a raven's flaxen nest. [merlin/arthur]
Title: a raven's flaxen nest.
Pairing: Arthur/Merlin
Rating: PG-13
Genre: humour, fluff
Notes: I don't really like this, but oh well ~ This is what happens when I marathon The Tudors and then decide to write Merthur..
A masque was a favoured, but rare, event in Camelot. It was extravagant, something Uther loathed, but it also raised positive attention for the court, something Uther greatly desired. Morgana had been arranging the event for over a month now, teaching the ladies and gentlemen of court a lighthearted interpretation of Tristan und Isolde, with Arthur as Tristan and Morgana as Isolde. This meant that Arthur had to practice the dance along with the rest of the gentry, resulting in much grumbling on Arthur's part and much bemusement on the part of.. well, anyone who wasn't Arthur.
Merlin, in particular, found it a great entertainment to see his master tripping over his own feet each afternoon. Arthur was fit, but he had not the body for graceful dancing. Merlin himself had injured his hand when picking berries for the feast, and when Morgana had seen the large gash on his palm, he was excused from any other duties for the masque and allowed to watch the rehearsals with Gwen.
One afternoon, Merlin and Gwen had been snickering on the sidelines at Arthur's lack of co-ordination, when the prince stepped out of his line and over to where Merlin and Gwen stood. His blonde hair was ruffled from all his moving about, and a few strands were stuck to the light sheen of sweat on his forehead.
Gwen dropped into the expected curtsey, while Merlin inclined his head slightly. Both of them still had smirks on their faces. Arthur examined the two, his tongue tracing over his lower lip in contemplation. His glittering eyes settled on Merlin for a moment, and he seemed to be about to pin Merlin against the wall (or something of equal impulsiveness) when Morgana called for him to return back to his place.
Any other day, Gwen would have asked Merlin what on earth that had been about. That morning, however, she had dropped by Arthur's chambers to let them know Morgana would be expecting them in the dining area within the hour. She'd paused by Arthur's door, seeing that it was slightly ajar. Rather than the usual loud banter between the two, she heard Merlin and Arthur speaking in low murmurs. Gwen had peered into Arthur's chamber and seen him and Merlin standing by the window.
Arthur was in a light linen shirt and the pants he slept in. Merlin looked weary. Had they not been so focused on one another they would have seen her, but as it was, their moment had gone uninterrupted. Arthur was toe-to-toe with Merlin, face soft, and he was examining Merlin's injured hand. Merlin's eyes were fixed on Arthur, his gaze careful, as though Arthur may spring away at any moment even though Merlin was the one being examined.
Arthur's hand traced over the wound on Merlin's palm, and he looked up when Merlin let out a small hiss of pain. Feeling as though she was intruding, Gwen had almost convinced herself to leave and send a messenger in her place when Arthur met Merlin's eyes. The contact stilled her. Still cradling Merlin's hand, Arthur slowly leaned his head down until his lips brushed the skin just above the wound. A light kiss was pressed to Merlin's palm. Gwen fisted her skirts and turned away.
She had kept her lips pursed about the event, and wasn't quite sure whether to approach Merlin about it. Gwen wasn't the sort to condemn others, and she had decided to leave it up to Merlin whether or not she'd confide anything in him.
"Are you looking forward to tomorrow night?" She asked Merlin conversationally. Merlin looked away from Morgana, who was berating a courtier over stepping on her feet, and smiled at Gwen.
"Yeah." He paused. "Not so much looking forward to his Lordship complaining about nonexistent blisters, though." He nodded in Arthur's direction. Gwen laughed, loud and clear, and clapped her hands.
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The night before the masque, Arthur makes Merlin practice his moves with him. The hours seem a bit empty without Arthur berating Merlin's gangly figure, his general awkwardness, and any other flaws the prince could dream up. Tonight, however, Arthur really does want to learn, and Merlin does want to teach him, and the days spent watching Arthur rehearsing go to good use. A few times Merlin has to catch Arthur when he falls during a spin, or Arthur hits himself in the face when he's supposed to clap and spends twenty minutes brooding over the red mark on his cheek.
More than a few times, Merlin thinks maybe tonight will be the night Arthur will kiss him. When the sky lightens slightly and Arthur tells Merlin he can go back to his rooms, Merlin wraps his good hand around Arthur's wrist and pulls the Crown Prince of Camelot towards him without hesitation. Merlin tucks his head into Arthur's neck, and hums contentedly. Arthur lets himself touch the small of Merlin's back, and the night seems less empty.
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The masque is about to begin, and Merlin is scared Arthur will forget him. There's several visiting ladies from well-to-do houses dancing in the masque, and in the attire Gwen and Morgana organised all the women look absolutely radiant. White bodices trimmed with silver showing just enough of their bosoms without being too immodest. Light sleeves tight around the wrist, silver lace and organza. The masks are a sight in themselves, glittering silver.
Merlin's not sure how the men are dressed. The women and men rehearse seperately, and then the big joke of a masque is to figure out which is the Crown Prince and Lady Morgana. More often than not, Arthur's lean figure and bravado give him away, but no courtier would want to break the tradition.
Gwen appears at Merlin's side, waving a mask in her hand. She's dressed in a modest white dress that looks a bit too expensive for her -- it's likely Morgana lent it to her, Merlin decides. The most generosity Arthur showed Merlin in the way of clothes was letting him wear "that linen shirt that makes you look like a shapeless piece of parchment with an oil stain for hair" to match the theme of the masque.
"Here," she says, passing Merlin the mask. "Morgana let me make an extra one. I thought it'd make you feel better, since your hand is hurt and all." Merlin smiles and takes it with a thankyou.
They move off to the side of the dining hall when they see Uther and the rest of the gentry file in. Several of the serving girls look utterly depressed, likely because they weren't of high enough standing to participate in the masque. Merlin fiddles with the mask, torn between wearing it and possibly looking a fool, or not wearing it and possibly ruining Morgana's temper for being "ungrateful".
He decides to hold on to it until the music begins.
When the music does begin, Gwen starts to hum out of tune along with the players. The ladies come in first, twirling ribbons and their skirts. Morgana is positioned in the middle, and would perhaps blend with the others if her hair wasn't down and in curls about her waist. It's not like Morgana to blend, however, and she moves with an ethereal grace, an angel among ladies. The women dance around a bit more, and Merlin finds himself getting impatient for Arthur's arrival.
He puts the mask on his face, wondering if it makes his nose look overly large. Through the mask's slits he sees the arrival of the men, Arthur at the front. Any opportunity of the "mystery" of the masque being achieved is dissolved once the sunlight streaming through the hall windows hits Arthur's hair. His golden head and shining smile take all of Merlin's focus. The men are dressed in tight-fitting white shirts with sleeves only to their elbows, and pale linen breeches. Arthur lifts Morgana with ease, hands on her waist. He then moves to dance beside a girl skinny as a straw and with hair of such colour. Merlin feels something under his skin twinge. Behind the mask, his eyes flicker. Arthur's closer to the straw girl than he was with Merlin after knowing the latter for weeks. Then again, she was a lady of court, and Merlin was a servant, and why was Gwen nudging him so?
"Merlin, Arthur wants you." Merlin makes a noise in the back of his throat. Gwen nudges him again.
"Isn't he dancing?"
"No, the dance is over. Are you alright?" Gwen moves to press her hand against Merlin's forehead, but Merlin bats her away. In the presentation area of the dining hall, the dancers were still cheering for the newly revealed Lady Morgana, who was twirling her mask about flirtatiously in her hand, revelling in the interest of both the ladies and the men.
"No, no, I'm fine. I'll see to Arthur." He finds Arthur's golden hair through the mask's slits and goes over to him.
Arthur is preparing to take his seat beside his father, his mask resting around his neck. He gives Merlin a puzzled glance and pulls him aside, so that Uther's throne shields them from the crowd. Merlin watches Arthur's bright eyes from through the slits as Arthur slowly hooks his fingers behind the mask and starts to pull it off for him. The back of his pointer finger brushes Merlin's brow. Arthur pulls at the mask, and his eyes flicker to the side. He quickly lets go, letting the mask snap onto Merlin's face. A forced grin appears on his face at Merlin's wince, and he gestures for him to go.
"That'll be all, Merlin." He looks over Merlin's shoulder and steps around him, towards somebody Merlin can't see. "Sir Edmund! A pleasure."
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It's late, and Merlin's cold. He only has one sheet on his bed, and his linen shirt is growing thin with use. It's not even the weather's fault, if Merlin's honest. The cold isn't necessarily from the night, it's from him. He feels as though someone has injected ice into the marrow of his bones, and the feeling makes him bury his face into his lumpy pillow. Thinking about Arthur is the last thing he wants to do right now, especially since Arthur had spent the dinner watching the straw girl and hadn't asked for Merlin's assistance getting him to bed. Merlin has the mind to snap the blasted girl in half. He buries his face further into his pillow until he can't breathe. Those are the sorts of thoughts that could get him burned at the stake.
Something in the darkness moves. Merlin's body tenses, and he immediately runs through scenarios in his head. Gaius was asleep, but the noise came from the door. Maybe a lost serving girl or a drunken knight? Merlin throws off his sheet and pads over to the door. Perhaps it was just the wind.
His hand ghosts over the candle beside his bed, lighting up his dingy quarters. Moss is growing between the stones by the doorway, he notices with a grimace. He thinks of Arthur's chamber and the furs on Arthur's beds. Except he doesn't, he reminds himself, because he's not allowed to think about Arthur anymore. He stands by the door, breathing heavily. He slides his hand between the crack of the door and pushes it open. Golden hair and candlelight causes him to squint.
"Merlin?" It's nothing more than a breath, and Merlin's scared he imagined it. He's sure, though, that it is Arthur standing in front of him in his bedclothes, hair messed and eyes glassy. It is Arthur who takes Merlin's good hand and kisses the back of it, Merlin's not dreaming some cruel dream.
"Sire." Merlin swallows thickly, trying his best to look somewhere that wasn't Arthur while still seeming to be paying complete, utter, very unaroused and innocent attention.
Arthur's looking at him now, his pupils focusing on Merlin, on his cheeks, on his lips. His gaze borders on predatory, his eyes observing every inch of Merlin's face. Merlin's thinking about Arthur's immortal soul and Uther and the court, but then Arthur's warm hand moves to Merlin's neck and suddenly Merlin's not sure what he's thinking about anymore.
Both of Arthur's hands are resting on the curves between Merlin's neck and his shoulders. He's kneading lightly at the skin there, his gaze flickering from Merlin's collarbone to his lips.
It comes to Merlin's attention that they're still in his doorway, so he pulls at Arthur's shift and kicks the door shut. Arthur stiffens slightly at the brash gesture.
"I don't -- "
"I know," Merlin interrupts, "I just -- I don't want a serving girl to head to the laundry and find her future king stroking his servant boy."
Arthur smiles at this, though his mouth seems to be curved in a more rueful expression than an amused one. The candlelight makes him look fuller, somehow. Cheeks flushed slightly, his eyes half-lidded and hair askew, Arthur looks more honest and human than Merlin has seen in a while. Merlin makes a mental note that he likes Arthur looking this way, and he should endeavour to have Arthur's face look that way more often. He's thinking about seeing Arthur across the dining hall with messed hair and wet lips when Arthur's hands tighten on Merlin's shoulders. Within a second of Merlin registering the change in pressure, Arthur's lips are brushing Merlin's. They breath together for a few seconds. Arthur's lidded eyes widen and seek permission in Merlin's. He almost looks afraid, as though Merlin might change his mind and pull away at any moment.
"Arthur."
It's Merlin who makes the move, presses his lips to Arthur's just so, catching his bottom lip between his own. By happy accident, Merlin's tongue brushes against Arthur's lip. He's happy for their shared breath previously, as Merlin's not sure if he can last this kiss on a single inhale. Arthur's pushing against him, but not in any specific direction, he's just pushing, as though he's trying to fill his every pore with Merlin. Arthur exhales with a shudder, taking a few panicked breaths. Merlin is trying his best to appear the more confident of them both, and lets himself inhale through his nose, waiting for Arthur to compose himself.
Arthur does quite the opposite, however, and digs one of his hands into Merlin's hair with a barely audible grunt. He kisses Merlin, even if it's greedy, even if one should probably speak to somebody they've just kissed, because they're both damn sure they've had enough of talking. Merlin's resting one hand on the nape of Arthur's neck, his injured hand at Arthur's waist.
The cold that permeated his bones simply minutes ago was gone, replaced by a surge of warmth. Something under his skin is tingling, and he's itching. The itch makes him pull away from Arthur and gather his thoughts quickly. He rests his nose against Arthur's cheek for a moment before kissing him again, this time parting his lips slightly, strategically. Arthur moans, and the noise satisfies the itch for a moment. Merlin can feel something resting in his belly like warm lead, and when he tongues at Arthur's lips, the feeling grows and slips further down his body.
Merlin moves his good hand down to Arthur's hip, and then up under his shirt, resting on Arthur's side, just above where his breeches begin. Arthur pauses and stiffens again, pulling away from Merlin with his lips parted. His insecurity gnaws at something in Merlin, and Merlin makes another note to make Arthur less unsure of himself.
Merlin leaves his hand where it is, not pushing further. They're standing against his bed, and Merlin wants to pull Arthur down and let him lay beside him, but the nervous blue of Arthur's eyes stops him. Instead, Merlin raises himself with his feet slightly, a silent reminder to Arthur who is the servant of the relationship, and presses a kiss to Arthur's cheek. Arthur sighs, his hands moving to Merlin's back, and Merlin delights in the soft fluttering of Arthur's eyelashes against his brow.
Merlin doesn't know exactly when he can stop kissing Arthur and let him go back to his chambers, but he doesn't particularly care, because the golden prince he's craved for so long is kissing him on the mouth and making sounds that he'd never want Merlin to know of had it been a year earlier. Merlin doesn't care about anything, really, except the man pressed against him, wanting him.