let himself stay there for a moment. He stared into Arthur's open and completely beautiful face and loved him more than anything in the world. For a moment, it didn't matter to Merlin if the whole world went up in flames or drowned in the most violent seas. Nothing mattered but the man in front of him; the man who wanted to save the world and would lead Merlin to the ends of the earth in the name of honor and loyalty and love.
"Arthur," Merlin said softly, and then he kissed him.
It was gentle, not teasing or devouring but healing. Merlin felt happiness so deeply, he couldn't even smile. Instead, he peppered Arthur's face with kisses, pressing and bestowing them as gifts that begged forgiveness and provided a litany of atonement.
"Arthur, Arthur, Arthur," Merlin murmured as he made his way over the sharp angles of Arthur's face and traced his raised brow until Arthur pulled back, blue eyes wide and, for the first time in many months, shining with clarity.
"Merlin."
He only said it once but he meant it. Merlin smiled then, Arthur's mouth curving in response before he pressed messily and honestly against Merlin's own. It was then that Merlin found Arthur's hands not around his neck, but tangled in his hair to control the angle of his lips and the slide of their tongues against each other.
They barely pulled away as they backed themselves back to the bed, dodging splintered mirror shards and other debris. Merlin laughed when Arthur murmured a hasty 'sorry', pushing at the prince's shoulders until he flopped back onto the messy bed. "Spoiled," Merlin said when he pressed his mouth to Arthur's hand and then followed its descent onto the bed. There would be time to look later, Merlin was sure of it. He concentrated instead on pressing his face, his hands, his skin to every stretch of Arthur's skin he could. Merlin wanted to commit it all to memory, so that if he ever died-if Merlin ever had to confront the messy cliff of his destiny, he would rise again from the memory of Arthur's skin, this very first time, against his own.
They wasted no time. They let clothes litter the floor with the mess Arthur had already made and they pressed messy kisses into damp skin and smiled wide, forgiving and welcoming as the spaces between them closed.
It was a deluge of its own.
This time, when oil slicked fingers were twisted and turned, searching and finding, it was Merlin's back that arched off the bed; it was Merlin's mouth that fell open when Arthur's finger found that spot inside of him that made the world fall apart; it was Merlin who keened in desperation; it was Merlin's hips that hitched and wanted; it was Merlin's mouth that begged and was granted sloppy kisses; it was Merlin who received heavily murmured endearments; and it was Merlin's legs that were wrapped tightly, breath hitching and hiccuping as Arthur slid deep inside of him.
"Merlin, Merlin, Merlin," Arthur said against his skin, pressing into the damp skin of Merlin's neck that was strained with fullness. "Merlin, Merlin, gods, yes."
Merlin's hips struggled, squirmed and arched until Arthur moved. Merlin tried to pry his eyes open long enough to memorize the sweat on Arthur's brow, the rippling play of his muscles in each thrust of his hips, the gentle motion of his lips as they warped around Merlin's name-but all Merlin could see was Arthur's eyes, soulful and trusting and adoring.
This time, when Merlin felt his orgasm barreling toward him, he clawed at Arthur's back as the prince's rhythm faulted at Merlin's choked gasps and tightened channel.
"Arthur, Arthur, please," Merlin asked, eyes glowing gold with pleasure and asking for consent. He wouldn't do this, even to save the world, unless Arthur sanctioned all of him. "Please, youyouyou."
With a final arched thrust, Arthur's voice sloshed up and washed over them, "Yes, gods yes, Merlin!"
This time, when Merlin came, Arthur came with him and the air swirled with magic that hummed through the air like it was sewing it together and creating something wholly new and glorious. They both cried out, clutching each other and riding out their orgasms in messy heat as magic flowed, not from Merlin's mouth, but from his heart:
Forhtian na mara se hat sunne
Weaxan wintersufel weaxan
<3<3<3
Merlin had never felt so bone tired. His head was pillowed on Arthur's chest, which was just as firm and delicious as it looked. They were a mess of long limbs, pointy elbows and gangly knees but Merlin wouldn't have asked for anything more than the soft splay of Arthur's hands over his body and his even breath skating across his skin as their hearts synched in a steady throb.
"Merlin?"
"Hmm?"
"Merlin, stop the rain."
Merlin smiled against Arthur's chest. "What makes you think I started it?" He said sleepily, even as his eyes went golden and the deluge ceased to light smatterings on stone.
"Because," Arthur said, voice intimate and enveloping, "everything started with you."
<3<3<3
The next day, the temperature dropped and the earth seemed to relax, allowing the rain in. And as the castle shuttered, the cold seeping quickly in the stone walls, the townspeople of Camelot stepped out into the streets to watch the crops stay tall. Children came alive in the streets, their faces lit up with happy thoughts of Samhain's feasts because their mothers' and fathers' were embracing each other-their faces no longer able to remind Merlin of Hunith's that one dreadful winter. All around Camelot tension eased away from worry-worn shoulders and thankful praise filtered through the air. Samhain would not only be a day of feasts but a celebration of life and gratitude.
In the walled fortress of the Crown Prince's room, Merlin started a fire with a flint and a few pieces of wood before be climbed back into bed and Arthur's waiting arms. He dreamt of gloved hands over chilly skin, thickly woven wool cloaks and fur-lined blankets. He dreamt of brisk and biting cold that drove lovers back into bedchambers and deep inside covers. He dreamt of lazy kisses against wind-bitten cheeks and cold feet pressing against warm, princely calves with royal tantrums to follow. He dreamt of leaves falling from trees as tall as castle towers and woodland creatures, annoying as ever, scurrying over the first snow and snowball fights when hunting was the game of the day.
Merlin dreamt and the world emulated his visions twice as vibrantly, cradled in the palm of his hand and all hinged on Arthur, his Once and Future King.
<3<3<3 The End <3<3<3