Ubi Sunt (Part VI)
Title: Ubi Sunt
Art link: On LJ
Rating: R
Word Count: ~41,000
It was a special sort of pleasure, even though they weren’t really speaking, for Arthur to watch Merlin work. He’d woken up with a headache from dinner the night before. He attributed it to the champagne he’d had, but even so, he couldn’t help but place part of the blame on Mordred--the enigmatic child who had lauded Merlin’s accomplishments, and stared at their table, for most of the night.
Even if they weren’t really speaking, Arthur had spent a fair portion of the night stepping between Mordred and Merlin each time the youth approached. Every time Mordred had spoken to him, Merlin had turned a little paler. By the end of the night, Arthur was properly buzzed, but Merlin was--off kilter. They’d walked back to the trailer together, and although Merlin had said, in a half-pissed sort of way that he’d wanted to make sure Arthur got home without falling down and breaking something--it seemed to Arthur that it was Merlin who needed the majority of the support. They’d spent the night in the horse trailer, rather than the hotel. It had been a shorter walk, and both of them had wanted the familiarity of the surroundings.
Now, however, it was morning. Merlin had been gone when Arthur had woken up, and so Arthur had headed into the barn. He’d tacked Gwaine up, intending to go for a relaxing ride to calm his nerves, and instead had found himself heading in the direction of Merlin’s voice. Loud and purposeful, even when Arthur wasn’t the one being instructed, it still drew him in. He was hoping to talk with Merlin. They’d seemed to have forged something of a truce the evening before, and he missed Merlin’s company.
What occurred between dusk and dawn, however, seemed to have been forgotten in the weak morning light that strained through a thin cloud cover. The evening chill hadn’t quite worn off yet, and Arthur rubbed his arms, wishing he’d grabbed a jumper.
Merlin was sitting on the fence around a ring that the organizers had deemed appropriate for practicing. There was no one around yet, just Merlin and the poor girl he’d dragged out of bed before breakfast.
“Good, Sally, that’s good. Use your eyes--don’t rely so heavily on your hands. This is about communication. Try the purple crossrail again, and this time I want to hear you counting paces. Ready? Start now--one...”
Merlin’s voice carried out over the area, and Arthur let it wash over them. He straightened up himself, shifting his weight in the saddle. Gwaine was complacent as they meandered over. Occasionally, the big palomino darted for a mouthful of grass, but it seemed to be intended to give Arthur a hard time, rather than for an actual snack. Arthur clucked his tongue absentmindedly, and Gwaine picked up his pace.
“Morning,” he called to Merlin. “Grab the gate for me?” He watched with a critical eye as Merlin slid gingerly down off the fence. His limp was more pronounced again, and as Sally counted off her paces on the jump course, Arthur counted Merlin’s. He’d gotten used to the rhythm over the last two months, but it was still strange to see when it was so obvious. “How are you feeling?” Arthur continued once Merlin had the gate opened. He rode past him, reaching a hand out to slide his fingers absentmindedly through Merlin’s hair.
Merlin jumped, and Gwaine skittered back a few steps, surprised by the sudden motion. Arthur laughed at the red flush that spread over Merlin’s face. “Isn’t ‘no sudden movements’ the first thing they taught you? Remember your lessons, Mr. Emrys!”
Merlin’s smile wasn’t exactly cold, but it didn’t reach his eyes, and he didn’t say anything to Arthur. Instead, he turned back to Sally. “Did you think I wouldn’t see you nick that pole?” he asked. “I heard it. Take the rail again.”
“Merlin,” Sally said, “I’m hungry. We’ve done this course a bajillion times, and I need to change my leg brace. Can’t it wait?”
“Sally, we’ve only two days before the show--” Merlin said.
“Of course, Sally,” Arthur answered over him. “You’ve done really well today. Why don’t you take him through a cool down and then head back up for breakfast?”
Arthur glared when Merlin opened his mouth to protest, and was gratified when Merlin shut it again. When Sally’d left the ring and was well enough out of hearing, Arthur dismounted and rounded on Merlin. “What was that about? She’s just a kid! This is supposed to be fun for her.”
“She was sloppy.”
“She was hungry.”
Merlin didn’t answer him, and Arthur sighed. “Come on, Merlin,” he said. “Can we talk?”
Merlin didn’t look at him. He fixed his eyes resolutely on the ground.
“Fine,” Arthur sighed. “Why don’t you ride? You haven’t since we got here. You must be going mad.”
Merlin shook his head, “I can’t ride here it’s--”
“Don’t be daft. Come on.” Arthur swung down off of Gwaine and walked over to Merlin. He grabbed Merlin’s hand and tugged him around to Gwaine’s side. When Merlin was finally between Arthur and Gwaine, he turned and faced his back to Arthur. For a second, Arthur thought he was going to be a child about it. Instead, Merlin lay his palm flat against Gwaine’s neck and sighed so hard that Arthur could see it in the rise and fall of his shoulders. “Come on,” Arthur said again, letting his hands fall to Merlin’s waist. “Do you need a hand getting up?”
Again, Merlin didn’t say anything out loud. He held still, strung up and taut, like he was ready to run. Arthur wasn’t sure he understood where Merlin’s anxiety was coming from. He squeezed Merlin’s waist and leaned forward, brushing his lips against the nape of Merlin’s neck. “I’m sorry,” he said, so quietly that he wasn’t sure he’d spoken at all.
Merlin sagged back against Arthur, but Arthur caught him and held the weight. “What’s wrong?” he said, trying to keep his voice as calm as possible. In the past few months of knowing Merlin, Arthur had seen him go through an impressive array of highs and lows, but there was something different about the way Merlin reacted to his own body after the fall. Something that gave Arthur pause.
“I can’t help you if you don’t talk to me,” Arthur said. Still no answer. “Come on. Get on the horse.” With some difficulty, Arthur managed to nudge enough space between himself and Merlin so that he could move. “Leg up,” Arthur insisted.
Finally, after what felt like hours, Merlin nodded his head. Arthur helped Merlin lift himself up, and when Merlin was finally settled in the saddle, he glanced down at Arthur, half a smile curling the corners of his mouth. “I’m sorry too,” he said, laughing. “You didn’t have to be such a--” he paused, apparently trying to find a word that would encompass Arthur. Arthur waited patiently.
“Use your words,” he suggested, laughing.
“Clotpole,” Merlin said with enough vehemence that Arthur almost choked on his tongue laughing.
“Are you always so eloquent? No wait, don’t tell me. I know the answer. Come on, oh great champion. Why don’t you show me what you can do?”
It apparently wasn’t going to take much convincing to get Merlin to ride. He nudged Gwaine forward into a smooth trot. Arthur was a good rider, he knew that. He was a champion of sorts, he knew that too. He was not, however, Merlin Emrys. He wondered if anyone would ever be, again.
Watching Merlin ride was like nothing else Arthur had ever done. There was something spectacular about it. Even on a horse that wasn’t Fish, Merlin was formidable. He moved like he could read Gwaine’s mind, anticipating and correcting each potential misstep before any mistakes could be made.
Merlin took the final jump in the practice course he’d set up for Sally, and Arthur felt himself relax. It was good to see Merlin relaxing too.
Behind him, someone began to clap.
“I cannot say how much of an honor it is to see you ride,” called out a childish voice. It sounded innocent in tone, but something about it made Arthur shift away. He glanced over his shoulder, and wasn’t surprised to see that the voice belonged to Mordred. “I thought you didn’t ride anymore,” the child continued, something like anger flashing over his face. “I was told you don’t ride.”
Merlin had drawn Gwaine to a halt, and had dismounted almost in sync with Mordred’s first words. Arthur watched carefully. He was paying enough attention to notice the way Merlin shifted his weight. His smooth, nearly imperceptible motions that meant something was wrong. It was the same cautious response he’d had to anything unfamiliar since he’d fallen. Arthur bristled.
“He rides,” Arthur called out to Mordred, standing up and stretching. He tried to make it look casual, the way he walked over to Merlin and planted himself half in front of him. Behind him, he felt Merlin shift from foot to foot. Arthur’s eyes narrowed. “Is there something that you needed, Mordred?”
The full weight of Mordred’s gaze landed on him, and to Arthur, it seemed that he looked almost hungry.
“It’s been too long,” Mordred said, his voice thick, “Since I’ve seen either of you. So many years--” he trailed off and looked away. “We keep coming back to fight.”
“Mordred,” Merlin said, slowly and carefully, “We haven’t met before.”
That made Mordred laugh. Gleeful, childish giggles that made Merlin flinch. Arthur took a step closer to him.
“Haven’t we, though?” Mordred said, his voice full of amusement. “You two have always been so slow.” Mordred looked around. “Empty,” he said quietly. “Just the three of us. I could end it here and now. I could go back to sleep--but then, it doesn’t seem to matter how many times I tuck the two of you back into bed. It doesn’t matter how many times I win!” he shouted the last word. “Every time, the fates intervene. Why don’t I get to keep my victories?”
Mordred’s gaze fell on Arthur, gold and cruel. Arthur had to fight the urge to take a step back.
“But this is all wrong,” Mordred snapped, looking around wildly. “The sword isn’t here--it can’t be now. I have to wait.” Mordred looked back at Merlin, and moved his fingers in slow circles. “Not yet,” Mordred said, “but I could limit your options.”
The child didn’t seem to be talking to anyone anymore, but his eyes flashed that same sick gold, so different than the gold Arthur sometimes imagined in Merlin’s gaze. After several suspended moments, Mordred turned to walk away.
“What a creepy child,” Arthur said.
Beside him, Merlin leaned over and threw up.
“I didn’t get sick on you, did I?” Merlin asked a few moments later as he lifted himself up and wiped his mouth. Arthur was surprised to realize that he had a hand on Merlin’s back. He didn’t remember putting it there. He frowned.
“No,” he said. “Are you-“
“Not really,” Merlin answered before Arthur finished his questions. “It’s something about him, Mordred. There’s something off there. I just-I don’t know what it is.”
“Maybe it’s the fact that he’s mad?” Arthur suggested. “The things he was saying, no one who’s right in the head would say that.”
Merlin closed his eyes and leaned back against Gwaine. “Maybe,” he said softly, “Stranger things have happened, yeah?”
Arthur rolled his eyes, “Of course Merlin. Maybe next the horses will start talking.”
A strange look colored Merlin’s face, but he didn’t say anything, and Arthur ignored it.
~~~
~~~~~~~~~
“I’m sorry,” Arthur said, staring at the woman in front of him. “What exactly are you saying?”
The vet straightened up and pushed long blonde hair out of her face. “I’m sorry,” she said, although she didn’t much look it. “You won’t be able to ride him in the show. You wouldn’t want to risk his leg like that.”
Arthur shook his head slowly, his eyes wide. “I can’t ride him?”
“Would you like me to repeat myself, Mr. Pendragon?”
Arthur gaped at her, “Do you know who I am?”
“There’s no need for that, Arthur,” Gaius said, stepping forward for the first time and placing his hand on Arthur’s shoulder. “And as she has just said your last name, I think it’s a fair assuption that Doctor Morgause knows exactly who you are--and,” Gaius held a hand up to stop Arthur from interrupting, “And that she had done everything in her power for Gwaine. I’m sure someone here has a horse you could borrow for the event.”
Arthur was pale. “I can’t just ride any horse,” he said, “It has to be Gwaine. I’ve practiced on Gwaine. I’m familiar with Gwaine.”
“Perhaps you could ride The Fisher King,” Morgause suggested, tucking a hoof-pick back into her bag. “I would be happy to check him over myself and verify his ability to compete.”
“Oh well how kind of you,” Arthur sneered. “How thoughtful.”
“Arthur! It’s hardly Morgause’s fault that Gwaine isn’t up to the event.”
Arthur didn’t care if he was being rude. There was something so unbelievable about the prospect of competing without Gwaine. Fish-well, that was marginally better, but it wasn’t the horse that Arthur had practiced on. He’d spent time with Gwaine, he’d learned on Gwaine. Riding after the accident wasn’t anything like riding before. He’d been a good rider before, he felt, much to his surprise, like he might have a chance now of being a great rider. At least, he had. Now there was no Gwaine to ride, and Arthur felt a little terrified.
Merlin was late, and chose that moment to come in. He was a quiet mover, something that had always struck Arthur as a little bit out of place. Merlin had the look of someone who blustered about in a good way, who filled a room just by being there. Merlin, as Arthur had come to know him, was muted, it was like someone had turned the dial down. Except, of course, when he was riding. But that day, Merlin was late, and he swung into the room on his uneven gate with his uneasy grace. He looked at Arthur and then at Morgause, and nobody had to tell him the news. He seemed to understand.
“You could ride Fish,” Merlin offered, leaning back against the wall and looking over at Arthur. There was something about the way he said it that made Arthur’s stomach twist. From Morgause, the words had been a challenge. When Merlin said them, though, he was offering his horse. It was hardly like borrowing a pen. Arthur swallowed, and found himself unable to meet Merlin’s gaze. “Ok,” Merlin said quietly. “That’s fine. You don’t have to-“ he broke off, and Arthur looked up in time to see a strange expression flit across his face. “Gaius? Who did we bring for a backup ride?”
“Aside from Fish?” Gaius asked, “We brought the new horse. You said something about selling him.”
“I think Arthur should ride him,” Merlin said, looking up at Arthur now, “I think that’s the best plan we’ve got.”
“You want me to ride a new horse? For the show in thirty-six hours?”
Merlin looked up at him and smiled-and like so many of Merlin’s smiles, it was only half there. Arthur could see the suggestion of the blinding smile that Merlin sometimes had, just a little, faintly, in the corners of Merlin’s mouth. That smile lived on, just as Merlin did. Arthur couldn’t help but wonder why it was so hard to find. “Don’t you think you can?” Merlin asked-a question, not a challenge.
Arthur bit his lip. “I can,” he decided finally. “Who is this horse, exactly? This new horse.”
The smile on Merlin’s face brightened just a little bit more, and there was something so alive in the way he straightened up and winked at Arthur. “He’s gorgeous,” Merlin announced, “This amazing grey-he’s one of the best looking horses I’ve ever seen.”
“What’s his name, Merlin?”
“Oh,” Merlin said, stretching, “It’s Excalibur.”
In the silence that followed, Arthur could hear the dust landing softly on the floor. “You’re joking.”
“Nope.” Merlin looked awfully pleased with himself. “Let’s go meet him.”
“Merlin Emrys, you’re going to be the death of me.”
“Something like that.”
~~~
When Merlin finally came out of the barn, leading Excalibur by his lead rope, Will gave a low whistle. Arthur shot him a dirty look, but he was impressed himself. “That,” Will said, apparently nonplussed by Arthur’s glare, “Is one fine horse.”
Merlin glanced at the horse, and to Arthur’s amusement, Excalibur glanced right back. Fine, as Will had used it, was an inadequate adjective. Beautiful, well-bred, incredible-the words that Arthur had used for impressive horses all his life seemed to fail them. Impressive just barely brushed the surface. Excalibur, for all that his name made Arthur bristle and Will laugh, was the most amazing animal that Arthur had ever laid eyes on-and he’d seen some impressive animals in his life. Even Arcturus hadn’t quite been like Excalibur.
“Here,” Merlin said, holding out the lead for Arthur to grab.
Arthur took it, and the horse leaned over and pressed his nose against Arthur’s shoulder. “Well,” Arthur said, surprised at such an instantaneous act of affection. Even Merlin, who Arthur had yet to see have a horse actively dislike him, had gotten something like bored indifference from Excalibur. With Arthur holding him, though, the horse seemed nearly docile. “Where’d you get him? I’d have noticed a horse like this at Camelot.”
Merlin rolled his eyes, “We have quite a few very decent horses at Camelot, thanks,” he said. “But my friend Freya gave him to me.”
“She gave him to you?”
“Mmm,” Merlin answered, in a way that suggested to Arthur that he wasn’t quite sold on the whole thing, “She actually had you in mind to be his rider.”
That gave Arthur pause. “Do I know her?”
“I don’t know. She seems to know you,” Merlin paused. “Will, go grab Excalibur’s tack.”
Arthur frowned, “I didn’t think of that,” he said, “What if the tack and I don’t get along?”
Merlin had that same strange expression on his face that Arthur kept seeing there, but like all the other times, it was only a flash. It was the bare suggestion of a look that hinted a knowledge--which was, frankly, preposterous.
“I think the tack will be perfect for you, Arthur.”
“And if it doesn’t?”
“Stop being such a prat,” Merlin said, “You get to ride and you get to ride an amazing horse.”
“If the tack fits.”
“It’s going to fit, Arthur!”
“There’s no need for shouting, Merlin. Where is the tack?”
“Do I look like a groom to you, your royal highness? Get the tack yourself,” Will called from where he had apparently dropped himself down onto the grass. He was lying spread out on his back with his hands behind his head, an inch or two of skin peeking out under the hem of his jumper. It wasn’t something that Arthur would ordinarily have noticed, if it weren’t for the way Merlin looked at Will. It was hardly a look full of wanton desire, or anything like that, but it was a look so full of affection that it made Arthur feel like he was looking at something private.
“Will,” Merlin scolded, that same affection as evident in his voice as it was on his face. “Please go and get Arthur’s tack.”
Will heaved a dramatic sigh, but he also rolled to his feet. Arthur followed Will with his eyes until he had disappeared into the barn, and it was just Arthur, Merlin, and the most beautiful horse that Arthur had ever seen. “How are you?” Arthur asked, glancing at Merlin. “You were pretty ill after Mordred left.”
Merlin scuffed the toe of his boot on the ground, and Arthur noted that the laces were half undone. “I’m fine, thanks,” Merlin said. “He’s just a creepy kid.”
“You’ll hurt yourself, like that,” Arthur answered.
Merlin looked confused, “Because I think Mordred is creepy?”
“What? No. I mean your laces--they’re untied.”
“Thanks mum,” Merlin said, rolling his eyes. Arthur grimaced. Even with the awkward situation over the kiss they Were Not Speaking Of, he couldn’t think of very many things he’d like less to be compared to than Merlin’s mum.
“Merlin,” he started, reaching out and brushing his fingers over Merlin’s wrist. Merlin looked up, clearly startled, and Arthur cleared his throat. “I just wanted to say--”
“Oi! Your majesty, want to give me a hand here?” Will yelled as he walked toward them.
Arthur pinched the bridge of his nose, “William,” he started, but when he glanced up, Will didn’t look upset that he was carrying the tack, he was still looking at Arthur’s hand, where his fingers were just barely curled around Merlin’s wrist. Arthur let go and shifted his weight. He was determinedly not looking at Will, but it was hard to miss the flash of concern and then anger across his face.
“Here’s the bloody tack,” Will half growled. “Why don’t you go rest, Merlin?”
“I’m going to coach Arthur through the first ride.”
“I can do that, mate.”
To Will’s credit, he actually did look concerned. It didn’t change the fact that Arthur felt like he’d just be challenged to the sort of bizarre pissing contest you didn’t get warned about, which was a horrible way to feel, because it’d been him who had pushed Merlin away in the first place. He rubbed the back of his neck and sighed, “While I’m sure your talents are--” he eyed Will for a moment, “--Unique, I would prefer working with Merlin. I have a limited amount of time to get used to the horse.”
“Fine. Suit yourself. Make sure you eat something, Merlin. You look a bit pale.” With those parting words, Will did an about face, turning and heading back into the barn. It was late enough in the day that the grounds were relatively quiet. There were only a few people around, and most of them seemed to be grooms or aids rather than the guest riders or judges.
As Will’s back disappeared into the barn, Excalibur gave a loud snort. Arthur chuckled and patted the horse’s neck, “My thoughts exactly,” he said quietly. Excalibur’s eyes fixed on him, and Arthur felt, inexplicably, like the horse was smiling.
“Right,” Merlin said, a slight frown on his face. “Let’s get him tacked up.”
Between the two of them, tacking up Excalibur went by without a hitch. It helped, of course, that Excalibur had the kind of ground manners some riders paid extravagantly for. “Are you sure he was free?” Arthur asked. “She didn’t introduce herself as Mephistopheles, did she?”
Merlin smiled. “No,” he said. “I’ve known Freya for a long time. She’s had her fair share of demons, but she does great work with horses.”
Arthur definitely agreed with that. He glanced at Merlin for a second before looking back at the horse.
“It’s all right to be nervous,” Merlin said when Arthur hesitated. “But I think this horse was made for you.”
Arthur took a shaky breath, but he nodded. He’d been riding Gwaine for too long now. Gwaine wasn’t his horse. It was silly to get attached. Still, Excalibur was slimmer than Arthur was used to, more obviously lithe and well bred. Arthur could feel it in the simple way Excalibur moved to take his first step. He could feel it in the steady pace of their warm-up, and he could feel it in the easy canter the horse picked up. When Merlin, standing--as ever--in the center of the ring finally nodded, Arthur headed for the first jump.
It reminded him, strangely enough, of the first time he’d ever jumped on his own. In those days, he’d ridden his mother’s horse, and it was his father standing imposingly in the center of the ring. Arthur remembered the way that it had felt, curled over the saddle in a protective crouch, his position horrible, but so intent, so ready to do what he’d seen his parents and all their students do.
He counted.
One, two, three, four--
--Breathe.
Fly.
>>>
Art link: On LJ
Rating: R
Word Count: ~41,000
It was a special sort of pleasure, even though they weren’t really speaking, for Arthur to watch Merlin work. He’d woken up with a headache from dinner the night before. He attributed it to the champagne he’d had, but even so, he couldn’t help but place part of the blame on Mordred--the enigmatic child who had lauded Merlin’s accomplishments, and stared at their table, for most of the night.
Even if they weren’t really speaking, Arthur had spent a fair portion of the night stepping between Mordred and Merlin each time the youth approached. Every time Mordred had spoken to him, Merlin had turned a little paler. By the end of the night, Arthur was properly buzzed, but Merlin was--off kilter. They’d walked back to the trailer together, and although Merlin had said, in a half-pissed sort of way that he’d wanted to make sure Arthur got home without falling down and breaking something--it seemed to Arthur that it was Merlin who needed the majority of the support. They’d spent the night in the horse trailer, rather than the hotel. It had been a shorter walk, and both of them had wanted the familiarity of the surroundings.
Now, however, it was morning. Merlin had been gone when Arthur had woken up, and so Arthur had headed into the barn. He’d tacked Gwaine up, intending to go for a relaxing ride to calm his nerves, and instead had found himself heading in the direction of Merlin’s voice. Loud and purposeful, even when Arthur wasn’t the one being instructed, it still drew him in. He was hoping to talk with Merlin. They’d seemed to have forged something of a truce the evening before, and he missed Merlin’s company.
What occurred between dusk and dawn, however, seemed to have been forgotten in the weak morning light that strained through a thin cloud cover. The evening chill hadn’t quite worn off yet, and Arthur rubbed his arms, wishing he’d grabbed a jumper.
Merlin was sitting on the fence around a ring that the organizers had deemed appropriate for practicing. There was no one around yet, just Merlin and the poor girl he’d dragged out of bed before breakfast.
“Good, Sally, that’s good. Use your eyes--don’t rely so heavily on your hands. This is about communication. Try the purple crossrail again, and this time I want to hear you counting paces. Ready? Start now--one...”
Merlin’s voice carried out over the area, and Arthur let it wash over them. He straightened up himself, shifting his weight in the saddle. Gwaine was complacent as they meandered over. Occasionally, the big palomino darted for a mouthful of grass, but it seemed to be intended to give Arthur a hard time, rather than for an actual snack. Arthur clucked his tongue absentmindedly, and Gwaine picked up his pace.
“Morning,” he called to Merlin. “Grab the gate for me?” He watched with a critical eye as Merlin slid gingerly down off the fence. His limp was more pronounced again, and as Sally counted off her paces on the jump course, Arthur counted Merlin’s. He’d gotten used to the rhythm over the last two months, but it was still strange to see when it was so obvious. “How are you feeling?” Arthur continued once Merlin had the gate opened. He rode past him, reaching a hand out to slide his fingers absentmindedly through Merlin’s hair.
Merlin jumped, and Gwaine skittered back a few steps, surprised by the sudden motion. Arthur laughed at the red flush that spread over Merlin’s face. “Isn’t ‘no sudden movements’ the first thing they taught you? Remember your lessons, Mr. Emrys!”
Merlin’s smile wasn’t exactly cold, but it didn’t reach his eyes, and he didn’t say anything to Arthur. Instead, he turned back to Sally. “Did you think I wouldn’t see you nick that pole?” he asked. “I heard it. Take the rail again.”
“Merlin,” Sally said, “I’m hungry. We’ve done this course a bajillion times, and I need to change my leg brace. Can’t it wait?”
“Sally, we’ve only two days before the show--” Merlin said.
“Of course, Sally,” Arthur answered over him. “You’ve done really well today. Why don’t you take him through a cool down and then head back up for breakfast?”
Arthur glared when Merlin opened his mouth to protest, and was gratified when Merlin shut it again. When Sally’d left the ring and was well enough out of hearing, Arthur dismounted and rounded on Merlin. “What was that about? She’s just a kid! This is supposed to be fun for her.”
“She was sloppy.”
“She was hungry.”
Merlin didn’t answer him, and Arthur sighed. “Come on, Merlin,” he said. “Can we talk?”
Merlin didn’t look at him. He fixed his eyes resolutely on the ground.
“Fine,” Arthur sighed. “Why don’t you ride? You haven’t since we got here. You must be going mad.”
Merlin shook his head, “I can’t ride here it’s--”
“Don’t be daft. Come on.” Arthur swung down off of Gwaine and walked over to Merlin. He grabbed Merlin’s hand and tugged him around to Gwaine’s side. When Merlin was finally between Arthur and Gwaine, he turned and faced his back to Arthur. For a second, Arthur thought he was going to be a child about it. Instead, Merlin lay his palm flat against Gwaine’s neck and sighed so hard that Arthur could see it in the rise and fall of his shoulders. “Come on,” Arthur said again, letting his hands fall to Merlin’s waist. “Do you need a hand getting up?”
Again, Merlin didn’t say anything out loud. He held still, strung up and taut, like he was ready to run. Arthur wasn’t sure he understood where Merlin’s anxiety was coming from. He squeezed Merlin’s waist and leaned forward, brushing his lips against the nape of Merlin’s neck. “I’m sorry,” he said, so quietly that he wasn’t sure he’d spoken at all.
Merlin sagged back against Arthur, but Arthur caught him and held the weight. “What’s wrong?” he said, trying to keep his voice as calm as possible. In the past few months of knowing Merlin, Arthur had seen him go through an impressive array of highs and lows, but there was something different about the way Merlin reacted to his own body after the fall. Something that gave Arthur pause.
“I can’t help you if you don’t talk to me,” Arthur said. Still no answer. “Come on. Get on the horse.” With some difficulty, Arthur managed to nudge enough space between himself and Merlin so that he could move. “Leg up,” Arthur insisted.
Finally, after what felt like hours, Merlin nodded his head. Arthur helped Merlin lift himself up, and when Merlin was finally settled in the saddle, he glanced down at Arthur, half a smile curling the corners of his mouth. “I’m sorry too,” he said, laughing. “You didn’t have to be such a--” he paused, apparently trying to find a word that would encompass Arthur. Arthur waited patiently.
“Use your words,” he suggested, laughing.
“Clotpole,” Merlin said with enough vehemence that Arthur almost choked on his tongue laughing.
“Are you always so eloquent? No wait, don’t tell me. I know the answer. Come on, oh great champion. Why don’t you show me what you can do?”
It apparently wasn’t going to take much convincing to get Merlin to ride. He nudged Gwaine forward into a smooth trot. Arthur was a good rider, he knew that. He was a champion of sorts, he knew that too. He was not, however, Merlin Emrys. He wondered if anyone would ever be, again.
Watching Merlin ride was like nothing else Arthur had ever done. There was something spectacular about it. Even on a horse that wasn’t Fish, Merlin was formidable. He moved like he could read Gwaine’s mind, anticipating and correcting each potential misstep before any mistakes could be made.
Merlin took the final jump in the practice course he’d set up for Sally, and Arthur felt himself relax. It was good to see Merlin relaxing too.
Behind him, someone began to clap.
“I cannot say how much of an honor it is to see you ride,” called out a childish voice. It sounded innocent in tone, but something about it made Arthur shift away. He glanced over his shoulder, and wasn’t surprised to see that the voice belonged to Mordred. “I thought you didn’t ride anymore,” the child continued, something like anger flashing over his face. “I was told you don’t ride.”
Merlin had drawn Gwaine to a halt, and had dismounted almost in sync with Mordred’s first words. Arthur watched carefully. He was paying enough attention to notice the way Merlin shifted his weight. His smooth, nearly imperceptible motions that meant something was wrong. It was the same cautious response he’d had to anything unfamiliar since he’d fallen. Arthur bristled.
“He rides,” Arthur called out to Mordred, standing up and stretching. He tried to make it look casual, the way he walked over to Merlin and planted himself half in front of him. Behind him, he felt Merlin shift from foot to foot. Arthur’s eyes narrowed. “Is there something that you needed, Mordred?”
The full weight of Mordred’s gaze landed on him, and to Arthur, it seemed that he looked almost hungry.
“It’s been too long,” Mordred said, his voice thick, “Since I’ve seen either of you. So many years--” he trailed off and looked away. “We keep coming back to fight.”
“Mordred,” Merlin said, slowly and carefully, “We haven’t met before.”
That made Mordred laugh. Gleeful, childish giggles that made Merlin flinch. Arthur took a step closer to him.
“Haven’t we, though?” Mordred said, his voice full of amusement. “You two have always been so slow.” Mordred looked around. “Empty,” he said quietly. “Just the three of us. I could end it here and now. I could go back to sleep--but then, it doesn’t seem to matter how many times I tuck the two of you back into bed. It doesn’t matter how many times I win!” he shouted the last word. “Every time, the fates intervene. Why don’t I get to keep my victories?”
Mordred’s gaze fell on Arthur, gold and cruel. Arthur had to fight the urge to take a step back.
“But this is all wrong,” Mordred snapped, looking around wildly. “The sword isn’t here--it can’t be now. I have to wait.” Mordred looked back at Merlin, and moved his fingers in slow circles. “Not yet,” Mordred said, “but I could limit your options.”
The child didn’t seem to be talking to anyone anymore, but his eyes flashed that same sick gold, so different than the gold Arthur sometimes imagined in Merlin’s gaze. After several suspended moments, Mordred turned to walk away.
“What a creepy child,” Arthur said.
Beside him, Merlin leaned over and threw up.
“I didn’t get sick on you, did I?” Merlin asked a few moments later as he lifted himself up and wiped his mouth. Arthur was surprised to realize that he had a hand on Merlin’s back. He didn’t remember putting it there. He frowned.
“No,” he said. “Are you-“
“Not really,” Merlin answered before Arthur finished his questions. “It’s something about him, Mordred. There’s something off there. I just-I don’t know what it is.”
“Maybe it’s the fact that he’s mad?” Arthur suggested. “The things he was saying, no one who’s right in the head would say that.”
Merlin closed his eyes and leaned back against Gwaine. “Maybe,” he said softly, “Stranger things have happened, yeah?”
Arthur rolled his eyes, “Of course Merlin. Maybe next the horses will start talking.”
A strange look colored Merlin’s face, but he didn’t say anything, and Arthur ignored it.
~~~
~~~~~~~~~
“I’m sorry,” Arthur said, staring at the woman in front of him. “What exactly are you saying?”
The vet straightened up and pushed long blonde hair out of her face. “I’m sorry,” she said, although she didn’t much look it. “You won’t be able to ride him in the show. You wouldn’t want to risk his leg like that.”
Arthur shook his head slowly, his eyes wide. “I can’t ride him?”
“Would you like me to repeat myself, Mr. Pendragon?”
Arthur gaped at her, “Do you know who I am?”
“There’s no need for that, Arthur,” Gaius said, stepping forward for the first time and placing his hand on Arthur’s shoulder. “And as she has just said your last name, I think it’s a fair assuption that Doctor Morgause knows exactly who you are--and,” Gaius held a hand up to stop Arthur from interrupting, “And that she had done everything in her power for Gwaine. I’m sure someone here has a horse you could borrow for the event.”
Arthur was pale. “I can’t just ride any horse,” he said, “It has to be Gwaine. I’ve practiced on Gwaine. I’m familiar with Gwaine.”
“Perhaps you could ride The Fisher King,” Morgause suggested, tucking a hoof-pick back into her bag. “I would be happy to check him over myself and verify his ability to compete.”
“Oh well how kind of you,” Arthur sneered. “How thoughtful.”
“Arthur! It’s hardly Morgause’s fault that Gwaine isn’t up to the event.”
Arthur didn’t care if he was being rude. There was something so unbelievable about the prospect of competing without Gwaine. Fish-well, that was marginally better, but it wasn’t the horse that Arthur had practiced on. He’d spent time with Gwaine, he’d learned on Gwaine. Riding after the accident wasn’t anything like riding before. He’d been a good rider before, he felt, much to his surprise, like he might have a chance now of being a great rider. At least, he had. Now there was no Gwaine to ride, and Arthur felt a little terrified.
Merlin was late, and chose that moment to come in. He was a quiet mover, something that had always struck Arthur as a little bit out of place. Merlin had the look of someone who blustered about in a good way, who filled a room just by being there. Merlin, as Arthur had come to know him, was muted, it was like someone had turned the dial down. Except, of course, when he was riding. But that day, Merlin was late, and he swung into the room on his uneven gate with his uneasy grace. He looked at Arthur and then at Morgause, and nobody had to tell him the news. He seemed to understand.
“You could ride Fish,” Merlin offered, leaning back against the wall and looking over at Arthur. There was something about the way he said it that made Arthur’s stomach twist. From Morgause, the words had been a challenge. When Merlin said them, though, he was offering his horse. It was hardly like borrowing a pen. Arthur swallowed, and found himself unable to meet Merlin’s gaze. “Ok,” Merlin said quietly. “That’s fine. You don’t have to-“ he broke off, and Arthur looked up in time to see a strange expression flit across his face. “Gaius? Who did we bring for a backup ride?”
“Aside from Fish?” Gaius asked, “We brought the new horse. You said something about selling him.”
“I think Arthur should ride him,” Merlin said, looking up at Arthur now, “I think that’s the best plan we’ve got.”
“You want me to ride a new horse? For the show in thirty-six hours?”
Merlin looked up at him and smiled-and like so many of Merlin’s smiles, it was only half there. Arthur could see the suggestion of the blinding smile that Merlin sometimes had, just a little, faintly, in the corners of Merlin’s mouth. That smile lived on, just as Merlin did. Arthur couldn’t help but wonder why it was so hard to find. “Don’t you think you can?” Merlin asked-a question, not a challenge.
Arthur bit his lip. “I can,” he decided finally. “Who is this horse, exactly? This new horse.”
The smile on Merlin’s face brightened just a little bit more, and there was something so alive in the way he straightened up and winked at Arthur. “He’s gorgeous,” Merlin announced, “This amazing grey-he’s one of the best looking horses I’ve ever seen.”
“What’s his name, Merlin?”
“Oh,” Merlin said, stretching, “It’s Excalibur.”
In the silence that followed, Arthur could hear the dust landing softly on the floor. “You’re joking.”
“Nope.” Merlin looked awfully pleased with himself. “Let’s go meet him.”
“Merlin Emrys, you’re going to be the death of me.”
“Something like that.”
~~~
When Merlin finally came out of the barn, leading Excalibur by his lead rope, Will gave a low whistle. Arthur shot him a dirty look, but he was impressed himself. “That,” Will said, apparently nonplussed by Arthur’s glare, “Is one fine horse.”
Merlin glanced at the horse, and to Arthur’s amusement, Excalibur glanced right back. Fine, as Will had used it, was an inadequate adjective. Beautiful, well-bred, incredible-the words that Arthur had used for impressive horses all his life seemed to fail them. Impressive just barely brushed the surface. Excalibur, for all that his name made Arthur bristle and Will laugh, was the most amazing animal that Arthur had ever laid eyes on-and he’d seen some impressive animals in his life. Even Arcturus hadn’t quite been like Excalibur.
“Here,” Merlin said, holding out the lead for Arthur to grab.
Arthur took it, and the horse leaned over and pressed his nose against Arthur’s shoulder. “Well,” Arthur said, surprised at such an instantaneous act of affection. Even Merlin, who Arthur had yet to see have a horse actively dislike him, had gotten something like bored indifference from Excalibur. With Arthur holding him, though, the horse seemed nearly docile. “Where’d you get him? I’d have noticed a horse like this at Camelot.”
Merlin rolled his eyes, “We have quite a few very decent horses at Camelot, thanks,” he said. “But my friend Freya gave him to me.”
“She gave him to you?”
“Mmm,” Merlin answered, in a way that suggested to Arthur that he wasn’t quite sold on the whole thing, “She actually had you in mind to be his rider.”
That gave Arthur pause. “Do I know her?”
“I don’t know. She seems to know you,” Merlin paused. “Will, go grab Excalibur’s tack.”
Arthur frowned, “I didn’t think of that,” he said, “What if the tack and I don’t get along?”
Merlin had that same strange expression on his face that Arthur kept seeing there, but like all the other times, it was only a flash. It was the bare suggestion of a look that hinted a knowledge--which was, frankly, preposterous.
“I think the tack will be perfect for you, Arthur.”
“And if it doesn’t?”
“Stop being such a prat,” Merlin said, “You get to ride and you get to ride an amazing horse.”
“If the tack fits.”
“It’s going to fit, Arthur!”
“There’s no need for shouting, Merlin. Where is the tack?”
“Do I look like a groom to you, your royal highness? Get the tack yourself,” Will called from where he had apparently dropped himself down onto the grass. He was lying spread out on his back with his hands behind his head, an inch or two of skin peeking out under the hem of his jumper. It wasn’t something that Arthur would ordinarily have noticed, if it weren’t for the way Merlin looked at Will. It was hardly a look full of wanton desire, or anything like that, but it was a look so full of affection that it made Arthur feel like he was looking at something private.
“Will,” Merlin scolded, that same affection as evident in his voice as it was on his face. “Please go and get Arthur’s tack.”
Will heaved a dramatic sigh, but he also rolled to his feet. Arthur followed Will with his eyes until he had disappeared into the barn, and it was just Arthur, Merlin, and the most beautiful horse that Arthur had ever seen. “How are you?” Arthur asked, glancing at Merlin. “You were pretty ill after Mordred left.”
Merlin scuffed the toe of his boot on the ground, and Arthur noted that the laces were half undone. “I’m fine, thanks,” Merlin said. “He’s just a creepy kid.”
“You’ll hurt yourself, like that,” Arthur answered.
Merlin looked confused, “Because I think Mordred is creepy?”
“What? No. I mean your laces--they’re untied.”
“Thanks mum,” Merlin said, rolling his eyes. Arthur grimaced. Even with the awkward situation over the kiss they Were Not Speaking Of, he couldn’t think of very many things he’d like less to be compared to than Merlin’s mum.
“Merlin,” he started, reaching out and brushing his fingers over Merlin’s wrist. Merlin looked up, clearly startled, and Arthur cleared his throat. “I just wanted to say--”
“Oi! Your majesty, want to give me a hand here?” Will yelled as he walked toward them.
Arthur pinched the bridge of his nose, “William,” he started, but when he glanced up, Will didn’t look upset that he was carrying the tack, he was still looking at Arthur’s hand, where his fingers were just barely curled around Merlin’s wrist. Arthur let go and shifted his weight. He was determinedly not looking at Will, but it was hard to miss the flash of concern and then anger across his face.
“Here’s the bloody tack,” Will half growled. “Why don’t you go rest, Merlin?”
“I’m going to coach Arthur through the first ride.”
“I can do that, mate.”
To Will’s credit, he actually did look concerned. It didn’t change the fact that Arthur felt like he’d just be challenged to the sort of bizarre pissing contest you didn’t get warned about, which was a horrible way to feel, because it’d been him who had pushed Merlin away in the first place. He rubbed the back of his neck and sighed, “While I’m sure your talents are--” he eyed Will for a moment, “--Unique, I would prefer working with Merlin. I have a limited amount of time to get used to the horse.”
“Fine. Suit yourself. Make sure you eat something, Merlin. You look a bit pale.” With those parting words, Will did an about face, turning and heading back into the barn. It was late enough in the day that the grounds were relatively quiet. There were only a few people around, and most of them seemed to be grooms or aids rather than the guest riders or judges.
As Will’s back disappeared into the barn, Excalibur gave a loud snort. Arthur chuckled and patted the horse’s neck, “My thoughts exactly,” he said quietly. Excalibur’s eyes fixed on him, and Arthur felt, inexplicably, like the horse was smiling.
“Right,” Merlin said, a slight frown on his face. “Let’s get him tacked up.”
Between the two of them, tacking up Excalibur went by without a hitch. It helped, of course, that Excalibur had the kind of ground manners some riders paid extravagantly for. “Are you sure he was free?” Arthur asked. “She didn’t introduce herself as Mephistopheles, did she?”
Merlin smiled. “No,” he said. “I’ve known Freya for a long time. She’s had her fair share of demons, but she does great work with horses.”
Arthur definitely agreed with that. He glanced at Merlin for a second before looking back at the horse.
“It’s all right to be nervous,” Merlin said when Arthur hesitated. “But I think this horse was made for you.”
Arthur took a shaky breath, but he nodded. He’d been riding Gwaine for too long now. Gwaine wasn’t his horse. It was silly to get attached. Still, Excalibur was slimmer than Arthur was used to, more obviously lithe and well bred. Arthur could feel it in the simple way Excalibur moved to take his first step. He could feel it in the steady pace of their warm-up, and he could feel it in the easy canter the horse picked up. When Merlin, standing--as ever--in the center of the ring finally nodded, Arthur headed for the first jump.
It reminded him, strangely enough, of the first time he’d ever jumped on his own. In those days, he’d ridden his mother’s horse, and it was his father standing imposingly in the center of the ring. Arthur remembered the way that it had felt, curled over the saddle in a protective crouch, his position horrible, but so intent, so ready to do what he’d seen his parents and all their students do.
He counted.
One, two, three, four--
--Breathe.
Fly.
>>>