Fic: Hope (That Perches On the Soul)
Title: Hope (That Perches On the Soul)
Author: castmeaway
Beta: The lovely rebeccaann08
Rating: PG
Warning: Spoilers for 4x13
Word Count: 860
Summary: "It reminded me of a tale Gaius once told me..."
A/n: This was written because I was kind of annoyed with the way the show dealt with the sword in the stone scene. That it was implied that Arthur was only able to pull the sword from the stone because Merlin allowed him to. I always felt that it had to be more complicated than that. So here's my take on that scene.
“It reminded me of a tale Gaius once told me.”
The forest was strangely hushed as they walked along through the dappled pools of golden morning light. The air felt heavy and old and sparked with a magic all its own, something like anticipation, along Merlin's skin, as if the story he told was more significant than a beautiful fiction. And maybe it was. As the words slipped from his lips, new and his own, they also felt old and timeless. They whispered in his mind of all that was and all that would be, and for the first time Merlin was not afraid of the burdens that came with premonition. He was elated. He soaked in the feeling, and his entire being shivered as if he, too, stood on the cusp of something great.
Arthur was a golden presence beside him. He felt like hope. Maybe something like home as well, and the fierce pride that surged in his breast nearly left him breathless. There would be sorrows and death to come, he knew. There would be secrets kept and betrayals yet laid bare, but for the moment he allowed himself a moment of perfect joy, perfect belonging as he basked in the light that was Arthur.
Even downcast and uncertain as he was, he was radiant.
"You have to believe, Arthur" he whispered, his voice strong with conviction. His magic had bound the blade to the earth, but the spell was one he could not break alone. The sword was not truly his to wield, and though he could ease its passage, release the rock's stony hold, only Arthur would ever be able to pull it free. If only he believed. In himself, his destiny, in a power that went beyond the hurts of a broken heart.
Arthur's muscles trembled with the effort. His back was a tight line of tension, strong and beautiful, but bowed with effort, even as Merlin knew his mind must struggle. He knew his friend too well not to know his doubts. What was a king without a kingdom? How could people respect a man so often betrayed, so easily fooled?
And yet, what Arthur saw as weakness, Merlin knew were but reflections of his greatest strengths: Charisma that brought him the love of a people who would follow him anywhere. Strength of character that allowed him to see only the best in those he loved. Fierce ideals so that he could rule fairly, equally and justly, as none had managed before him.
If only he could see as Merlin saw.
" You are destined to be Albion's greatest king. Nothing, not even this stone can stand in your way." His words were soft still, little more than a fierce whisper. This had to work, but even he, with all his power, could not give this thing, this one thing that Arthur needed so desperately. Arthur would find his confidence only if he allowed himself to do so. If only he would let go of his fears and do what must be done. Merlin could only show the way, and trust in his friend, his king, to be the man that he knew Arthur could be.
The shift in Arthur's demeanor, when it came, was a lovely thing to behold. In that moment, with the softening of hard shoulders, the easing of strong lines, it was as if the very world could finally breathe once again. Sunlight poured forth and caught the golden strands of Arthur's hair, glinted off the silver of armor, and Merlin could do little but wonder if the man before him was real. He looked almost divine, silhouetted amidst the clearing, as if the whole of time had been leading up to this one moment.
”Have faith."
And when Arthur's hand once again wrapped around the bright hilt of Excalibur, it was as if Arthur had wrapped his hand around something inside of Merlin as well. Had touched some deep place within him that he had never known existed, but where his magic pulsed bright and strong and real. He gasped softly at the feeling and shivered as if touched by a lover, the feeling was so deeply intimate.
The pull started low in his spine, a steady tug that burned up behind his eyes and released his magic like a pent up sigh. It was almost painful. As he felt the sword draw slowly free, like the sharp pleasure-pain of intimacy, he had to fight off the shiver that threatened to shake him apart, the tears that stung like a promise at his eyes.
All the tension fled out of Merlin's body. He felt limp and exhausted, but also as if he were floating, as if his entire being had fractured, like the light breaking off of the sword as Arthur raised it aloft.
Pride settled high up in his chest as he watched Arthur in that moment. Watched him become something more than human. He was a king in that moment, empowered not by a crown set upon his brow, nor the luxury of inheritance, but the love of his people and the sword in his hands.
"Long live the king!"
Author: castmeaway
Beta: The lovely rebeccaann08
Rating: PG
Warning: Spoilers for 4x13
Word Count: 860
Summary: "It reminded me of a tale Gaius once told me..."
A/n: This was written because I was kind of annoyed with the way the show dealt with the sword in the stone scene. That it was implied that Arthur was only able to pull the sword from the stone because Merlin allowed him to. I always felt that it had to be more complicated than that. So here's my take on that scene.
“It reminded me of a tale Gaius once told me.”
The forest was strangely hushed as they walked along through the dappled pools of golden morning light. The air felt heavy and old and sparked with a magic all its own, something like anticipation, along Merlin's skin, as if the story he told was more significant than a beautiful fiction. And maybe it was. As the words slipped from his lips, new and his own, they also felt old and timeless. They whispered in his mind of all that was and all that would be, and for the first time Merlin was not afraid of the burdens that came with premonition. He was elated. He soaked in the feeling, and his entire being shivered as if he, too, stood on the cusp of something great.
Arthur was a golden presence beside him. He felt like hope. Maybe something like home as well, and the fierce pride that surged in his breast nearly left him breathless. There would be sorrows and death to come, he knew. There would be secrets kept and betrayals yet laid bare, but for the moment he allowed himself a moment of perfect joy, perfect belonging as he basked in the light that was Arthur.
Even downcast and uncertain as he was, he was radiant.
"You have to believe, Arthur" he whispered, his voice strong with conviction. His magic had bound the blade to the earth, but the spell was one he could not break alone. The sword was not truly his to wield, and though he could ease its passage, release the rock's stony hold, only Arthur would ever be able to pull it free. If only he believed. In himself, his destiny, in a power that went beyond the hurts of a broken heart.
Arthur's muscles trembled with the effort. His back was a tight line of tension, strong and beautiful, but bowed with effort, even as Merlin knew his mind must struggle. He knew his friend too well not to know his doubts. What was a king without a kingdom? How could people respect a man so often betrayed, so easily fooled?
And yet, what Arthur saw as weakness, Merlin knew were but reflections of his greatest strengths: Charisma that brought him the love of a people who would follow him anywhere. Strength of character that allowed him to see only the best in those he loved. Fierce ideals so that he could rule fairly, equally and justly, as none had managed before him.
If only he could see as Merlin saw.
" You are destined to be Albion's greatest king. Nothing, not even this stone can stand in your way." His words were soft still, little more than a fierce whisper. This had to work, but even he, with all his power, could not give this thing, this one thing that Arthur needed so desperately. Arthur would find his confidence only if he allowed himself to do so. If only he would let go of his fears and do what must be done. Merlin could only show the way, and trust in his friend, his king, to be the man that he knew Arthur could be.
The shift in Arthur's demeanor, when it came, was a lovely thing to behold. In that moment, with the softening of hard shoulders, the easing of strong lines, it was as if the very world could finally breathe once again. Sunlight poured forth and caught the golden strands of Arthur's hair, glinted off the silver of armor, and Merlin could do little but wonder if the man before him was real. He looked almost divine, silhouetted amidst the clearing, as if the whole of time had been leading up to this one moment.
”Have faith."
And when Arthur's hand once again wrapped around the bright hilt of Excalibur, it was as if Arthur had wrapped his hand around something inside of Merlin as well. Had touched some deep place within him that he had never known existed, but where his magic pulsed bright and strong and real. He gasped softly at the feeling and shivered as if touched by a lover, the feeling was so deeply intimate.
The pull started low in his spine, a steady tug that burned up behind his eyes and released his magic like a pent up sigh. It was almost painful. As he felt the sword draw slowly free, like the sharp pleasure-pain of intimacy, he had to fight off the shiver that threatened to shake him apart, the tears that stung like a promise at his eyes.
All the tension fled out of Merlin's body. He felt limp and exhausted, but also as if he were floating, as if his entire being had fractured, like the light breaking off of the sword as Arthur raised it aloft.
Pride settled high up in his chest as he watched Arthur in that moment. Watched him become something more than human. He was a king in that moment, empowered not by a crown set upon his brow, nor the luxury of inheritance, but the love of his people and the sword in his hands.
"Long live the king!"