to the world that never let you be: 6/10
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
Part Six
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"I know how Morgause made them immortal," Merlin said, his hands slipping from Arthur's head, trailing to his neck and resting on his shoulders.
Before Merlin had joined him in the clearing, Arthur had taken off the light armour he'd worn and had left an open-necked shift on. It exposed his neck and collarbones, Merlin's fingers unusually warm as they traced across bone, curiously following the dips across Arthur's shoulders.
"There once was a sorcerer, long ago," Merlin said casually, like in his story of the badger family, the one he'd told two weeks ago. "He placed a drop of each of his soldiers' blood into the Cup of Life, granting them immortality."
His tongue flicked out from his mouth, parting his lips as his eyes traced the muscle of Arthur's chest.
"Morgause did the same. When we were in the caves I talked to Gaius again, confirming what we suspected," Merlin said and then suddenly his hands were gone, the air around pressing to Arthur's chest unwelcomingly, too cold where there should be heat.
Arthur's eyes tracked Merlin's hands as he shifted back onto the log, profile facing Arthur as his hand trailed through his own hair, interlocking at the back as Merlin hung his head.
"The Fisher King gave me water from the lake of Avalon, saying that it would be needed soon." Merlin's voice was thick, heavy with the weight of yet more stories. Arthur refused to think of them as secrets, because they weren't anymore. Merlin was baring them all, open and ugly for Arthur to judge as he saw fit.
But just when you think there's only one more story to go...
"I was trying to find out what the water could do to help, because what else could the Fisher King have meant?" His voice was low, almost as if he was speaking to himself. Arthur waited, pressed against Merlin at the knee, but no more.
"It gave me the help I needed, but so you understand, I need to go back a little bit." Merlin's hands loosened, slipping to the nape of his neck. He stared out into the darkness, eyes reflecting a speck of flame and then nothingness.
"You probably won't remember, but there was a bounty hunter once in Camelot. He'd captured a Druid girl." Merlin's voice was monotonous, eyes seeking the darkness and not Arthur.
While he'd have liked to say that he remembered the occasion Merlin referred to, he couldn't. So many people passed through Camelot with a Druid or suspected Druid, and there was also the regulars who returned time and time again.
"I looked at her, alone in the rain and I just... it could have been me, so, so easily. Gaius told me not to," he pressed on, "But I couldn't just leave her there." His voice was a little desperate, as if hoping Arthur wouldn't judge him for his actions.
What was there to judge? Not that Arthur had any right to, not really considering how much he owed to Merlin in the grand scheme of things, but also because Merlin had helped someone in need. Arthur had done the same many times, going against his father in some cases. Just because it was Merlin, should he be punished for wanting to help?
"I took care of her for a while, giving her food and keeping her hidden while they searched for her." Merlin smiled just for a moment, remembering a part of his life Arthur would never get to know. And that was okay, strangely. Arthur didn't need to know this segment he'd missed, not when it was written all over Merlin's face how he'd felt.
"She told me she had a curse on her. I thought she meant her magic." Merlin stopped, looking to Arthur with a pained gaze. "I was going to leave Camelot with her. Take her somewhere away from the city, where there were mountains and a lake and we'd live... maybe not happily, but certainly good enough."
Arthur tensed, aware of his heart pounding and hands clenching. For all his talk of being there for Arthur, Merlin had been prepared to just go?
"She ended up leaving by herself." Merlin's eyes locked on Arthur's, holding his question's back with a mere look. There was no spell that could be this powerful, Arthur knew, so he stilled his tongue, curbed his anger (though why should he be angry? It was Merlin's life after all) and waited.
"Her curse," Merlin continued, hands leaving his neck and settling in his lap. "Wasn't her magic at all. Someone had cursed her to kill evermore, turning her into a creature when night struck. She turned into a Bastet."
Arthur dipped his head. Now he could remember, though he hadn't even thought to draw a connection between the Druid girl the bounty hunter had pressed them to find at the time and the winged beast. His father had mentioned it off handedly, but by then the beast - the Bastet, the woman Merlin was willing to leave Arthur for - had vanished with a wound struck by the Prince himself.
Oh.
"The only reason you stayed then..." Arthur couldn't say it. He couldn't condemn himself, couldn't push Merlin to the edge. Merlin had chosen Arthur, yes, but not at his own decision, but Arthur couldn't let the words slip past.
A gentle touch to his wrist started Arthur and he turned sharply, almost afraid of what he'd seen on Merlin's face.
"I found her and I took her out of Camelot, to a lake. I couldn't let her die in Camelot, not where she'd been so afraid." Merlin's touch tightened, a reminder that he wasn't done. In a roundabout way, Merlin would answer his questions, but Arthur just had to have a little faith.
"She told me that she'd find a way to repay me one day before she died. I set her out to sail on the lake and burnt the boat before returning to Camelot." His story was rushed here, skipping over his own feelings - again - and doing what he always had, returning to Arthur.
"I know now I never would have gone. Or rather, I might have made sure she was safe, but I would have come back." Merlin sought to look into Arthur's eyes, catching his gaze and... well how could Arthur not believe that? Not when it was the same face that had told so many truths this evening, and why should the drawing darkness change anything?
"You think I'd have chosen her over you," Merlin said softly. Arthur didn't have to say anything, not when Merlin's fingers were pressed against the inside of his wrist and could feel his pulse dancing through his body.
Merlin smiled. Arthur stiffened again.
"The lake Freya was carried out on," Merlin began (and Freya, such a pretty name for such a sorrowful girl), "Was the lake of Avalon. When I broke the glass containing the Fisher King's gift, I saw her in the water's reflection and she asked me to see her."
In all their chaos, in all their calamity, had Merlin gone?
"She had something to give me, a sword that deserves its own story when I'm done with this one." Merlin was calm, back to trailing his fingers against Arthur's, as if he hadn't just told Arthur that he'd almost left.
"Arthur," Merlin said patiently, "I saw her again, at the lake. And I still came back, doesn't that tell you something?"
He was sure Merlin felt the lurch in his heart, smallest finger still curved around his pulse.
"I wanted to save her, but sometimes you just have to accept you can't do everything. We all have our moments where we think that we can't deal with things, but I know I can now."
Merlin had already had his choice, had his moment to turn around and realise that Arthur wasn't worth his weight. It wasn't about his feelings for Freya, not really, but the fact that Merlin had chosen him, had been prepared to leave and been offered a choice and chosen Arthur.
(Because no matter what he'd said before, Merlin had never mentioned this waver, this moment where he'd honestly been about to give Camelot his goodbyes.)
But Merlin would not falter now, his stride toe-to-toe with Arthur, through the worst. He'd had his stumble, had cause to hate Arthur and still been there. Arthur had had his moments, but he knew now that this - whatever existed between them - wasn't just for the here and now, but for the big future. Merlin was going to be there, always.
Such a thought should be daunting, but it settled on Arthur gently, curling around his body as Merlin traced patterns on the back of his hand again.
"I'm sorry," he said, apologising for a thousand things at once. For Freya, for what he'd felt for her, for doubting Merlin's loyalty (yet again, but his story was hardly an easy one to stomach), for everything he'd done to lead to this moment even. Too many things to apologise for and yet not a single one crumpled and festered, rotting their relationship.
"She wasn't happy," Merlin said simply. "She is now, at peace and grateful for what I did."
Arthur leant against Merlin, sighing.
"When did things get so complicated?" he said with a huff of laughter, shaking his head.
Merlin smiled too, nudging their shoulders. "Probably around the time out great-great-grandparents were born or something. Always something to do with the older generations, and they're dead anyways so we can curse them all we like."
That was true, Arthur supposed.
They remained in comfortable silence, their hands still, but linked together again. Another hoot sounded from the woods as the nightlife started to emerge, the shuffling of foxes and badgers starting to pick up as well as the chirping of crickets hidden in the undergrowth.
"You mentioned a sword?"
Merlin's teeth flashed firelight in the darkness as he smiled.
"Not just any sword," he replied, tugging Arthur's arm a little. "Excalibur, the finest sword ever made, bathed in dragon's breath and to be wielded exclusively by Arthur Pendragon himself."
As Arthur made to question the existence of such a sword, Merlin added, "Well, almost exclusively. We had a few hiccups along the line."
"Right," Arthur said. He was ready for the next part, the tale of Excalibur or whatever Merlin might title it in his story.
A lull passed between them and Arthur looked to Merlin, wondering if he was still here. It was a long story he was telling (a story of his life, really) and while Arthur wouldn't be surprised if he needed a break, there was something about the story that he needed to know now. Like, for example, how he'd never seen 'his' sword, but - more importantly - there was still so much he needed to know about Merlin.
"See," Merlin picked up again, "This is where it all gets a bit jumbled. I don't know whether to carry on or tell you about Excalibur or even the Cup of Life..."
Arthur shifted, his elbow brushing Merlin's side, cutting off his speech.
"You can tell me in depth about this sword later, but just let me know enough that I won't be lost." The need to know about Merlin was greater than even a fabled weapon.
"Alright then," Merlin muttered, "I suppose we can do that." He wrapped his fingers around Arthur's wrist, pressing each finger in turn against the skin there, humming thoughtfully. He nodded once before turning to Arthur, ready to continue his tale.
"A weapon made of a dragon's breath has the power to slay any foe, mortal or not. Excalibur was forged by Gwen's father before the Great Dragon burnished it in his fire." Arthur nodded, happy to believe something like that had happened.
"And he did it because you're a Dragonlord?" he asked simply, expecting only a nod.
Merlin's eyes widened, eyebrows lifting. His fingers slackened around Arthur's wrist as he shook his head slightly.
"No," he began hesitantly, "This was a long while before all that."
Perhaps if he was given more time, Arthur would have considered the fact that Merlin had just dismissed himself as the last Dragonlord offhandedly.
"I just asked him to." It was said as if it really was that simple to ask such a request. "And it took some persuasion, but he granted me the request." Merlin's fingers slipped down to Arthur's hand, linking their fingers and resting there, content. "And the rest can wait," he said, looking away to the fire, shadows falling over his face.
Night had almost enclosed them fully now, stars stretched out in the sky above them. It was a clear night, one that should have been crisp, but for the fact they were sharing heat now. This wasn't a spell or an enchantment, but the truth running under his skin, drumming in time with Merlin's heartbeat, Arthur's own heart answering the call.
Merlin's eyes were half-closed as he tucked himself against Arthur, legs bending a little more under him. Their hands were still linked, pressed together, shifting from the space between them to Merlin's thigh. Arthur could feel the heat under Merlin's trousers, seeping from his skin and straight to Arthur, as if they were the only two existences in the whole world.
It went like this - Arthur took what Merlin gave and Merlin took what Arthur gave. It was easy to see now that they were constants together, in an equilibrium, together. The notion behind it wasn't hard to grasp, even if he hadn't heard all that Merlin had done it would have been easy to consider.
He'd said it before, to Merlin even. There was something (and no, not the magic, not the fact he'd saved Arthur time and time again, not the fact he'd been keeping secrets) about Merlin that drew Arthur in, weaving them together like strands of a basket, overlapping and almost inseparable. If one of them should fall, and perish the thought that Merlin be the one to fall - not that he valued his life so little, but it was Merlin - then the other would go down too, that much Arthur could say with confidence.
After all, Merlin had been down time and time again and it was just a matter of Arthur following him now. Something that he'd be more than happy to do, had done before in the past at times, but never had he made a pledge to it.
"When you enter into a contract with the Cup of Life in exchange for immortality," Merlin said, switching effortlessly from the topic of Arthur's sword back to that of the battle they had recently faced. "You become the living dead. No mortal weapon can slay the undead, save for Excalibur."
A log shifted on the fire, belching a cluster of embers into the sky. They floated up, free and unafraid, mimicking how Arthur felt. For the first time since Morgana had taken Camelot, he didn't feel like a Prince, didn't feel like the world was resting on his shoulders. This wasn't, for once, Arthur's place to take charge and passing the reins to Merlin (so to speak) was easier than he'd ever have imagined. Merlin understood him, even better than Arthur did himself, and it while it was scary to have someone know you so well and trust you implicitly, Arthur had trusted Merlin with his life before today and his judgement no longer wavered.
He would have been lying, of course, if he he'd said that there hadn't been moments of doubt, particularly when Merlin had first disclosed his secret. But Arthur wasn't like his father. While Uther would have simply clapped Merlin in irons and wave for an execution while spitting in anger, Arthur was the man who'd helped a Druid boy, risked his life even. He was Uther's son, yes, but he was also Ygraine's.
And it was easy to forget about Ygraine, Arthur didn't even know that much about his mother. All he knew was that she had sought help and trusted magic enough to let it give her a child. Despite all the consequences, he had been born of magic. Arthur may not feel its power inside of him or understand anything to do with magic (not like Merlin, never like Merlin who was the embodiment of wild magic itself), but without magic, Ygraine would never have given her life for her son.
Magic was Arthur as Merlin was magic. Destiny, fate, fortune, the gods... whatever you call it, they had been fashioned to fit together neatly, like pieces of the finest crafted lockets, the clasp fitting for one fixture and one alone. Merlin and Arthur; two sides of something whole with their hands clasped on their logs.
Another flurry of embers were spat out, catching on the air and rising with the smoke. Merlin's eyes tracked them before he continued, voice low in the night.
"I asked Kilgharrah to take me to the lake of Avalon and he warned me that once I was finished with Excalibur to put her where no man could wield her." Shadows played across Merlin's face and Arthur wondered if they were playing on his skin as they did to Merlin's. A dip in his cheek where there was none, hiding the circles around his eyes (had Arthur been working him too hard too or was there another reason to Merlin's tiredness), marking the crinkles above his cheekbones.
He always smiled, no matter what. And that, Arthur thought, was amazing in itself.
"Freya passed Excalibur to me and I returned to the caves. Not even Gaius knew anything, before you ask. In the end, only Lancelot knew about my plan and that was because I needed his help."
As before, Arthur felt the sting that it had been Lancelot by Merlin's side and not him.
"You wrote to him, to summon him?" Arthur asked, trying to keep the sting from his voice. He wasn't sure that he hid it, but Merlin simply curled his fingers against Arthur's palm reassuringly.
"He's a great Knight, as you well know. And a good man," Merlin added, nodding to himself. "But yes, I asked for him to help us."
Merlin breezed over the details from the arrival of Gwen, Leon, Lancelot and Percival, briefly mentioning the Round Table in the castle of the Fallen Kings. For the whole time he was talking, Merlin's hand never left Arthur's and he was beginning to think that he'd always expect it whenever talking to Merlin from now on.
It wasn't that the contact was grounding in anyway, but the feel of human skin, to know that there was someone beside him, understanding and sincere, was a greater gift than anything Arthur could have thought of himself. There were no lies, no hidden meanings in what Merlin was saying because, as silly as it sounded, Arthur could feel it, seeping through their skin with every word that Merlin spoke, pressing into his body with every breath.
"We were all equals at the table and I'm pretty sure you don't need me to tell you that there was something... different when we sat at it." Merlin's voice had dropped again, as if imparting a terrible secret. "It wasn't magic though, more like..."
Merlin stopped, unable to voice the words.
"Trust? Loyalty?" Arthur asked, and then, quieter, "Love?"
Their eyes met for the barest of seconds, Merlin looking down at their hands after turning to Arthur.
"All three I think. And more, but you can't put it into words. I don't know how they used to work the Round Table in the days of the Fallen Kings, but I'd imagine it was built upon those foundations." Merlin shifted, gripping Arthur's hand a little tighter.
"Without any prophecies or destinies, I would have known in that moment that you will be the greatest King Albion will ever see." His grip didn't slacken, but it wasn't painful. It was honest, just how Merlin's words were stripped of lies or disbelief.
"How can one man know that?" Arthur said. Merlin had mentioned it many times during this talk, the fact that Arthur was 'destined' for greatness, to take the whole of Albion (which hadn't been achieved ever in the history of the land) under his rule. Even for the people who had put their faith in foresight and written these prophecies must have had their blind spots, so why was it Arthur that was told he was to be this great king?
He didn't feel great. He loved his people and knew he would rule them with all the fairness he could muster - especially with Merlin by his side - but even so, he was just a man. And, like every man, he had his strengths and weaknesses. These prophecies, had they seen him as a man or an image?
If he had been seen as an image, surely he would ruin Albion?
But if they'd seen him as a man... with all his flaws and humanity...
"I believe in you, as you know." This time Arthur nodded, his cheek brushing Merlin's shoulder as he tucked his chin into his chest, looking down to his lap.
"And, for me, that's enough." A huff of air left Merlin's nostrils as he gave a slight snort of amusement. "It does sound a little farfetched and maybe we should spend some time looking into the validity of the source." Merlin paused, "And cross out the ones that were made by sorcerers who possibly could have been a little bit insane?"
Arthur smiled, "What about the ones made by animals?"
Merlin turned his head a little, his temple pressing to Arthur's as he raised his head. They were close, close that Arthur could see every line of Merlin's face, the crinkles at the corners of his eyes and the lines that marked the countless frowns he must have expressed. Arthur wondered what his own face documented, whether the frowns outweighed the smiles or vice versa. For Merlin, the smiles pressed down on the frowns easily.
"I think Kilgharrah would oppose to being called an animal for some reason," Merlin said after some consideration. "But he's ever so slightly..."
"Slightly what?" Arthur asked a beat later, after he realised Merlin wasn't quite going to finish.
"I..." Merlin's words failed him. Arthur felt the movement of his jaw as he spoke, weighing his words. "I honestly can't answer that." Again, he paused, before, "You should meet him, you really should."
Merlin pulled his hand free of Arthur's, twisting until he faced Arthur properly, straddling the log now instead of sitting on it. He placed a hand on each of Arthur's shoulders, resting there as if his touch was familiar (and in some ways it was).
"Then you can see what I mean, because he's hard to describe-"
"Merlin," Arthur cut in, his favoured hand pressing to Merlin's thigh. "You still have a story to finish and the last time I met this dragon of yours, I drove a weapon into it. I don't think it would appreciate seeing me."
It wasn't that he was afraid of the dragon, but he'd rather keep all parts burn-free for as long as possible, thank you.
His hands didn't fall because Arthur caught them, slotting his fingers against Merlin's.
"I know," Merlin said quietly, looking down at the log between them. "It's just hard. She..." he sucked in a breath, "She was our friend."
"I know," Arthur said softly, shuffling on the log until he too was straddling their seat, Merlin's legs caught between his thighs and the wood, looking ridiculously thin compared to Arthur's. "I know she was."
"In the caves, I asked Gaius how the immortal army had been defeated before," Merlin said, his wrists curved over Arthur's shoulders, fingers curled just so they gave the barest of touches to Arthur's skin. Despite the fabric between them, Arthur could still feel the touch, a little further away, but no less meaningful.
"He told me that the Cup needed to be emptied of the blood inside it." Arthur nodded, placing his hands on the log space between them. The wood was cold, far colder than skin, and the texture was alien to him.
"After you Knighted Lancelot and the others, he asked me what I was planning." Merlin was looking down, fingers tapping slowly against Arthur's shoulder blades. "So I told him that I needed to empty the Cup of Life and he said he's find a way to get me to it."
Arthur wondered how easy it had been for Merlin to have Lancelot's help. He knew now that Merlin wouldn't have asked help of Lancelot, preferring to keep him safe most likely, but how had he felt that Lancelot would offer his services so easily? It wasn't hard to remember the despair they had all felt, how they had all buried it deep down, pledging a cause to get Camelot back or die trying (with major emphasis on the die trying part, unfortunately).
"Which is why you didn't take out the warning bell then," Arthur said, voice low. He didn't like to remember the panic he'd felt when the bell had tolled, more of Morgana's army streaming down to the cells.
(And Arthur didn't like to remember the fear for Merlin and Lancelot he'd felt. He'd wondered if they'd been killed - brave, noble Lancelot and stupid, headfast Merlin - and turned his attention from the battle for a split second, hoping, praying to any gods of any religions, that they were alive. Safe had been too much to ask for, considering, but if you were alive, there was always a chance.)
"No," Merlin agreed, still pressing his fingers lightly against Arthur, as if playing to a song inside of his head, silent music floating around them by the firelight.
Maybe Merlin could hear a song, one that the fairies in Arthur's childhood stories used to sing. Songs of magic and wonder, winged fey calling to others to join them in their feasts, their celebrations. Did such songs exist? If they did, would he ever be able to hear them? The music of the fey had been something that sent Arthur into his dreams, wondering if it was a fast tune, or slow and melodic...
But those were just childhood notions. Before he'd begun sword training, Arthur had been trapped in a life of stories and fables, marking pages of picture books with mud stained hands, dirty fingers from re-enacting scenes around the castle grounds.
That was something he'd never told anyone and, once Uther had found out his four year old son could sneak off from his caretakers to play in the dirt, he'd soon put an end to the stories in Arthur's imagination. It wasn't long after that that Arthur had received his first proper lesson on why magic was evil, marched in to stand by his father as he passed judgement on a man accused of magic. It was a small mercy that Uther hadn't let Arthur watch the execution, but the man's haunted eyes as his sentence passed had haunted Arthur's fey-less dreams for months.
Then he'd turned to training and found it was something he was good at and, until Merlin came along, he'd been happy with his arrogance at his side.
"We were down in the cells, fighting. You know that," Arthur added hurriedly, thumb pressing against a bit of bark that had loosened slightly on the log. He pressed his nail under it, curling the digit and the bark came free with a dulled sound.
He'd told Merlin what had happened in the dungeons when Merlin had offered his (excuse) reason why they hadn't taken out the warning bell. Merlin had muttered something about not being able to get there, being seen before and then mumbled something else before revealing that it had been Gaius who injured Morgause enough to get to the Cup and so destroy the army. It had been a babbled, long-winded (with air, fancy words and some lies) explanation and Arthur had been tired enough to accept it, glimpse over the gaping holes.
Because, really, what could Merlin and Lancelot have done against an immortal army and Morgause? Gaius at least was able to do magic so it had made sense that he had been the one to injure Morgause enough to slip past her.
It hadn't made sense, not when you really thought about it, but why would Merlin have lied?
Now, though, things were fitting, sliding smoothly together through the honesty in Merlin's voice.
"But... I didn't tell you how worried I was. I mean," Arthur said. "I didn't exactly think about it," and he hadn't, hadn't really taken time to think about the worry he'd felt for Merlin because, strangely enough, there had been bigger things pressing on his mind, but... "But I was worried. More than worried."
Arthur's head jerked to the side, almost involuntarily, and he flicked the scrap of bark away, eyes searching the floor around them for a focus point, something that wasn't Merlin, something easy to think about, something that didn't require an examination of his feelings. That is, if they were his feelings. He hadn't really thought that one out yet.
Merlin, as always, understood what he was saying, tightening his hands on Arthur's shoulders, smoothing his fingertips in little gestures, little points of comfort.
"Lancelot helped me get to where Morgana had the Cup, though it took a while." Arthur could hear the twist of Merlin's lips, the slightly-bitter smile that would be on his lips. "I'd thought it would have been easier, to get to the Cup. I mean, I know there would have been guards, but... I don't know." Merlin paused, his fingers lifting from Arthur.
"I guess you never know what to expect until you do it," he finished, one of his hands moving so that the side lay against Arthur's shoulder, his fingers pressing against his neck, seeking the steady, grounding beat of his pulse. His eyes were focused on Arthur's collar, looking at the skin yet miles away, lost in thought.
It struck Arthur then that Merlin needed this contact as much as he did. To remind Merlin that his secrets were safe, his life was precious and that he could finally reveal everything to someone living. To someone meaningful to him, someone who was more than just a blank face.
"I was about to knock the Cup off of its stand when Morgause entered the hall. Lancelot had hurt his arm badly," Arthur nodded, remembering the deep wound Lancelot had mentioned in passing he was still suffering aches from on their first day of training. "She threw me against a wall and probably would have hurt me more if Gaius hadn't used his magic to push her away."
And by hurt, Arthur knew, Merlin meant kill.
"Gaius' magic might have been strong, before the Purge, I don't really know. He hasn't used magic in a while, though he managed to destroy a manticore's dimensional portal a little while ago." Merlin paused, glancing to Arthur as he realised that this was something Arthur didn't know.
"Oh," he said, a little sadly, as if he'd come to expect that Arthur knew everything now (and wasn't that a nice feeling? To be part of Merlin's world fully, know everything about him and be trusted upon it).
"There was a manticore," Merlin said quickly, "The one that woman - Alice - said poisoned your father?"
Arthur vaguely remembered the events, his father lying ill and a woman pleading for him to understand she'd never meant to do it.
"Gaius knew her when they were younger, before the Purge. They learnt magic together and we had to destroy the manticore after she was imprisoned. Gaius dealt with the box, the dimension portal it needed to survive, while I distracted the manticore." Done. Again Merlin had summed up extraordinary events in simple sentences, making it seem as though a manticore out to kill the King was nothing but an ordinary occurrence.
All things considered, though, perhaps it was...
"Anyway," Merlin pressed on, fingers idly tracing Arthur's neck. "Gaius cast a spell to push Morgause away, but it wasn't strong enough to harm her. I used my own magic on her, though I'm not sure how much I hurt her." There was little regret in Merlin's voice here. Perhaps there was an inkling, because for all her crimes and sins, Morgause had been a human, but it was surrounded in Merlin's judgement, his loyalty to Arthur and Camelot.
"She might be dead," he said, eyes unfocused again, lost in memory. "I don't know. I don't know if she'll live, even if she was alive when Morgana left. I don't know if we'll see her again and, more importantly, I don't know if she realised it was me who used magic against her the second time."
If Morgause knew about Merlin's magic, there was so much damage she could do. She could ferret him from Camelot, summoning her hounds through whispers and simple folk, paid to tell a pretty story and fabricate the proof. She could force his hand, maybe, to protect Arthur at the cost of his life. She could bring about Merlin's destruction so easily, far too easily, and that knowledge settled uncomfortably in the pit of Arthur's stomach, cold and ugly.
Merlin sighed, his breath ghosting along Arthur's neck, cold compared to the warmth of the fingers at his pulse point.
"I got to the Cup, spilt the blood from where it was contained and, well, you know how it ended." Arthur nodded. He'd told Merlin about the 'amazing' disappearance of the soldiers, before Merlin had led him to believe it had been Gaius who was mainly responsible.
"Morgana entered the hall then," Merlin said slowly, after a brief pause. The fire shifted next to them, embers drifting upwards again. A shuffling noise came from across the way and Arthur recognised the shifting of a badger cete, passing through without thought to the impact words such as these might have had should they be human.
"She told us that it wasn't the end, but the beginning," Merlin said grimly, "Before destroying the hall."
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and I have no reason to reason with you
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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
Part Six
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"I know how Morgause made them immortal," Merlin said, his hands slipping from Arthur's head, trailing to his neck and resting on his shoulders.
Before Merlin had joined him in the clearing, Arthur had taken off the light armour he'd worn and had left an open-necked shift on. It exposed his neck and collarbones, Merlin's fingers unusually warm as they traced across bone, curiously following the dips across Arthur's shoulders.
"There once was a sorcerer, long ago," Merlin said casually, like in his story of the badger family, the one he'd told two weeks ago. "He placed a drop of each of his soldiers' blood into the Cup of Life, granting them immortality."
His tongue flicked out from his mouth, parting his lips as his eyes traced the muscle of Arthur's chest.
"Morgause did the same. When we were in the caves I talked to Gaius again, confirming what we suspected," Merlin said and then suddenly his hands were gone, the air around pressing to Arthur's chest unwelcomingly, too cold where there should be heat.
Arthur's eyes tracked Merlin's hands as he shifted back onto the log, profile facing Arthur as his hand trailed through his own hair, interlocking at the back as Merlin hung his head.
"The Fisher King gave me water from the lake of Avalon, saying that it would be needed soon." Merlin's voice was thick, heavy with the weight of yet more stories. Arthur refused to think of them as secrets, because they weren't anymore. Merlin was baring them all, open and ugly for Arthur to judge as he saw fit.
But just when you think there's only one more story to go...
"I was trying to find out what the water could do to help, because what else could the Fisher King have meant?" His voice was low, almost as if he was speaking to himself. Arthur waited, pressed against Merlin at the knee, but no more.
"It gave me the help I needed, but so you understand, I need to go back a little bit." Merlin's hands loosened, slipping to the nape of his neck. He stared out into the darkness, eyes reflecting a speck of flame and then nothingness.
"You probably won't remember, but there was a bounty hunter once in Camelot. He'd captured a Druid girl." Merlin's voice was monotonous, eyes seeking the darkness and not Arthur.
While he'd have liked to say that he remembered the occasion Merlin referred to, he couldn't. So many people passed through Camelot with a Druid or suspected Druid, and there was also the regulars who returned time and time again.
"I looked at her, alone in the rain and I just... it could have been me, so, so easily. Gaius told me not to," he pressed on, "But I couldn't just leave her there." His voice was a little desperate, as if hoping Arthur wouldn't judge him for his actions.
What was there to judge? Not that Arthur had any right to, not really considering how much he owed to Merlin in the grand scheme of things, but also because Merlin had helped someone in need. Arthur had done the same many times, going against his father in some cases. Just because it was Merlin, should he be punished for wanting to help?
"I took care of her for a while, giving her food and keeping her hidden while they searched for her." Merlin smiled just for a moment, remembering a part of his life Arthur would never get to know. And that was okay, strangely. Arthur didn't need to know this segment he'd missed, not when it was written all over Merlin's face how he'd felt.
"She told me she had a curse on her. I thought she meant her magic." Merlin stopped, looking to Arthur with a pained gaze. "I was going to leave Camelot with her. Take her somewhere away from the city, where there were mountains and a lake and we'd live... maybe not happily, but certainly good enough."
Arthur tensed, aware of his heart pounding and hands clenching. For all his talk of being there for Arthur, Merlin had been prepared to just go?
"She ended up leaving by herself." Merlin's eyes locked on Arthur's, holding his question's back with a mere look. There was no spell that could be this powerful, Arthur knew, so he stilled his tongue, curbed his anger (though why should he be angry? It was Merlin's life after all) and waited.
"Her curse," Merlin continued, hands leaving his neck and settling in his lap. "Wasn't her magic at all. Someone had cursed her to kill evermore, turning her into a creature when night struck. She turned into a Bastet."
Arthur dipped his head. Now he could remember, though he hadn't even thought to draw a connection between the Druid girl the bounty hunter had pressed them to find at the time and the winged beast. His father had mentioned it off handedly, but by then the beast - the Bastet, the woman Merlin was willing to leave Arthur for - had vanished with a wound struck by the Prince himself.
Oh.
"The only reason you stayed then..." Arthur couldn't say it. He couldn't condemn himself, couldn't push Merlin to the edge. Merlin had chosen Arthur, yes, but not at his own decision, but Arthur couldn't let the words slip past.
A gentle touch to his wrist started Arthur and he turned sharply, almost afraid of what he'd seen on Merlin's face.
"I found her and I took her out of Camelot, to a lake. I couldn't let her die in Camelot, not where she'd been so afraid." Merlin's touch tightened, a reminder that he wasn't done. In a roundabout way, Merlin would answer his questions, but Arthur just had to have a little faith.
"She told me that she'd find a way to repay me one day before she died. I set her out to sail on the lake and burnt the boat before returning to Camelot." His story was rushed here, skipping over his own feelings - again - and doing what he always had, returning to Arthur.
"I know now I never would have gone. Or rather, I might have made sure she was safe, but I would have come back." Merlin sought to look into Arthur's eyes, catching his gaze and... well how could Arthur not believe that? Not when it was the same face that had told so many truths this evening, and why should the drawing darkness change anything?
"You think I'd have chosen her over you," Merlin said softly. Arthur didn't have to say anything, not when Merlin's fingers were pressed against the inside of his wrist and could feel his pulse dancing through his body.
Merlin smiled. Arthur stiffened again.
"The lake Freya was carried out on," Merlin began (and Freya, such a pretty name for such a sorrowful girl), "Was the lake of Avalon. When I broke the glass containing the Fisher King's gift, I saw her in the water's reflection and she asked me to see her."
In all their chaos, in all their calamity, had Merlin gone?
"She had something to give me, a sword that deserves its own story when I'm done with this one." Merlin was calm, back to trailing his fingers against Arthur's, as if he hadn't just told Arthur that he'd almost left.
"Arthur," Merlin said patiently, "I saw her again, at the lake. And I still came back, doesn't that tell you something?"
He was sure Merlin felt the lurch in his heart, smallest finger still curved around his pulse.
"I wanted to save her, but sometimes you just have to accept you can't do everything. We all have our moments where we think that we can't deal with things, but I know I can now."
Merlin had already had his choice, had his moment to turn around and realise that Arthur wasn't worth his weight. It wasn't about his feelings for Freya, not really, but the fact that Merlin had chosen him, had been prepared to leave and been offered a choice and chosen Arthur.
(Because no matter what he'd said before, Merlin had never mentioned this waver, this moment where he'd honestly been about to give Camelot his goodbyes.)
But Merlin would not falter now, his stride toe-to-toe with Arthur, through the worst. He'd had his stumble, had cause to hate Arthur and still been there. Arthur had had his moments, but he knew now that this - whatever existed between them - wasn't just for the here and now, but for the big future. Merlin was going to be there, always.
Such a thought should be daunting, but it settled on Arthur gently, curling around his body as Merlin traced patterns on the back of his hand again.
"I'm sorry," he said, apologising for a thousand things at once. For Freya, for what he'd felt for her, for doubting Merlin's loyalty (yet again, but his story was hardly an easy one to stomach), for everything he'd done to lead to this moment even. Too many things to apologise for and yet not a single one crumpled and festered, rotting their relationship.
"She wasn't happy," Merlin said simply. "She is now, at peace and grateful for what I did."
Arthur leant against Merlin, sighing.
"When did things get so complicated?" he said with a huff of laughter, shaking his head.
Merlin smiled too, nudging their shoulders. "Probably around the time out great-great-grandparents were born or something. Always something to do with the older generations, and they're dead anyways so we can curse them all we like."
That was true, Arthur supposed.
They remained in comfortable silence, their hands still, but linked together again. Another hoot sounded from the woods as the nightlife started to emerge, the shuffling of foxes and badgers starting to pick up as well as the chirping of crickets hidden in the undergrowth.
"You mentioned a sword?"
Merlin's teeth flashed firelight in the darkness as he smiled.
"Not just any sword," he replied, tugging Arthur's arm a little. "Excalibur, the finest sword ever made, bathed in dragon's breath and to be wielded exclusively by Arthur Pendragon himself."
As Arthur made to question the existence of such a sword, Merlin added, "Well, almost exclusively. We had a few hiccups along the line."
"Right," Arthur said. He was ready for the next part, the tale of Excalibur or whatever Merlin might title it in his story.
A lull passed between them and Arthur looked to Merlin, wondering if he was still here. It was a long story he was telling (a story of his life, really) and while Arthur wouldn't be surprised if he needed a break, there was something about the story that he needed to know now. Like, for example, how he'd never seen 'his' sword, but - more importantly - there was still so much he needed to know about Merlin.
"See," Merlin picked up again, "This is where it all gets a bit jumbled. I don't know whether to carry on or tell you about Excalibur or even the Cup of Life..."
Arthur shifted, his elbow brushing Merlin's side, cutting off his speech.
"You can tell me in depth about this sword later, but just let me know enough that I won't be lost." The need to know about Merlin was greater than even a fabled weapon.
"Alright then," Merlin muttered, "I suppose we can do that." He wrapped his fingers around Arthur's wrist, pressing each finger in turn against the skin there, humming thoughtfully. He nodded once before turning to Arthur, ready to continue his tale.
"A weapon made of a dragon's breath has the power to slay any foe, mortal or not. Excalibur was forged by Gwen's father before the Great Dragon burnished it in his fire." Arthur nodded, happy to believe something like that had happened.
"And he did it because you're a Dragonlord?" he asked simply, expecting only a nod.
Merlin's eyes widened, eyebrows lifting. His fingers slackened around Arthur's wrist as he shook his head slightly.
"No," he began hesitantly, "This was a long while before all that."
Perhaps if he was given more time, Arthur would have considered the fact that Merlin had just dismissed himself as the last Dragonlord offhandedly.
"I just asked him to." It was said as if it really was that simple to ask such a request. "And it took some persuasion, but he granted me the request." Merlin's fingers slipped down to Arthur's hand, linking their fingers and resting there, content. "And the rest can wait," he said, looking away to the fire, shadows falling over his face.
Night had almost enclosed them fully now, stars stretched out in the sky above them. It was a clear night, one that should have been crisp, but for the fact they were sharing heat now. This wasn't a spell or an enchantment, but the truth running under his skin, drumming in time with Merlin's heartbeat, Arthur's own heart answering the call.
Merlin's eyes were half-closed as he tucked himself against Arthur, legs bending a little more under him. Their hands were still linked, pressed together, shifting from the space between them to Merlin's thigh. Arthur could feel the heat under Merlin's trousers, seeping from his skin and straight to Arthur, as if they were the only two existences in the whole world.
It went like this - Arthur took what Merlin gave and Merlin took what Arthur gave. It was easy to see now that they were constants together, in an equilibrium, together. The notion behind it wasn't hard to grasp, even if he hadn't heard all that Merlin had done it would have been easy to consider.
He'd said it before, to Merlin even. There was something (and no, not the magic, not the fact he'd saved Arthur time and time again, not the fact he'd been keeping secrets) about Merlin that drew Arthur in, weaving them together like strands of a basket, overlapping and almost inseparable. If one of them should fall, and perish the thought that Merlin be the one to fall - not that he valued his life so little, but it was Merlin - then the other would go down too, that much Arthur could say with confidence.
After all, Merlin had been down time and time again and it was just a matter of Arthur following him now. Something that he'd be more than happy to do, had done before in the past at times, but never had he made a pledge to it.
"When you enter into a contract with the Cup of Life in exchange for immortality," Merlin said, switching effortlessly from the topic of Arthur's sword back to that of the battle they had recently faced. "You become the living dead. No mortal weapon can slay the undead, save for Excalibur."
A log shifted on the fire, belching a cluster of embers into the sky. They floated up, free and unafraid, mimicking how Arthur felt. For the first time since Morgana had taken Camelot, he didn't feel like a Prince, didn't feel like the world was resting on his shoulders. This wasn't, for once, Arthur's place to take charge and passing the reins to Merlin (so to speak) was easier than he'd ever have imagined. Merlin understood him, even better than Arthur did himself, and it while it was scary to have someone know you so well and trust you implicitly, Arthur had trusted Merlin with his life before today and his judgement no longer wavered.
He would have been lying, of course, if he he'd said that there hadn't been moments of doubt, particularly when Merlin had first disclosed his secret. But Arthur wasn't like his father. While Uther would have simply clapped Merlin in irons and wave for an execution while spitting in anger, Arthur was the man who'd helped a Druid boy, risked his life even. He was Uther's son, yes, but he was also Ygraine's.
And it was easy to forget about Ygraine, Arthur didn't even know that much about his mother. All he knew was that she had sought help and trusted magic enough to let it give her a child. Despite all the consequences, he had been born of magic. Arthur may not feel its power inside of him or understand anything to do with magic (not like Merlin, never like Merlin who was the embodiment of wild magic itself), but without magic, Ygraine would never have given her life for her son.
Magic was Arthur as Merlin was magic. Destiny, fate, fortune, the gods... whatever you call it, they had been fashioned to fit together neatly, like pieces of the finest crafted lockets, the clasp fitting for one fixture and one alone. Merlin and Arthur; two sides of something whole with their hands clasped on their logs.
Another flurry of embers were spat out, catching on the air and rising with the smoke. Merlin's eyes tracked them before he continued, voice low in the night.
"I asked Kilgharrah to take me to the lake of Avalon and he warned me that once I was finished with Excalibur to put her where no man could wield her." Shadows played across Merlin's face and Arthur wondered if they were playing on his skin as they did to Merlin's. A dip in his cheek where there was none, hiding the circles around his eyes (had Arthur been working him too hard too or was there another reason to Merlin's tiredness), marking the crinkles above his cheekbones.
He always smiled, no matter what. And that, Arthur thought, was amazing in itself.
"Freya passed Excalibur to me and I returned to the caves. Not even Gaius knew anything, before you ask. In the end, only Lancelot knew about my plan and that was because I needed his help."
As before, Arthur felt the sting that it had been Lancelot by Merlin's side and not him.
"You wrote to him, to summon him?" Arthur asked, trying to keep the sting from his voice. He wasn't sure that he hid it, but Merlin simply curled his fingers against Arthur's palm reassuringly.
"He's a great Knight, as you well know. And a good man," Merlin added, nodding to himself. "But yes, I asked for him to help us."
Merlin breezed over the details from the arrival of Gwen, Leon, Lancelot and Percival, briefly mentioning the Round Table in the castle of the Fallen Kings. For the whole time he was talking, Merlin's hand never left Arthur's and he was beginning to think that he'd always expect it whenever talking to Merlin from now on.
It wasn't that the contact was grounding in anyway, but the feel of human skin, to know that there was someone beside him, understanding and sincere, was a greater gift than anything Arthur could have thought of himself. There were no lies, no hidden meanings in what Merlin was saying because, as silly as it sounded, Arthur could feel it, seeping through their skin with every word that Merlin spoke, pressing into his body with every breath.
"We were all equals at the table and I'm pretty sure you don't need me to tell you that there was something... different when we sat at it." Merlin's voice had dropped again, as if imparting a terrible secret. "It wasn't magic though, more like..."
Merlin stopped, unable to voice the words.
"Trust? Loyalty?" Arthur asked, and then, quieter, "Love?"
Their eyes met for the barest of seconds, Merlin looking down at their hands after turning to Arthur.
"All three I think. And more, but you can't put it into words. I don't know how they used to work the Round Table in the days of the Fallen Kings, but I'd imagine it was built upon those foundations." Merlin shifted, gripping Arthur's hand a little tighter.
"Without any prophecies or destinies, I would have known in that moment that you will be the greatest King Albion will ever see." His grip didn't slacken, but it wasn't painful. It was honest, just how Merlin's words were stripped of lies or disbelief.
"How can one man know that?" Arthur said. Merlin had mentioned it many times during this talk, the fact that Arthur was 'destined' for greatness, to take the whole of Albion (which hadn't been achieved ever in the history of the land) under his rule. Even for the people who had put their faith in foresight and written these prophecies must have had their blind spots, so why was it Arthur that was told he was to be this great king?
He didn't feel great. He loved his people and knew he would rule them with all the fairness he could muster - especially with Merlin by his side - but even so, he was just a man. And, like every man, he had his strengths and weaknesses. These prophecies, had they seen him as a man or an image?
If he had been seen as an image, surely he would ruin Albion?
But if they'd seen him as a man... with all his flaws and humanity...
"I believe in you, as you know." This time Arthur nodded, his cheek brushing Merlin's shoulder as he tucked his chin into his chest, looking down to his lap.
"And, for me, that's enough." A huff of air left Merlin's nostrils as he gave a slight snort of amusement. "It does sound a little farfetched and maybe we should spend some time looking into the validity of the source." Merlin paused, "And cross out the ones that were made by sorcerers who possibly could have been a little bit insane?"
Arthur smiled, "What about the ones made by animals?"
Merlin turned his head a little, his temple pressing to Arthur's as he raised his head. They were close, close that Arthur could see every line of Merlin's face, the crinkles at the corners of his eyes and the lines that marked the countless frowns he must have expressed. Arthur wondered what his own face documented, whether the frowns outweighed the smiles or vice versa. For Merlin, the smiles pressed down on the frowns easily.
"I think Kilgharrah would oppose to being called an animal for some reason," Merlin said after some consideration. "But he's ever so slightly..."
"Slightly what?" Arthur asked a beat later, after he realised Merlin wasn't quite going to finish.
"I..." Merlin's words failed him. Arthur felt the movement of his jaw as he spoke, weighing his words. "I honestly can't answer that." Again, he paused, before, "You should meet him, you really should."
Merlin pulled his hand free of Arthur's, twisting until he faced Arthur properly, straddling the log now instead of sitting on it. He placed a hand on each of Arthur's shoulders, resting there as if his touch was familiar (and in some ways it was).
"Then you can see what I mean, because he's hard to describe-"
"Merlin," Arthur cut in, his favoured hand pressing to Merlin's thigh. "You still have a story to finish and the last time I met this dragon of yours, I drove a weapon into it. I don't think it would appreciate seeing me."
It wasn't that he was afraid of the dragon, but he'd rather keep all parts burn-free for as long as possible, thank you.
His hands didn't fall because Arthur caught them, slotting his fingers against Merlin's.
"I know," Merlin said quietly, looking down at the log between them. "It's just hard. She..." he sucked in a breath, "She was our friend."
"I know," Arthur said softly, shuffling on the log until he too was straddling their seat, Merlin's legs caught between his thighs and the wood, looking ridiculously thin compared to Arthur's. "I know she was."
"In the caves, I asked Gaius how the immortal army had been defeated before," Merlin said, his wrists curved over Arthur's shoulders, fingers curled just so they gave the barest of touches to Arthur's skin. Despite the fabric between them, Arthur could still feel the touch, a little further away, but no less meaningful.
"He told me that the Cup needed to be emptied of the blood inside it." Arthur nodded, placing his hands on the log space between them. The wood was cold, far colder than skin, and the texture was alien to him.
"After you Knighted Lancelot and the others, he asked me what I was planning." Merlin was looking down, fingers tapping slowly against Arthur's shoulder blades. "So I told him that I needed to empty the Cup of Life and he said he's find a way to get me to it."
Arthur wondered how easy it had been for Merlin to have Lancelot's help. He knew now that Merlin wouldn't have asked help of Lancelot, preferring to keep him safe most likely, but how had he felt that Lancelot would offer his services so easily? It wasn't hard to remember the despair they had all felt, how they had all buried it deep down, pledging a cause to get Camelot back or die trying (with major emphasis on the die trying part, unfortunately).
"Which is why you didn't take out the warning bell then," Arthur said, voice low. He didn't like to remember the panic he'd felt when the bell had tolled, more of Morgana's army streaming down to the cells.
(And Arthur didn't like to remember the fear for Merlin and Lancelot he'd felt. He'd wondered if they'd been killed - brave, noble Lancelot and stupid, headfast Merlin - and turned his attention from the battle for a split second, hoping, praying to any gods of any religions, that they were alive. Safe had been too much to ask for, considering, but if you were alive, there was always a chance.)
"No," Merlin agreed, still pressing his fingers lightly against Arthur, as if playing to a song inside of his head, silent music floating around them by the firelight.
Maybe Merlin could hear a song, one that the fairies in Arthur's childhood stories used to sing. Songs of magic and wonder, winged fey calling to others to join them in their feasts, their celebrations. Did such songs exist? If they did, would he ever be able to hear them? The music of the fey had been something that sent Arthur into his dreams, wondering if it was a fast tune, or slow and melodic...
But those were just childhood notions. Before he'd begun sword training, Arthur had been trapped in a life of stories and fables, marking pages of picture books with mud stained hands, dirty fingers from re-enacting scenes around the castle grounds.
That was something he'd never told anyone and, once Uther had found out his four year old son could sneak off from his caretakers to play in the dirt, he'd soon put an end to the stories in Arthur's imagination. It wasn't long after that that Arthur had received his first proper lesson on why magic was evil, marched in to stand by his father as he passed judgement on a man accused of magic. It was a small mercy that Uther hadn't let Arthur watch the execution, but the man's haunted eyes as his sentence passed had haunted Arthur's fey-less dreams for months.
Then he'd turned to training and found it was something he was good at and, until Merlin came along, he'd been happy with his arrogance at his side.
"We were down in the cells, fighting. You know that," Arthur added hurriedly, thumb pressing against a bit of bark that had loosened slightly on the log. He pressed his nail under it, curling the digit and the bark came free with a dulled sound.
He'd told Merlin what had happened in the dungeons when Merlin had offered his (excuse) reason why they hadn't taken out the warning bell. Merlin had muttered something about not being able to get there, being seen before and then mumbled something else before revealing that it had been Gaius who injured Morgause enough to get to the Cup and so destroy the army. It had been a babbled, long-winded (with air, fancy words and some lies) explanation and Arthur had been tired enough to accept it, glimpse over the gaping holes.
Because, really, what could Merlin and Lancelot have done against an immortal army and Morgause? Gaius at least was able to do magic so it had made sense that he had been the one to injure Morgause enough to slip past her.
It hadn't made sense, not when you really thought about it, but why would Merlin have lied?
Now, though, things were fitting, sliding smoothly together through the honesty in Merlin's voice.
"But... I didn't tell you how worried I was. I mean," Arthur said. "I didn't exactly think about it," and he hadn't, hadn't really taken time to think about the worry he'd felt for Merlin because, strangely enough, there had been bigger things pressing on his mind, but... "But I was worried. More than worried."
Arthur's head jerked to the side, almost involuntarily, and he flicked the scrap of bark away, eyes searching the floor around them for a focus point, something that wasn't Merlin, something easy to think about, something that didn't require an examination of his feelings. That is, if they were his feelings. He hadn't really thought that one out yet.
Merlin, as always, understood what he was saying, tightening his hands on Arthur's shoulders, smoothing his fingertips in little gestures, little points of comfort.
"Lancelot helped me get to where Morgana had the Cup, though it took a while." Arthur could hear the twist of Merlin's lips, the slightly-bitter smile that would be on his lips. "I'd thought it would have been easier, to get to the Cup. I mean, I know there would have been guards, but... I don't know." Merlin paused, his fingers lifting from Arthur.
"I guess you never know what to expect until you do it," he finished, one of his hands moving so that the side lay against Arthur's shoulder, his fingers pressing against his neck, seeking the steady, grounding beat of his pulse. His eyes were focused on Arthur's collar, looking at the skin yet miles away, lost in thought.
It struck Arthur then that Merlin needed this contact as much as he did. To remind Merlin that his secrets were safe, his life was precious and that he could finally reveal everything to someone living. To someone meaningful to him, someone who was more than just a blank face.
"I was about to knock the Cup off of its stand when Morgause entered the hall. Lancelot had hurt his arm badly," Arthur nodded, remembering the deep wound Lancelot had mentioned in passing he was still suffering aches from on their first day of training. "She threw me against a wall and probably would have hurt me more if Gaius hadn't used his magic to push her away."
And by hurt, Arthur knew, Merlin meant kill.
"Gaius' magic might have been strong, before the Purge, I don't really know. He hasn't used magic in a while, though he managed to destroy a manticore's dimensional portal a little while ago." Merlin paused, glancing to Arthur as he realised that this was something Arthur didn't know.
"Oh," he said, a little sadly, as if he'd come to expect that Arthur knew everything now (and wasn't that a nice feeling? To be part of Merlin's world fully, know everything about him and be trusted upon it).
"There was a manticore," Merlin said quickly, "The one that woman - Alice - said poisoned your father?"
Arthur vaguely remembered the events, his father lying ill and a woman pleading for him to understand she'd never meant to do it.
"Gaius knew her when they were younger, before the Purge. They learnt magic together and we had to destroy the manticore after she was imprisoned. Gaius dealt with the box, the dimension portal it needed to survive, while I distracted the manticore." Done. Again Merlin had summed up extraordinary events in simple sentences, making it seem as though a manticore out to kill the King was nothing but an ordinary occurrence.
All things considered, though, perhaps it was...
"Anyway," Merlin pressed on, fingers idly tracing Arthur's neck. "Gaius cast a spell to push Morgause away, but it wasn't strong enough to harm her. I used my own magic on her, though I'm not sure how much I hurt her." There was little regret in Merlin's voice here. Perhaps there was an inkling, because for all her crimes and sins, Morgause had been a human, but it was surrounded in Merlin's judgement, his loyalty to Arthur and Camelot.
"She might be dead," he said, eyes unfocused again, lost in memory. "I don't know. I don't know if she'll live, even if she was alive when Morgana left. I don't know if we'll see her again and, more importantly, I don't know if she realised it was me who used magic against her the second time."
If Morgause knew about Merlin's magic, there was so much damage she could do. She could ferret him from Camelot, summoning her hounds through whispers and simple folk, paid to tell a pretty story and fabricate the proof. She could force his hand, maybe, to protect Arthur at the cost of his life. She could bring about Merlin's destruction so easily, far too easily, and that knowledge settled uncomfortably in the pit of Arthur's stomach, cold and ugly.
Merlin sighed, his breath ghosting along Arthur's neck, cold compared to the warmth of the fingers at his pulse point.
"I got to the Cup, spilt the blood from where it was contained and, well, you know how it ended." Arthur nodded. He'd told Merlin about the 'amazing' disappearance of the soldiers, before Merlin had led him to believe it had been Gaius who was mainly responsible.
"Morgana entered the hall then," Merlin said slowly, after a brief pause. The fire shifted next to them, embers drifting upwards again. A shuffling noise came from across the way and Arthur recognised the shifting of a badger cete, passing through without thought to the impact words such as these might have had should they be human.
"She told us that it wasn't the end, but the beginning," Merlin said grimly, "Before destroying the hall."
.
and I have no reason to reason with you
.
| part one | part two | part three | part four | part five | part six | part seven | part eight | part nine | part ten |