to the world that never let you be: 5/10
Summary: When Arthur notices the scars on Merlin, he sets off to find out why a servant of all people has such marks and discovers that Merlin might not be all that he seems. From kinkme_merlin prompt here
Pairing: Arthur/Merlin
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to the world that never let you be
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Part Five
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"Remember... when your father sent out patrols to look for the large group of bandits?" Arthur thought that Merlin should have been more specific as there were often patrols for large groups of bandits, but he could guess what particular patrol he meant.
"Just before Morgana's birthday? When you acted strangely on the way back?" It was something that had always bothered Arthur, the abrupt change of Merlin's behaviour, but he hadn't been inclined to discuss it so Arthur had (eventually) let it drop.
"The arrow didn't just pierce your armour. It went through your armour and I had to remove the head from your back." Merlin's fingers had stilled and so Arthur began to trace his own shapes, odd disjointed letters like the ones he remembered on the Round Table of the Fallen Kings.
"You were dying and I tried to heal you but I just..." The words tumbled from Merlin's mouth as Arthur traced his symbols and letters.
"I don't know why, but my magic doesn't heal you. Maybe I don't know enough powerful spells or maybe I wasn't supposed to use my magic for healing but..." He turned his head away, clearing his throat. "You were dying," he said simply, turning his head back around, showing Arthur his profile.
How many times had Merlin suffered without Arthur knowing?
"A man approached me, asked why I was sad. I told him about you, that I couldn't do anything to save you. He healed you and told me his name was Taliesin."
Arthur nodded; he knew the name. It was a fairy tale, placed with the legends of the Fallen Kings. A man who had foreseen such wonders, been the caretaker to the birthplace of all magic, advisor to the greatest Kings Albion had ever seen.
The Kings, while they had existed, were surely not as brave and wise as they were in legend. And Taliesin was sure to be an imagined image for story telling purposes, nothing more. That was what was to be believed, but every story that had ever been told to Arthur, every story he'd poured over in the night, in secret, was suddenly real. It had happened, these kings had lived and breathed on the same earth where he was now.
They were sure to have had their flaws, as any men did, but the kings Arthur had grown up reading about were suddenly so much wiser, so much more real... thanks to Merlin.
"He took me to the Crystal Caves and the crystals showed me visions of the future." Merlin's mouth was downturned, unsavoury. "I'd seen visions from crystals before and they're terrible things. I spent so long after that obsessed about whether my visions were coming true and when they did it was almost too late..."
Merlin took a deep breath. "I caused Morgana to fall and hit her head."
Before, Arthur would have shouted at Merlin, hated him for what he had done. But how could he now when his own sister would sooner kill him while this man here, with his hand warm and firm in Arthur's own, would die tenfold so Arthur would live? Before, Arthur might have blamed Merlin for what had happened, but now that he had an explanation and he understood, he knew Merlin had been trying to do the right thing, even though it had harmed Morgana.
"Uther asked Gaius to do anything, even use magic - though he never said that outright."
Of course he didn't. Uther would never openly admit it, but he'd use magic to his own gain when he could, wouldn't he?
"He confessed to Gaius of Morgana's relation to him," Merlin admitted and Arthur shut his eyes against the admission. He was the last to know, always.
"I wasn't supposed to hear, but you know what I'm like." A smile accompanied his words, but Arthur couldn't quite join him.
"I forced the dragon to give me a spell to heal her and, once she was healed, she went to go kill Uther." A snort escaped Merlin and he shook his head. "Even almost killing her didn't change the visions and they happened anyway."
His hands returned to curling patterns, lazily now, more sure of themselves. "She's been planning ways to take the throne since then, teamed with Morgause."
Arthur was tired. He could feel the evening drawing cooler around them, edging into darkness ever so slowly, and he knew he should place another log on the fire to last them the night. Even so, he didn't move, counting the number of breaths he shared with Merlin, feeling the light press of fingertips on his hand.
She was his sister. No matter the wrongs that had been done against her, could she not have seen past that?
"Morgause acknowledged her," Merlin said quietly, as if hearing Arthur's thoughts. "I think that was all she really wanted."
Arthur could see that. Uther was a hard man to love, but he'd openly shown affection for Arthur. Morgana had never had any of that, no mother to usher her into adulthood the way his father had (albeit slightly coldly) led Arthur into his. Morgana had been alone and she'd turned away.
But why him? Why did she want to kill him?
"How did she try to kill me?" he asked, heart hammering in his throat. He knew he wouldn't like the answer, but he had to know.
Merlin nodded, answering to Arthur's request as he had done so many times before, this time spelling out 'Arthur and Merlin' for the world to see on the back of Arthur's hands. The words soaked through Arthur's skin, into his blood, carrying straight to Arthur's heart.
"There was a bracelet she gave you, the one when you were on your quest." Merlin drew his fingers away for a moment, encircling Arthur's wrist as much as he could, pressing against the skin in remembrance of how the bracelet (yes, Arthur could remember the one he was referring to, the good luck charm Morgana had pressed onto him) had kissed the skin there months ago.
"It's why I came after you. Well, why I found Gwaine and then came after you really." Merlin's fingers curled, stroking along the back of Arthur's hand, tracing over traces of scars, minute in comparison to his own.
"How did you know that it was..." Bad? Evil? It was a bracelet, what could it be called?
"Right before you left I noticed the bracelet and there was something odd about it," Merlin began.
"Of course you'd know all about odd things wouldn't you?" Arthur said, under his breath. It drew a smile from Merlin, his fingers tapping lightly against Arthur's knuckles in reprimand for interrupting his story.
"Gaius helped me look for what the stone was and we discovered that it was designed to literally suck the life from you. And I'd say it worked a treat judging from the fact that you were about to be gored by wyverns by the time I got there." The words were smooth and Arthur could remember the hazy memories of his journey to the Forbidden Tower, how he hardly remembered it. He'd shaken off the bone-tiredness as an effect of the quest, but hadn't been able to find a reason why he'd gotten better after Merlin had arrived.
(Or maybe he'd just thought that seeing Merlin had revived him somewhat, falling into the role of a Prince as opposed to a Knight on a quest. Knights were allowed to get tired and show their weaknesses on their own, but a Prince in front of his people? It was one of the first lessons Uther had installed in his son and Arthur, sometimes regretfully, would never forget it.)
"From what I gather," Merlin's fingers were circling again, following veins and bones, his eyes staring down at their joined hands. "And from what Gaius helped me work out, Morgana worked magic over the time you were gone to weaken you, using the bracelet and a special box as a link."
Arthur didn't like the way Merlin's face had darkened. It was a look he knew well, one that was full of hidden regrets and crumpled 'but what if...'s. He'd seen it on his own face, seen it on the face of his knights, but he'd never have thought to see it on Merlin's face.
It didn't suit him. He looked bitter and cold, a far cry from the Merlin he knew, the Merlin who had linked their hands and drawn patterns over his skin. This man full of regrets and close encounters wasn't a man Arthur knew - wasn't a man he wanted to know either.
"You can't change what's happened," Arthur murmured. Their fire hissed in agreement, flames simmering as they lapped around the last of the wood. "What's done is done and-"
"I know," Merlin interrupted. He hung his head slightly, tilting his body until his shoulder met Arthur's. "I know and it's something I keep telling myself over and over again, but... if we hadn't got there, or if Morgana had been more ruthless or-"
"Stop it." Arthur gripped Merlin's hand, twisting until his hand lay on top. "You got there in time, as you always seem to do. And if there's a next time, you'll do the same. Remember," Arthur chided gently, loosening his grip, "You promised me you'd always be by my side. You can't take that back now."
Shaking his head slightly, Merlin shifted where he sat, somehow moving along the log a little until he could rest his head against Arthur's shoulder. His hair, where it brushed Arthur's neck, left a line of prickled skin, tingling at the touch.
"You know the old stories," Merlin said, his voice low and vibrating through Arthur.
"You'll have to be more specific," replied Arthur, staring at the fire. Their hands, while still, were pressed together still, and Arthur tipped his head slightly so that his ear just brushed the crown of Merlin's head.
"About the Fisher King, how he still lives," Merlin clarified.
Arthur nodded. Of course, in his fairy tales, the Fisher King had laid waste to his own land, wrapped up in envy and greed. Geoffrey had set the tale to the accepted 'right', gently pointing a young Arthur (so full of nonsense as Uther had said and, upon Morgana's visits, back when she had Gorlois for a father, with his brain stolen and his head in the clouds) to a book that detailed the kindness of the King, and of how his magic connected him to the land. About how a mortal wound had been inflicted upon the King and, in perfect reflection, the land had suffered too.
"I met him, when I was separated from you and Gwaine." Arthur wondered if Merlin would ever stop amazing him and he doubted it with every fibre in his being.
"Your quest, he said, was also my quest. He gave me something, telling me that I'd need it in Albion's time of need." Merlin gave a slight shake of his head, "I mean, he said that I'd need it soon, water from the lake of Avalon."
Sacred water, water that had been purified by the gods of the Old Religion themselves. The lake of Avalon, the gateway to the afterlife, the dwelling place of the Sidhe, a place where many had tried to find in their lifetimes, before the purge at least.
"In return, I gave him the bracelet I'd taken from you." Merlin paused, leaving Arthur to trace along his knuckles. Merlin didn't have to say it, not when it was clear there were so many people he'd killed or lost over the years he'd been in Camelot. Just because this passing had been different made it no less of a burden for him.
And this water. Was it something Merlin had already used, against Morgana and Morgause perhaps? Arthur would have to be blind and stupid not to realise by now that Merlin had played some (name, the biggest) part in defeating the immortal army, but had that been the reason the Fisher King had given Merlin the water?
He didn't even want to contemplate the fact that there could be a greater threat than what Morgana had thrown their way.
Instead, Arthur knew it was time to ask Merlin the questions that had been pouring through his mind ever since he'd left the throne room after Morgana's 'coronation'.
"Why would she do that?" He didn't even try to hide the pain in his voice, knowing that Merlin wouldn't judge him for it.
Not like Uther. Before Morgana's betrayal, Uther would have seen it as a weakness and now... well now Arthur was unsure if he'd even look up in response. Uther was a broken man, running through the motions of being King but hardly taking up the reins.
"She was scared and alone," Merlin whispered. "She had these powers, was born with the ability to see things and the potential for magic, only to be told that magic was wrong and evil." Merlin tucked himself closer to Arthur, the evening drawing cooler around them.
"We all made bad decisions, too many bad decisions and none of us could admit that we were wrong and do the right thing."
Arthur was about to ask what the right thing was when Merlin drew his hand back, pressing their fingertips together absent mindedly.
"Not that I know even now what the right thing is. Should I have told her about my magic? But what then - if she'd still ended up where we are now, things would be worse. Camelot might have fallen and you..." Merlin took a shaky breath, fingers sliding back between Arthur's, sealing tightly together. "It's like you said; you can't dwell on these things. It's done."
He had to agree there. While Arthur could never imagine how Morgana (and Merlin, because Merlin surely felt the same before he came to Camelot... maybe even since he'd been in Camelot) had felt to know she was the very thing Uther hated, he understood her drive. To learn you'd been lied to your whole life, by the very man you'd come to see as a father figure.
But there were parallels here, weren't there? Merlin had already admitted that he'd lied to stop Arthur killing Uther when he'd told him about Nimueh. Uther had lied to him too, lied about his mother's death. He was, in this way, like Morgana.
Only, Morgana had turned to Morgause while Arthur had Merlin. Morgause, who was filled with hatred and ideas of revenge and destruction coiled around her skin, and Merlin who had bared all for Arthur, who was pressed to his side where, quite honestly, he belonged.
Side by side, in step, together, name it how you will. Merlin had been there since day one, but Arthur had only just opened his eyes to see it, opened his arms to embrace it.
"Gwen saw her doing magic," Merlin said. He was playing with Arthur's fingers again, almost lazily. Twilight was creeping in now, a blue-grey sky muting the sun and silhouetting the trees. Somewhere around them a fox barked, an ugly sound that brought back the rush of the trees and the world around them.
It didn't burst their bubble, though. Not even mentioning Gwen's name had done that. Instead, the noises of the world circled them, the last calls of birds falling to the silence of night time, falling to the mysteries of the night.
"I can only think that then Morgana knew Gwen suspected her of sorcery or something as the reason she planted that poultice and convinced Uther that Gwen had ensorcelled you." Well that was news to Arthur. Merlin added, in after thought, "I can't think of another reason, at least."
"Morgana? You really were in the tavern the whole day, what about that old man?" Arthur frowned as Merlin pulled his head up, a small, secret smile dimpling his cheeks as he looked at Arthur.
"I went to visit Gwen in the dungeons after she was sentenced to death," he began and Arthur recognised the pull of a new story. Just how many threads were there to what should have been a simple question about scars?
And how many unheard stories had Merlin brushed over? Not that it mattered anymore - they had all the time in the world to share them, Merlin and his secrets and Arthur with his fairy tales and hopes, admissions that he would never trust with anyone but Merlin.
"I asked her if she knew who could have set her up and she mentioned she'd seen Morgana smiling as she was being dragged away. That and Morgana could easily have led Uther to you."
Arthur remembered Morgana visiting him, of how she'd taken a sudden interest in his love life and gone so far as to make suggestions, pushing and pulling Arthur into the shape she wanted him to be.
"After that, I had to do something and I asked if Gaius could make an identical poultice." Merlin's fingers skimmed over his hand, almost as if in controlled excitement.
This wasn't like the other secrets, not quite. There was humour here, a realisation that Arthur was somehow missing. Merlin waited, no doubt wanting Arthur to connect the dots himself, a slightly smug smile growing on his lips.
"You weren't in the tavern at all," he muttered blankly, shaking his head. How could one person be so reckless, so thoughtless to their own safety and yet so brilliant at the same time?
Merlin let out a small laugh, tucking his head back down to rest against Arthur, his voice echoing into the woods around them. A few birds tittered back and the trees swayed in reply, ignorant to the shaking of Arthur's head.
"How many times," Arthur said softly, turning his head so that he had a tilted view downwards of Merlin's face. "Just how many times have you done something so stupid to save someone and yet got nothing in return?"
A shrug was all Arthur received in return.
"We don't deserve someone like you." There was a knot inside Arthur's stomach as he said the words, clawing in his belly as if saying the words would force Merlin away. As if saying them aloud would make Merlin leave, let him realise that, well actually, he was underappreciated in Camelot, thank you very much, and he was off to another kingdom.
(And the idea of Merlin leaving scared Arthur more than he'd care to admit, had scared him even before he'd know Merlin's secrets, before they'd come to this clearing.)
But Merlin just smiled, clutching at Arthur's hand and pressing their sides together.
"I don't care," he replied, voice firm and even. "I'm not going anywhere."
Arthur's voice stuck in his throat. "Good," he managed, barely a whisper. "Good."
It wasn't easy to draw back the face of 'Dragoon the Great', but when Arthur did, he remembered it now with a tinge of cold fear. He remembered what he'd almost done, how he'd led Dragoon - Merlin - from a dungeon to the stake, how it was at the very last moment that the sorcerer had escaped.
"I was going to kill you," he said quietly, voice resigned. Merlin's head left Arthur's shoulder and cool, evening air hit the space, unwanted and uncomfortable.
"I had a plan," Merlin replied, slipping his hand free of Arthur's and picking up a few thick logs to place on their dying fire. "Gaius had a potion for me, we were just a little bit late in the handover, that's all."
How many near misses had there been? Arthur hardly wanted to think about it, but just how many times had Merlin almost died, almost been hurt, almost sacrificed himself (over and over and over) just for Camelot.
No, not even for Camelot. For Arthur, for Hunith, for Gaius, for Gwen, for Morgana even. For the people in Camelot, not the city itself, but the peasants and the nobles, people no matter who they were or where they came from. For people he loved, for people he hardly knew.
Was Merlin capable of fear? Arthur had mastered it to the highest degree possible, but he still felt it. He could still feel the sting of worry when he charged into battle, burying it deep inside of him as he fought for what he loved. As a knight and Prince, Arthur may have mastered his control of his fear, but that didn't mean it had vanished entirely.
Merlin though... could he feel his power thrumming through his body like blood? Feel the pound of magic alongside his heartbeat and just know, beyond doubt, that he could do anything? Did he stand knowing that, with a simple summon of power, he could level the whole of Albion?
Merlin dusted his hands off on his legs, shifting the logs around on the fire with his mud smeared boot, standing back to survey his work for a moment.
He wasn't fearless. Arthur remembered Ealdor, how Merlin had confessed his nerves. Why lie then when there was no need to? And, except for the one he'd built around him his whole life, Merlin was a terrible liar.
"The plan worked," Merlin said, voice pitching indignantly as if sensing Arthur's thoughts. "It was a perfectly good plan."
Flames began to stroke the edge of the fresh wood and Merlin moved off again, past the circle of light and into the shadows cast by trees. Arthur's eyes could still track him, but in the dim haze of twilight, he seemed much less human, pale skin flitting about as he fiddled through their bags for something. The darkness made Merlin's movements a little too fast, a little sharper, a little unreachable.
Arthur moved on the log, shifting forwards slightly. He wanted to call Merlin back, reach out and draw him back to the story, but he couldn't. They weren't in the castle, unbound by titles and opening themselves up to each other. Arthur wasn't comfortable with the idea of ordering Merlin around now, commanding him to return because... because...
Because he felt suddenly alone on the log? Because he was cold now that Merlin wasn't pressed to his side? Because he'd never realised how much he'd relied on Merlin and now that he was gone (stretched to a fantasy creature in the darkening night), he was missing him as sure as a limb?
He couldn't say those things. Not just because he would be a King and not just because Merlin used magic.
With Gwen, a relationship was comfortable. He loved her, yes, but he could see that she was torn and knew one day he'd give her up, no matter how far away that day was. But that was okay, for now, because it was in the future, something he didn't have to contemplate (not at the moment at least when he had to think about his father passing on Camelot and the business with Morgana), and he could pretend, safe and easy with Gwen here and now.
Merlin, on the other hand, was a completely different matter. If Arthur was honest with himself, it scared him to know the full extent of Merlin's loyalty and devotion. He wasn't scared of the power or the idea of a relationship, but what would he do if Merlin ever chose to leave? If Merlin ever lost his love for Arthur, saw something in the man he'd protected for so long and decided enough was enough.
(After all, Arthur didn't know how many people Merlin had killed for him, but it still weighed on Merlin like a chain. There would surely be a time when Merlin turned a cold shoulder, shaking his head and walking off. A time when he'd decide enough was enough and Arthur wasn't worth it anymore, realising he never really had been.)
So no. Arthur couldn't ask those things of Merlin, couldn't tell him to come back to the circle and sit by Arthur's side when Arthur was safe with Gwen and Merlin was still by his side.
"Here," Merlin stepped into the light of the flames, a bowl in his hand. "I thought we might as well eat the rabbit up now, so here you go. It's not much and I would have done a stew or something, but it should do us for the night."
Merlin's knee brushed against Arthur's as he sat back down, shoulder-to-shoulder once more. His meat-greased fingers didn't take Arthur's hand, but they still left shiny trails as he skimmed his fingers over skin, passing the bowl over.
"Who else knows about your magic?" Arthur ventured. Merlin still had his story to tell, but the atmosphere was broken slightly. It wasn't a conversation for dinner, not when there was still so much that Arthur wanted to know (about Morgana, about Merlin, about the Cup of Life).
"My mother," Merlin began, swallowing his mouthful. There wasn't much meat on either of the rabbits, but it was enough, slightly stringy and a little hard to stomach. "Gaius, as I mentioned. Will knew, before... well you know."
Arthur nodded, picking at some of the meat.
"Then there's Lancelot," Merlin said quickly, taking a bite of rabbit after. "And Gilli... you know the man Uther fought in that tournament?"
Arthur nodded absently, dismissing any thought about whoever Gilli was to focus on the main issue at hand.
"Lancelot?" he asked, placing his empty bowl on the ground and wiping his hands on his breeches.
Merlin frowned, discarding his own now-empty bowl and moving to untie his scarf, taking Arthur's hand a moment later.
"Use this," he muttered, wiping his own hands on the other end. "And yes, Lancelot. I met him when there was that griffin see, and-"
"I know, he saved your life." Arthur felt as though there was something bitter in his mouth, which was ridiculous. Lancelot had known about Merlin's magic, perhaps, but that didn't mean anything other than he knew. It wasn't like Gwen, Merlin was with him, not Lancelot, as always, as he'd promised.
"I had to enchant the lance he used to kill it, but he'd heard me cast the spell. I didn't even know he'd realised until he was leaving Camelot." Arthur studied Merlin's profile as he moved his jaw slightly, the tendons shifting to the side as he looked down at the ground.
"I'm glad he knows," Merlin said slowly, "But if he hadn't seen me use magic, I would never have told him."
He turned to face Arthur, one hand still tangled in the dirty neck scarf and the other moving to twine with Arthur's hand again.
"Mordred knows too, as do some other Druids and... people." Merlin frowned at the last word, as if it wasn't quite right. Arthur supposed it was the best way to sum up 'others' who knew, like the Fisher King and Taliesin to name but two.
The sting of knowing Lancelot had shared Merlin's secret was lessening as Merlin tightened his grip, shifting once more until he was shoulder-to-shoulder. He didn't lay his head on Arthur though, turning until Arthur could see his eyes.
"I'm nearly done," he said, eyelashes fanning as he blinked slowly, drawing his eyes down. "But there's a lot to this part and there's a bit to explain."
Arthur nodded, unsure of what else he could say. He had his questions and knew that, at the end he'd have even more, but now wasn't the time to answer them.
Merlin shifted his weight a little, the sound of his foot hitting the wooden bowl on the floor adding to the shift and hiss of the fire. A smile came to Arthur's mouth, hesitant and just a small one, but it was acknowledgment enough that Merlin was still Merlin, no matter what was peeled away from his secrets.
"As you know, Morgause had been working with Cenred. Now, either Cenred found out about the Cup of Life somehow or Morgana revealed its location to Morgause, who then passed it on. I think the second is more likely because Sir Leon is the only one who knew where the Cup was." Merlin brought Arthur's hand onto his lap, untangling their fingers before smoothing over the lines in his palm with both hands.
"Cenred sent his men out, they shot you in the leg and they got the Cup." Merlin tapped along the pads of Arthur's fingers, eyes tracing sword callouses and tiny cracks in the skin. "I was supposed to look after the Cup, the Druid leader told me to." He paused. "But you were hurt and I couldn't really care about the Cup as much."
He said it in such an offhand manner, as if that level of caring didn't matter. Did Merlin know that Arthur hadn't felt this degree of open and raw emotional dedication before? At least not in this way, not in the way that Merlin would do anything for him.
It was scary, horrible, and yet brilliant at the same time. It was as though he was falling deeper and deeper into a well, butterflies swirling in his stomach and yet knowing that there was a pile of soft cushions at the end, that he'd be safe and comforted after it all.
Or at least, that was how he could describe how he felt for Merlin, the part he could at least put into words without simply gesturing, unsure how to explain.
"I couldn't heal you, again." Merlin's hands stilled, four points of warmth pressed to Arthur's palm.
There was something behind the tone, as if Merlin had failed somehow.
"Merlin," Arthur said, drawing Merlin's head up sharply, eyes wide at his own name. "It doesn't matter." Arthur couldn't help the smile that slipped onto his face, but it was ridiculous that Merlin of all people should feel regretful he couldn't do something for Arthur, considering everything he'd already done.
"You don't have to be perfect, you don't have to be able to do everything and master it to perfection." He took Merlin's hand, wanting him to really understand what he was trying to say. "You don't have to do everything because you already do so much more than I could ever have asked for, wished for."
To me, Arthur added silently, you're already more than enough, more than able.
"I don't want you to be perfect," Arthur confessed, dropping his head forwards until he was the one resting on a shoulder, feeling the heat from Merlin radiating to his own body. "You said... you said that we're to walk side by side. If you become this perfect person, this man who can do everything wonderfully then..."
Arthur stopped, cutting his own words off. One day it would happen, he knew it. Merlin would see Arthur for who he was, see his flaws and realise he wasn't worth Camelot.
"Arthur," Merlin whispered, placing a hand either side of Arthur's head and drawing him up, looking into his eyes with a soft, sad smile. "How many times do I have to say it before it gets in that thick skull of yours?"
His eyes crinkled as he smiled, such a familiar sight that Arthur expected the lurch in his stomach before it came.
"It doesn't matter if you're perfect or if you're a mess. I'm here, like one side of a coin is for another." Merlin lowered his eyes slightly, still smiling. His fingers curled into Arthur's hair, gently smoothing over skin, and the weight that had built itself around Arthur began to lessen, falling away with Merlin's smiles.
He didn't want safe. He didn't want comfortable, because his relationship with Gwen would quickly fall out of those things, becoming mundane. Arthur would drive Gwen to Lancelot without realising it and Gwen would drive him in his own destruction, unaware.
And it was this time that Arthur believed Merlin wholly, realising that he wanted to much more than a relationship he would be waiting to end.
There was more of the story though, and Merlin needed him to know before he could share his own secrets, before he could tell Merlin that he loved the nonsensical stories he told when in Arthur's chambers, before he could admit he smiled whenever Merlin struck up a tuneless song to fill calm silence in a room.
Before he could be truthful to himself, shedding away expectations and half-filled hopes he had come to accept because he hadn't been prepared to plunge in alone.
Except he wasn't alone now, was he? Merlin was there, always and forever.
The hoot of an owl, a little early perhaps, but just another sure sign that night was creeping, sailed on the wind, brushing against Arthur in another reminder that they had all the time in the world. There was no rush here, no time constraints at all.
Arthur had had to lobby for this time, quiet whispers to Uther about how he needed this time. When his father had finally responded (with tired eyes belonging to a man with one foot in the grave, not to a king such as Uther), he'd given Arthur the time easily, waving him off without a word, but it had taken almost an hour for the words to sink in for the approval.
Orange light filtered over their clearing, the fire crackling happily. It was strange, how such a small little area could suddenly hold so much of Arthur's life in its wake. This small bit of the forest around Camelot wasn't governed by the King or by the people, it belonged to him and Merlin now.
(And, maybe one day - a day that was looking closer to the future than ever before - the whole of Camelot could belong to him and Merlin, flourishing by its King and Warlock, unlike even the stories of the Fallen Kings or the Fisher King.)
Did they have names for Merlin in legends? Did Merlin walk easily in stride with the myths of the past or was he unknown, free from books and stories told by campfires in the dead of night. And if Merlin was so devoted to him, what did they call Arthur? Did he have a name?
A gentle touch to the side of his cheek reminded Arthur that Merlin wasn't finished. His hands were still curled in Arthur's hair, fingers stroking slightly as he thought. Each press of Merlin's fingers soothed the questions from Arthur's mind, soothed the worries and the thoughts of what might happen once they left their Sanctuary. Here and now, was what they seemed to say, just here and now.
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for what I like wouldn't let me
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| part one | part two | part three | part four | part five | part six | part seven | part eight | part nine | part ten |
Pairing: Arthur/Merlin
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to the world that never let you be
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Part Five
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"Remember... when your father sent out patrols to look for the large group of bandits?" Arthur thought that Merlin should have been more specific as there were often patrols for large groups of bandits, but he could guess what particular patrol he meant.
"Just before Morgana's birthday? When you acted strangely on the way back?" It was something that had always bothered Arthur, the abrupt change of Merlin's behaviour, but he hadn't been inclined to discuss it so Arthur had (eventually) let it drop.
"The arrow didn't just pierce your armour. It went through your armour and I had to remove the head from your back." Merlin's fingers had stilled and so Arthur began to trace his own shapes, odd disjointed letters like the ones he remembered on the Round Table of the Fallen Kings.
"You were dying and I tried to heal you but I just..." The words tumbled from Merlin's mouth as Arthur traced his symbols and letters.
"I don't know why, but my magic doesn't heal you. Maybe I don't know enough powerful spells or maybe I wasn't supposed to use my magic for healing but..." He turned his head away, clearing his throat. "You were dying," he said simply, turning his head back around, showing Arthur his profile.
How many times had Merlin suffered without Arthur knowing?
"A man approached me, asked why I was sad. I told him about you, that I couldn't do anything to save you. He healed you and told me his name was Taliesin."
Arthur nodded; he knew the name. It was a fairy tale, placed with the legends of the Fallen Kings. A man who had foreseen such wonders, been the caretaker to the birthplace of all magic, advisor to the greatest Kings Albion had ever seen.
The Kings, while they had existed, were surely not as brave and wise as they were in legend. And Taliesin was sure to be an imagined image for story telling purposes, nothing more. That was what was to be believed, but every story that had ever been told to Arthur, every story he'd poured over in the night, in secret, was suddenly real. It had happened, these kings had lived and breathed on the same earth where he was now.
They were sure to have had their flaws, as any men did, but the kings Arthur had grown up reading about were suddenly so much wiser, so much more real... thanks to Merlin.
"He took me to the Crystal Caves and the crystals showed me visions of the future." Merlin's mouth was downturned, unsavoury. "I'd seen visions from crystals before and they're terrible things. I spent so long after that obsessed about whether my visions were coming true and when they did it was almost too late..."
Merlin took a deep breath. "I caused Morgana to fall and hit her head."
Before, Arthur would have shouted at Merlin, hated him for what he had done. But how could he now when his own sister would sooner kill him while this man here, with his hand warm and firm in Arthur's own, would die tenfold so Arthur would live? Before, Arthur might have blamed Merlin for what had happened, but now that he had an explanation and he understood, he knew Merlin had been trying to do the right thing, even though it had harmed Morgana.
"Uther asked Gaius to do anything, even use magic - though he never said that outright."
Of course he didn't. Uther would never openly admit it, but he'd use magic to his own gain when he could, wouldn't he?
"He confessed to Gaius of Morgana's relation to him," Merlin admitted and Arthur shut his eyes against the admission. He was the last to know, always.
"I wasn't supposed to hear, but you know what I'm like." A smile accompanied his words, but Arthur couldn't quite join him.
"I forced the dragon to give me a spell to heal her and, once she was healed, she went to go kill Uther." A snort escaped Merlin and he shook his head. "Even almost killing her didn't change the visions and they happened anyway."
His hands returned to curling patterns, lazily now, more sure of themselves. "She's been planning ways to take the throne since then, teamed with Morgause."
Arthur was tired. He could feel the evening drawing cooler around them, edging into darkness ever so slowly, and he knew he should place another log on the fire to last them the night. Even so, he didn't move, counting the number of breaths he shared with Merlin, feeling the light press of fingertips on his hand.
She was his sister. No matter the wrongs that had been done against her, could she not have seen past that?
"Morgause acknowledged her," Merlin said quietly, as if hearing Arthur's thoughts. "I think that was all she really wanted."
Arthur could see that. Uther was a hard man to love, but he'd openly shown affection for Arthur. Morgana had never had any of that, no mother to usher her into adulthood the way his father had (albeit slightly coldly) led Arthur into his. Morgana had been alone and she'd turned away.
But why him? Why did she want to kill him?
"How did she try to kill me?" he asked, heart hammering in his throat. He knew he wouldn't like the answer, but he had to know.
Merlin nodded, answering to Arthur's request as he had done so many times before, this time spelling out 'Arthur and Merlin' for the world to see on the back of Arthur's hands. The words soaked through Arthur's skin, into his blood, carrying straight to Arthur's heart.
"There was a bracelet she gave you, the one when you were on your quest." Merlin drew his fingers away for a moment, encircling Arthur's wrist as much as he could, pressing against the skin in remembrance of how the bracelet (yes, Arthur could remember the one he was referring to, the good luck charm Morgana had pressed onto him) had kissed the skin there months ago.
"It's why I came after you. Well, why I found Gwaine and then came after you really." Merlin's fingers curled, stroking along the back of Arthur's hand, tracing over traces of scars, minute in comparison to his own.
"How did you know that it was..." Bad? Evil? It was a bracelet, what could it be called?
"Right before you left I noticed the bracelet and there was something odd about it," Merlin began.
"Of course you'd know all about odd things wouldn't you?" Arthur said, under his breath. It drew a smile from Merlin, his fingers tapping lightly against Arthur's knuckles in reprimand for interrupting his story.
"Gaius helped me look for what the stone was and we discovered that it was designed to literally suck the life from you. And I'd say it worked a treat judging from the fact that you were about to be gored by wyverns by the time I got there." The words were smooth and Arthur could remember the hazy memories of his journey to the Forbidden Tower, how he hardly remembered it. He'd shaken off the bone-tiredness as an effect of the quest, but hadn't been able to find a reason why he'd gotten better after Merlin had arrived.
(Or maybe he'd just thought that seeing Merlin had revived him somewhat, falling into the role of a Prince as opposed to a Knight on a quest. Knights were allowed to get tired and show their weaknesses on their own, but a Prince in front of his people? It was one of the first lessons Uther had installed in his son and Arthur, sometimes regretfully, would never forget it.)
"From what I gather," Merlin's fingers were circling again, following veins and bones, his eyes staring down at their joined hands. "And from what Gaius helped me work out, Morgana worked magic over the time you were gone to weaken you, using the bracelet and a special box as a link."
Arthur didn't like the way Merlin's face had darkened. It was a look he knew well, one that was full of hidden regrets and crumpled 'but what if...'s. He'd seen it on his own face, seen it on the face of his knights, but he'd never have thought to see it on Merlin's face.
It didn't suit him. He looked bitter and cold, a far cry from the Merlin he knew, the Merlin who had linked their hands and drawn patterns over his skin. This man full of regrets and close encounters wasn't a man Arthur knew - wasn't a man he wanted to know either.
"You can't change what's happened," Arthur murmured. Their fire hissed in agreement, flames simmering as they lapped around the last of the wood. "What's done is done and-"
"I know," Merlin interrupted. He hung his head slightly, tilting his body until his shoulder met Arthur's. "I know and it's something I keep telling myself over and over again, but... if we hadn't got there, or if Morgana had been more ruthless or-"
"Stop it." Arthur gripped Merlin's hand, twisting until his hand lay on top. "You got there in time, as you always seem to do. And if there's a next time, you'll do the same. Remember," Arthur chided gently, loosening his grip, "You promised me you'd always be by my side. You can't take that back now."
Shaking his head slightly, Merlin shifted where he sat, somehow moving along the log a little until he could rest his head against Arthur's shoulder. His hair, where it brushed Arthur's neck, left a line of prickled skin, tingling at the touch.
"You know the old stories," Merlin said, his voice low and vibrating through Arthur.
"You'll have to be more specific," replied Arthur, staring at the fire. Their hands, while still, were pressed together still, and Arthur tipped his head slightly so that his ear just brushed the crown of Merlin's head.
"About the Fisher King, how he still lives," Merlin clarified.
Arthur nodded. Of course, in his fairy tales, the Fisher King had laid waste to his own land, wrapped up in envy and greed. Geoffrey had set the tale to the accepted 'right', gently pointing a young Arthur (so full of nonsense as Uther had said and, upon Morgana's visits, back when she had Gorlois for a father, with his brain stolen and his head in the clouds) to a book that detailed the kindness of the King, and of how his magic connected him to the land. About how a mortal wound had been inflicted upon the King and, in perfect reflection, the land had suffered too.
"I met him, when I was separated from you and Gwaine." Arthur wondered if Merlin would ever stop amazing him and he doubted it with every fibre in his being.
"Your quest, he said, was also my quest. He gave me something, telling me that I'd need it in Albion's time of need." Merlin gave a slight shake of his head, "I mean, he said that I'd need it soon, water from the lake of Avalon."
Sacred water, water that had been purified by the gods of the Old Religion themselves. The lake of Avalon, the gateway to the afterlife, the dwelling place of the Sidhe, a place where many had tried to find in their lifetimes, before the purge at least.
"In return, I gave him the bracelet I'd taken from you." Merlin paused, leaving Arthur to trace along his knuckles. Merlin didn't have to say it, not when it was clear there were so many people he'd killed or lost over the years he'd been in Camelot. Just because this passing had been different made it no less of a burden for him.
And this water. Was it something Merlin had already used, against Morgana and Morgause perhaps? Arthur would have to be blind and stupid not to realise by now that Merlin had played some (name, the biggest) part in defeating the immortal army, but had that been the reason the Fisher King had given Merlin the water?
He didn't even want to contemplate the fact that there could be a greater threat than what Morgana had thrown their way.
Instead, Arthur knew it was time to ask Merlin the questions that had been pouring through his mind ever since he'd left the throne room after Morgana's 'coronation'.
"Why would she do that?" He didn't even try to hide the pain in his voice, knowing that Merlin wouldn't judge him for it.
Not like Uther. Before Morgana's betrayal, Uther would have seen it as a weakness and now... well now Arthur was unsure if he'd even look up in response. Uther was a broken man, running through the motions of being King but hardly taking up the reins.
"She was scared and alone," Merlin whispered. "She had these powers, was born with the ability to see things and the potential for magic, only to be told that magic was wrong and evil." Merlin tucked himself closer to Arthur, the evening drawing cooler around them.
"We all made bad decisions, too many bad decisions and none of us could admit that we were wrong and do the right thing."
Arthur was about to ask what the right thing was when Merlin drew his hand back, pressing their fingertips together absent mindedly.
"Not that I know even now what the right thing is. Should I have told her about my magic? But what then - if she'd still ended up where we are now, things would be worse. Camelot might have fallen and you..." Merlin took a shaky breath, fingers sliding back between Arthur's, sealing tightly together. "It's like you said; you can't dwell on these things. It's done."
He had to agree there. While Arthur could never imagine how Morgana (and Merlin, because Merlin surely felt the same before he came to Camelot... maybe even since he'd been in Camelot) had felt to know she was the very thing Uther hated, he understood her drive. To learn you'd been lied to your whole life, by the very man you'd come to see as a father figure.
But there were parallels here, weren't there? Merlin had already admitted that he'd lied to stop Arthur killing Uther when he'd told him about Nimueh. Uther had lied to him too, lied about his mother's death. He was, in this way, like Morgana.
Only, Morgana had turned to Morgause while Arthur had Merlin. Morgause, who was filled with hatred and ideas of revenge and destruction coiled around her skin, and Merlin who had bared all for Arthur, who was pressed to his side where, quite honestly, he belonged.
Side by side, in step, together, name it how you will. Merlin had been there since day one, but Arthur had only just opened his eyes to see it, opened his arms to embrace it.
"Gwen saw her doing magic," Merlin said. He was playing with Arthur's fingers again, almost lazily. Twilight was creeping in now, a blue-grey sky muting the sun and silhouetting the trees. Somewhere around them a fox barked, an ugly sound that brought back the rush of the trees and the world around them.
It didn't burst their bubble, though. Not even mentioning Gwen's name had done that. Instead, the noises of the world circled them, the last calls of birds falling to the silence of night time, falling to the mysteries of the night.
"I can only think that then Morgana knew Gwen suspected her of sorcery or something as the reason she planted that poultice and convinced Uther that Gwen had ensorcelled you." Well that was news to Arthur. Merlin added, in after thought, "I can't think of another reason, at least."
"Morgana? You really were in the tavern the whole day, what about that old man?" Arthur frowned as Merlin pulled his head up, a small, secret smile dimpling his cheeks as he looked at Arthur.
"I went to visit Gwen in the dungeons after she was sentenced to death," he began and Arthur recognised the pull of a new story. Just how many threads were there to what should have been a simple question about scars?
And how many unheard stories had Merlin brushed over? Not that it mattered anymore - they had all the time in the world to share them, Merlin and his secrets and Arthur with his fairy tales and hopes, admissions that he would never trust with anyone but Merlin.
"I asked her if she knew who could have set her up and she mentioned she'd seen Morgana smiling as she was being dragged away. That and Morgana could easily have led Uther to you."
Arthur remembered Morgana visiting him, of how she'd taken a sudden interest in his love life and gone so far as to make suggestions, pushing and pulling Arthur into the shape she wanted him to be.
"After that, I had to do something and I asked if Gaius could make an identical poultice." Merlin's fingers skimmed over his hand, almost as if in controlled excitement.
This wasn't like the other secrets, not quite. There was humour here, a realisation that Arthur was somehow missing. Merlin waited, no doubt wanting Arthur to connect the dots himself, a slightly smug smile growing on his lips.
"You weren't in the tavern at all," he muttered blankly, shaking his head. How could one person be so reckless, so thoughtless to their own safety and yet so brilliant at the same time?
Merlin let out a small laugh, tucking his head back down to rest against Arthur, his voice echoing into the woods around them. A few birds tittered back and the trees swayed in reply, ignorant to the shaking of Arthur's head.
"How many times," Arthur said softly, turning his head so that he had a tilted view downwards of Merlin's face. "Just how many times have you done something so stupid to save someone and yet got nothing in return?"
A shrug was all Arthur received in return.
"We don't deserve someone like you." There was a knot inside Arthur's stomach as he said the words, clawing in his belly as if saying the words would force Merlin away. As if saying them aloud would make Merlin leave, let him realise that, well actually, he was underappreciated in Camelot, thank you very much, and he was off to another kingdom.
(And the idea of Merlin leaving scared Arthur more than he'd care to admit, had scared him even before he'd know Merlin's secrets, before they'd come to this clearing.)
But Merlin just smiled, clutching at Arthur's hand and pressing their sides together.
"I don't care," he replied, voice firm and even. "I'm not going anywhere."
Arthur's voice stuck in his throat. "Good," he managed, barely a whisper. "Good."
It wasn't easy to draw back the face of 'Dragoon the Great', but when Arthur did, he remembered it now with a tinge of cold fear. He remembered what he'd almost done, how he'd led Dragoon - Merlin - from a dungeon to the stake, how it was at the very last moment that the sorcerer had escaped.
"I was going to kill you," he said quietly, voice resigned. Merlin's head left Arthur's shoulder and cool, evening air hit the space, unwanted and uncomfortable.
"I had a plan," Merlin replied, slipping his hand free of Arthur's and picking up a few thick logs to place on their dying fire. "Gaius had a potion for me, we were just a little bit late in the handover, that's all."
How many near misses had there been? Arthur hardly wanted to think about it, but just how many times had Merlin almost died, almost been hurt, almost sacrificed himself (over and over and over) just for Camelot.
No, not even for Camelot. For Arthur, for Hunith, for Gaius, for Gwen, for Morgana even. For the people in Camelot, not the city itself, but the peasants and the nobles, people no matter who they were or where they came from. For people he loved, for people he hardly knew.
Was Merlin capable of fear? Arthur had mastered it to the highest degree possible, but he still felt it. He could still feel the sting of worry when he charged into battle, burying it deep inside of him as he fought for what he loved. As a knight and Prince, Arthur may have mastered his control of his fear, but that didn't mean it had vanished entirely.
Merlin though... could he feel his power thrumming through his body like blood? Feel the pound of magic alongside his heartbeat and just know, beyond doubt, that he could do anything? Did he stand knowing that, with a simple summon of power, he could level the whole of Albion?
Merlin dusted his hands off on his legs, shifting the logs around on the fire with his mud smeared boot, standing back to survey his work for a moment.
He wasn't fearless. Arthur remembered Ealdor, how Merlin had confessed his nerves. Why lie then when there was no need to? And, except for the one he'd built around him his whole life, Merlin was a terrible liar.
"The plan worked," Merlin said, voice pitching indignantly as if sensing Arthur's thoughts. "It was a perfectly good plan."
Flames began to stroke the edge of the fresh wood and Merlin moved off again, past the circle of light and into the shadows cast by trees. Arthur's eyes could still track him, but in the dim haze of twilight, he seemed much less human, pale skin flitting about as he fiddled through their bags for something. The darkness made Merlin's movements a little too fast, a little sharper, a little unreachable.
Arthur moved on the log, shifting forwards slightly. He wanted to call Merlin back, reach out and draw him back to the story, but he couldn't. They weren't in the castle, unbound by titles and opening themselves up to each other. Arthur wasn't comfortable with the idea of ordering Merlin around now, commanding him to return because... because...
Because he felt suddenly alone on the log? Because he was cold now that Merlin wasn't pressed to his side? Because he'd never realised how much he'd relied on Merlin and now that he was gone (stretched to a fantasy creature in the darkening night), he was missing him as sure as a limb?
He couldn't say those things. Not just because he would be a King and not just because Merlin used magic.
With Gwen, a relationship was comfortable. He loved her, yes, but he could see that she was torn and knew one day he'd give her up, no matter how far away that day was. But that was okay, for now, because it was in the future, something he didn't have to contemplate (not at the moment at least when he had to think about his father passing on Camelot and the business with Morgana), and he could pretend, safe and easy with Gwen here and now.
Merlin, on the other hand, was a completely different matter. If Arthur was honest with himself, it scared him to know the full extent of Merlin's loyalty and devotion. He wasn't scared of the power or the idea of a relationship, but what would he do if Merlin ever chose to leave? If Merlin ever lost his love for Arthur, saw something in the man he'd protected for so long and decided enough was enough.
(After all, Arthur didn't know how many people Merlin had killed for him, but it still weighed on Merlin like a chain. There would surely be a time when Merlin turned a cold shoulder, shaking his head and walking off. A time when he'd decide enough was enough and Arthur wasn't worth it anymore, realising he never really had been.)
So no. Arthur couldn't ask those things of Merlin, couldn't tell him to come back to the circle and sit by Arthur's side when Arthur was safe with Gwen and Merlin was still by his side.
"Here," Merlin stepped into the light of the flames, a bowl in his hand. "I thought we might as well eat the rabbit up now, so here you go. It's not much and I would have done a stew or something, but it should do us for the night."
Merlin's knee brushed against Arthur's as he sat back down, shoulder-to-shoulder once more. His meat-greased fingers didn't take Arthur's hand, but they still left shiny trails as he skimmed his fingers over skin, passing the bowl over.
"Who else knows about your magic?" Arthur ventured. Merlin still had his story to tell, but the atmosphere was broken slightly. It wasn't a conversation for dinner, not when there was still so much that Arthur wanted to know (about Morgana, about Merlin, about the Cup of Life).
"My mother," Merlin began, swallowing his mouthful. There wasn't much meat on either of the rabbits, but it was enough, slightly stringy and a little hard to stomach. "Gaius, as I mentioned. Will knew, before... well you know."
Arthur nodded, picking at some of the meat.
"Then there's Lancelot," Merlin said quickly, taking a bite of rabbit after. "And Gilli... you know the man Uther fought in that tournament?"
Arthur nodded absently, dismissing any thought about whoever Gilli was to focus on the main issue at hand.
"Lancelot?" he asked, placing his empty bowl on the ground and wiping his hands on his breeches.
Merlin frowned, discarding his own now-empty bowl and moving to untie his scarf, taking Arthur's hand a moment later.
"Use this," he muttered, wiping his own hands on the other end. "And yes, Lancelot. I met him when there was that griffin see, and-"
"I know, he saved your life." Arthur felt as though there was something bitter in his mouth, which was ridiculous. Lancelot had known about Merlin's magic, perhaps, but that didn't mean anything other than he knew. It wasn't like Gwen, Merlin was with him, not Lancelot, as always, as he'd promised.
"I had to enchant the lance he used to kill it, but he'd heard me cast the spell. I didn't even know he'd realised until he was leaving Camelot." Arthur studied Merlin's profile as he moved his jaw slightly, the tendons shifting to the side as he looked down at the ground.
"I'm glad he knows," Merlin said slowly, "But if he hadn't seen me use magic, I would never have told him."
He turned to face Arthur, one hand still tangled in the dirty neck scarf and the other moving to twine with Arthur's hand again.
"Mordred knows too, as do some other Druids and... people." Merlin frowned at the last word, as if it wasn't quite right. Arthur supposed it was the best way to sum up 'others' who knew, like the Fisher King and Taliesin to name but two.
The sting of knowing Lancelot had shared Merlin's secret was lessening as Merlin tightened his grip, shifting once more until he was shoulder-to-shoulder. He didn't lay his head on Arthur though, turning until Arthur could see his eyes.
"I'm nearly done," he said, eyelashes fanning as he blinked slowly, drawing his eyes down. "But there's a lot to this part and there's a bit to explain."
Arthur nodded, unsure of what else he could say. He had his questions and knew that, at the end he'd have even more, but now wasn't the time to answer them.
Merlin shifted his weight a little, the sound of his foot hitting the wooden bowl on the floor adding to the shift and hiss of the fire. A smile came to Arthur's mouth, hesitant and just a small one, but it was acknowledgment enough that Merlin was still Merlin, no matter what was peeled away from his secrets.
"As you know, Morgause had been working with Cenred. Now, either Cenred found out about the Cup of Life somehow or Morgana revealed its location to Morgause, who then passed it on. I think the second is more likely because Sir Leon is the only one who knew where the Cup was." Merlin brought Arthur's hand onto his lap, untangling their fingers before smoothing over the lines in his palm with both hands.
"Cenred sent his men out, they shot you in the leg and they got the Cup." Merlin tapped along the pads of Arthur's fingers, eyes tracing sword callouses and tiny cracks in the skin. "I was supposed to look after the Cup, the Druid leader told me to." He paused. "But you were hurt and I couldn't really care about the Cup as much."
He said it in such an offhand manner, as if that level of caring didn't matter. Did Merlin know that Arthur hadn't felt this degree of open and raw emotional dedication before? At least not in this way, not in the way that Merlin would do anything for him.
It was scary, horrible, and yet brilliant at the same time. It was as though he was falling deeper and deeper into a well, butterflies swirling in his stomach and yet knowing that there was a pile of soft cushions at the end, that he'd be safe and comforted after it all.
Or at least, that was how he could describe how he felt for Merlin, the part he could at least put into words without simply gesturing, unsure how to explain.
"I couldn't heal you, again." Merlin's hands stilled, four points of warmth pressed to Arthur's palm.
There was something behind the tone, as if Merlin had failed somehow.
"Merlin," Arthur said, drawing Merlin's head up sharply, eyes wide at his own name. "It doesn't matter." Arthur couldn't help the smile that slipped onto his face, but it was ridiculous that Merlin of all people should feel regretful he couldn't do something for Arthur, considering everything he'd already done.
"You don't have to be perfect, you don't have to be able to do everything and master it to perfection." He took Merlin's hand, wanting him to really understand what he was trying to say. "You don't have to do everything because you already do so much more than I could ever have asked for, wished for."
To me, Arthur added silently, you're already more than enough, more than able.
"I don't want you to be perfect," Arthur confessed, dropping his head forwards until he was the one resting on a shoulder, feeling the heat from Merlin radiating to his own body. "You said... you said that we're to walk side by side. If you become this perfect person, this man who can do everything wonderfully then..."
Arthur stopped, cutting his own words off. One day it would happen, he knew it. Merlin would see Arthur for who he was, see his flaws and realise he wasn't worth Camelot.
"Arthur," Merlin whispered, placing a hand either side of Arthur's head and drawing him up, looking into his eyes with a soft, sad smile. "How many times do I have to say it before it gets in that thick skull of yours?"
His eyes crinkled as he smiled, such a familiar sight that Arthur expected the lurch in his stomach before it came.
"It doesn't matter if you're perfect or if you're a mess. I'm here, like one side of a coin is for another." Merlin lowered his eyes slightly, still smiling. His fingers curled into Arthur's hair, gently smoothing over skin, and the weight that had built itself around Arthur began to lessen, falling away with Merlin's smiles.
He didn't want safe. He didn't want comfortable, because his relationship with Gwen would quickly fall out of those things, becoming mundane. Arthur would drive Gwen to Lancelot without realising it and Gwen would drive him in his own destruction, unaware.
And it was this time that Arthur believed Merlin wholly, realising that he wanted to much more than a relationship he would be waiting to end.
There was more of the story though, and Merlin needed him to know before he could share his own secrets, before he could tell Merlin that he loved the nonsensical stories he told when in Arthur's chambers, before he could admit he smiled whenever Merlin struck up a tuneless song to fill calm silence in a room.
Before he could be truthful to himself, shedding away expectations and half-filled hopes he had come to accept because he hadn't been prepared to plunge in alone.
Except he wasn't alone now, was he? Merlin was there, always and forever.
The hoot of an owl, a little early perhaps, but just another sure sign that night was creeping, sailed on the wind, brushing against Arthur in another reminder that they had all the time in the world. There was no rush here, no time constraints at all.
Arthur had had to lobby for this time, quiet whispers to Uther about how he needed this time. When his father had finally responded (with tired eyes belonging to a man with one foot in the grave, not to a king such as Uther), he'd given Arthur the time easily, waving him off without a word, but it had taken almost an hour for the words to sink in for the approval.
Orange light filtered over their clearing, the fire crackling happily. It was strange, how such a small little area could suddenly hold so much of Arthur's life in its wake. This small bit of the forest around Camelot wasn't governed by the King or by the people, it belonged to him and Merlin now.
(And, maybe one day - a day that was looking closer to the future than ever before - the whole of Camelot could belong to him and Merlin, flourishing by its King and Warlock, unlike even the stories of the Fallen Kings or the Fisher King.)
Did they have names for Merlin in legends? Did Merlin walk easily in stride with the myths of the past or was he unknown, free from books and stories told by campfires in the dead of night. And if Merlin was so devoted to him, what did they call Arthur? Did he have a name?
A gentle touch to the side of his cheek reminded Arthur that Merlin wasn't finished. His hands were still curled in Arthur's hair, fingers stroking slightly as he thought. Each press of Merlin's fingers soothed the questions from Arthur's mind, soothed the worries and the thoughts of what might happen once they left their Sanctuary. Here and now, was what they seemed to say, just here and now.
.
for what I like wouldn't let me
.
| part one | part two | part three | part four | part five | part six | part seven | part eight | part nine | part ten |