Ubi Sunt (Part IV)
Title: Ubi Sunt
Art link: On LJ
Rating: R
Word Count: ~41,000
His hands were shaking, and that was more embarrassing than Arthur cared to admit. He’d just thrown the equivalent of a temper tantrum: storming off into the trees with biting words that he’d fully intended to claw at Merlin’s scars. Because that was the thing, wasn’t it? Merlin’s scars. They bothered Arthur, because they were so obvious, and they’d healed. Arthur and his scars, though. They just sat and waited, brooding and broken, lonely and empty--
But no, that wasn’t quite right either. Arthur sighed and dropped his forehead against Gwaine’s stall. Merlin’s scars were visible, sure, but they weren’t healed--not really. And maybe that was the thing, then, that Merlin’s scars were different. Arthur had always prided himself on his control of his body, the comfort of his physique. The way he could move, control, and exist as something more than the average person. Arthur knew his body, Arthur could control his body, and maybe, he realized, maybe Merlin’s wounds seemed healed because if they were Arthur’s--if it were Arthur’s broken body, and not his broken mind--maybe he would be able to overcome that.
The thought that came next was bitter and vindictive. It was petty, but Arthur wondered if Merlin was maybe just a little too weak. He thought of the slump to Merlin’s shoulders, the awkward swing to his walk to compensate for injuries buried under his skin, and he thought that Arthur Pendragon would be better than that. If it was just physical, if it was just his back, then maybe.
Arthur slumped his shoulders and felt the wood grain dig against his forehead. There would be marks, an imprint that would prove he had been here, in this stall, for at least a few moments. Arthur sighed and closed his eyes against the sunlight that made the hay tangled in his boots glow like spun gold.
Blue sky, a crash--Arthur startled automatically, opening his eyes against remembering his accident. He felt different than he did after the nightmares. His heart was beating fast, and there was sweat on his palms, but it was exhilarating, and there wasn’t an overwhelming sense of guilt. Behind him, Gwaine shifted innocuously from foot to foot, and Arthur heard the lithe palomino huff out a breath. He closed his eyes again.
Blue sky, a crash--the clang of steel on steel. Blue sk--eyes, blue eyes, and smile that made them crinkle at the edges. The blur of a laugh, and hay like spun gold. Blue eyes--blue sky, lying on his back and blinking up against the sunlight, lying in hay like spun gold, a thigh just barely touching his--then sitting up, a warm breath ghosting against the back of his neck--
“Oh my god,” Arthur yelped, his eyes shooting open as he stumbled forward. “Did you just drool on my neck you monster?” he spun around and eyed Gwaine. The horse bobbed his head slowly, and Arthur grimaced. “You did, didn’t you?” He lifted a hand and wiped the slobber off the back of his neck, and with it wiped away day dreams of something that felt so much lighter than the life he lived now. “Did I give you a proper cool down?” Arthur asked the horse, pressing a hand to Gwaine’s chest to check for heat and sweat. “Maybe just another lap or two around the barn.”
Gwaine bobbed his head again, and it looked enough like a nod that Arthur grabbed a halter and a lead rope and guided the horse back out into the sunlight.
Merlin was nowhere to be seen, thankfully, and Arthur let Gwaine meander, the horse nosing at the grass and Arthur occasionally stopping to stare out over Camelot. It was expansive and glowing, caught in a rare moment of sunshine that seemed to brush over the entire world. There hadn’t been sun like this in too long, brilliant and bright. Almost ancient. Arthur sighed and leaned against Gwaine as they crested one of the smaller hills. It was just big enough to allow him to see the rest of the property.
The barn, farther behind him than he’d thought it would be, looked almost small against a backdrop of trees and grass, and endless tangles of white fences. He squinted, and could just barely make out Morgana sunning herself on a bench. She was stretched out, long and languid, her legs too long and hanging over the edge. She looked like a star, but most of all, she looked at home. Arthur shut his eyes and tried to remember what being at home felt like, because no matter how welcoming the smell of leather and hay was, no matter how familiar the shift of Gwaine’s weight as he tried to nudge Arthur toward a nicer patch of grass, there was something that kept Arthur apart from all of this. You don’t belong, the world seemed to be telling him, and it was true. Arthur didn’t see the point of feeling at home in a world that was empty of his horse.
He opened his eyes again, stumbling as Gwaine stomped his foot impatiently, the jolt of movement throwing Arthur off balance. That was when he saw Merlin, his steps slower than expected, and Fish keeping pace beside him. They were the picture of a matched set: horse and rider. Merlin’s limp was more pronounced from a distance. Arthur could see the jolted rhythm. It was in the way Merlin moved his hips, there was something wrong about it. Arthur gritted his teeth and turned his gaze back to Gwaine.
Here, on top of the hill with Camelot spread below him like a kingdom, Arthur wondered what it would take to get back home. Gwaine tugged on the lead, knocking Arthur out of his thoughts. Arthur swallowed around a lump in his throat and took one step forward, then another. Slowly, as slowly as Merlin, Arthur and Gwaine headed back into the barn.
It was empty when they got there, of Merlin or Gwen or Morgana, the silence was peaceful, calming. And yet, as Arthur settled Gwaine back into his stall, he swore he heard laughter. When he looked around him though, he saw only an old horse hanging its head over the stall door, watching him.
“Insanity was always going to come,” Arthur said, glancing at the name tag under the old horse’s saddle rack as he walked past, “Don’t you agree, Kilgharrah?”
# # #
The next day found Arthur leaning against the door to Gwaine’s stall, stretching and looking out over the general cloudiness of the day. The wood grain was rough beneath his palms, digging in and hurting just enough to remind him that it was there. He smiled; his appreciation for sensory detail had been coming back over the past few days. Since the accident, so much of what he was feeling had been depressing. The crushing weight of guilt had drowned out even the most familiar sensations: the coolness of his sheets, the way the sun feels--anything that was even a little less important than accidentaccidentaccident became peripheral, and then it became nothing at all. But since he’d been coming to Camelot, he’d slowly become more and more aware of the smaller details in life, like Gwaine, right then, chewing on his sleeve.
“You’re a monster,” he said, not for the first time. Gwaine snorted and bobbed his head, and Arthur had never met a horse who could smirk before he’d met Gwaine. “I don’t have any carrots,” Arthur said, but Gwaine leaned over the stall door anyway and nosed at Arthur’s pocket. Arthur shut his eyes and tangled his fingers in Gwaine’s mane.
“I have an apple.”
Arthur turned and saw Merlin. He looked tired, bone-deep tired. The kind of tired that Arthur remembered feeling from the days before he’d started walking again. For an instant, Arthur thought about reaching forward and catching Merlin’s arm. He wanted to lead him to a bench somewhere and have him sit down until some color returned to his cheeks. Instead, he reached out and took the apple Merlin held out in his palm. “Thank you,” he said.
Merlin just nodded and kept walking. He disappeared around the corner, most likely on his way to visit Fish. Arthur watched him go. He’d gotten into the habit of looking at Merlin’s steps, and today Merlin seemed more off balance than ever. Arthur looked back at Gwaine and offered the horse the apple. Gwaine’s lips moved over his palm, and Arthur leaned back against the stall, staring at the horse.
“Why am I even here?” he asked. He didn’t expect an answer, but Gwaine swished his tail and butted his head warmly against Arthur’s chest, which sort of felt like an answer anyway. “Ok,” he said after a second. “Lets go for another walk.”
The day was dark and damp, but it felt good. It was the kind of day you could curl up inside, and Gwaine was warm and alive under the hand Arthur placed on his neck. He’d been planning to head straight out into the trails surrounding Camelot, but he turned, moving down another aisle instead. He ended up in front of Fish’s stall, but he had to peer over the door to find Merlin.
He was, for some strange reason, sitting in the bedding of the stall with his legs tucked up against his chest. The Fisher King was looking less like a champion and more like an old guard dog. The effect was somewhat spoiled by the fact that the big black horse was eating hay, and consequently dropping pieces into Merlin’s dark hair.
“Come on a walk with us,” Arthur said.
Merlin’s eyes flicked up. “Was that a command, my lord?” he asked, with just a little more bite in the words than Arthur had expected. He must have seen something on Arthur’s face, because he slowly got to his feet. Arthur pretended not to notice the way he steadied himself on Fish’s shoulder. “Sorry,” Merlin added, “I’m sore today. It makes me grumpy--or that’s what Gwen says, anyway.”
It took Merlin longer than it probably should have to open the stall door and step out into the aisle. He was still pale. Arthur forced a smile, “Why don’t you ride him?” he asked, motioning to Gwaine. “He doesn’t look like he’s boney. He’d probably be comfortable bareback.” To punctuate his point, Arthur ran his hand over the horse’s back. Gwaine probably would be very comfortable, Arthur thought. He really was an attractive horse.
“Do I look that awful?” Merlin asked, glancing over at Arthur through his hair.
“If I said yes, would that make you cry?” Arthur raised an eyebrow at him, and was rewarded with a smile. Merlin’s smile was strange--it was a contradiction. At first, it was unbelievably goofy, the kind of smile that made Arthur want to smile back, but at the same time it was beautiful. It was bright, like nothing else Arthur had seen before--except, he had seen a smile like that before. He was sure of it. Arthur blinked and shook his head, but he couldn’t shake the familiarity of Merlin. There was no other reason for the way he reacted to Merlin--Arthur hadn’t been this close with anyone in years. Except maybe Elena, but she’d been part of his life for too long for him to call her a friend. She was more of a constant, and Arthur’s life lacked for those, certainly. But Merlin was familiar, and Merlin came easily to Arthur, and that was--well, it was exhilarating actually, if a little frightening.
“Arthur?” Merlin said, and Arthur blinked.
“Sorry. I was just thinking.”
“Yes,” Merlin smirked at him. “That much was obvious.”
There wasn’t any more color to Merlin’s complexion, not really, but the movement seemed to make him sound--better, Arthur supposed. Maybe sitting around until some color came back to his cheeks wasn’t what was good for him. Arthur rolled his eyes, “Come on Merlin,” he half sneered, tugging both horse and Merlin out of the barn and into the dubious “light” of the grey morning.
It was the silence that Arthur had missed the most. There was no silence in the world like the one he found around horses. Even the crunch of Merlin’s footsteps next to him as they walked out past the barn and into the fields beyond couldn’t really disrupt the sense of calm--it was soothing, actually, to hear the steady swish-swing of Merlin’s gait. Strange, at first, because the rhythm was off, but soothing all the same. Arthur debated the pros and cons of closing his eyes and letting the horse lead him, but he thought about Gwaine, and what he knew about the handsome palomino, and after a moment, he decided it would be better to leave his eyes open.
“I don’t blame you,” Merlin said finally, “For not wanting to ride. I dunno if you thought I sounded like I was blaming you, but I don’t. Not really. I just know what it feels like to feel like you shouldn’t get to ride. I just wanted you to know that.”
“Had you really not told that to anyone?”
“Yeah,” Merlin said, running a hand through his hair. It was a mess. “I mean, I tried. Not very hard, but. Sometimes it’s just like--you just want someone to get where you’re coming from.”
“But I can’t expect you to get where I’m coming from,” Arthur said. “I see your horse every day--”
“Arthur, you haven’t even been to Arcturus’s grave,” Merlin said quietly. “Prove that you want to get better. That’s what Gwen told me to do--she told me to prove it. Can you prove it? Are you brave enough?”
Merlin was alive. Arthur didn’t know why that surprised him so much.
“Hold him,” he said out loud.
He moved like he had cement blocks for feet, and the pounding in his ears drowned out whatever it was that Merlin said. Arthur saw his lips move, but that was a blur too. He moved like he had cement blocks for feet, half expecting every step to send him plummeting into the earth. Instead, his steps took him closer and closer to Gwaine and Merlin, until he was looking at them both. His hands weren’t shaking, but he thought they should be.
The movement was as fluid as it was familiar. Arthur stepped onto a stump he didn’t remember being there before, and he swung his leg over Gwaine’s back. As slowly as it had happened, it was over.
Arthur was sitting on the back of a horse.
For a moment he thought he might do something horrible, like faint or throw up. Instead, his hands and traitorous body, still moving of its own accord, shifted. He’d been right, earlier.Gwaine was comfortable. His fingers curled in the strands of Gwaine’s mane, and Arthur took the lead rope that Merlin offered him. He shifted his weight, and then Gwaine moved forward. Arthur felt suspended in time, and then he felt like it rushed to catch up with him. He was walking, then trotting, and cantering. The paths around Camelot were clear except for staged obstacles, and Arthur was cantering, he was riding, and then he was jumping over a fallen log, and Gwaine breathing hard, and someone was whooping and laughing.
It took Arthur a second to realize that he was the one laughing, that those sounds were coming out of his mouth. As quickly as the elation had come up, the dread pooled heavy in Arthur’s stomach. Panic. Pain. Bright blue. A horse screaming--
“Heels down, Arthur!” a voice jolted him out of his own head, and Arthur automatically sat up straighter. “Better, good. Eyes where you’re going, not on your hands!” the commands were sharp and accurate. Arthur’s body responded before his mind did, years of training kicking in. His eyes focused on the next obstacle, a small branch across the path. “Arthur! Are you planning on walking over that jump? I thought you were a champion rider?”
Arthur nudged Gwaine forward, guiding the horse with his legs and his seat and his eyes far more than with his hands. It was just a small thing, practically a ground pole. Arthur took it at Gwaine’s easy trot, breathing in time with the horse. “That’s the ticket,” the voice responded, dragged out and smooth. Arthur slowed Gwaine to a walk and then eased into a halt. He blinked in surprise when he realized that Merlin had been the one instructing him.
Of course it was Merlin. Who else would that voice have belonged to?
Still, the tone had thrown Arthur off. Even when Merlin had been frustrated with him, his voice had been soft. Quiet. Not shy, but almost empty. The voice of a broken thing. Arthur looked at Merlin now, and reminded himself that Merlin was not a broken thing. For all his appearances of being the walking dead, Merlin stood in the center of the clearing like the champion he used to be.
“I’m riding a horse,” Arthur said. “I’m riding a horse.”
“Easy,” Merlin answered, moving forward. “Arthur, hey.”
Arthur looked down at Merlin as Merlin placed a hand on Arthur’s knee. He was on a horse. Riding. On a horse. “I’m on a horse,” Arthur said, and this time his voice and hands were shaking.
It was the sort of thing he should have expected. The sort of thing he would have done if he were Merlin, but it still surprised him. Merlin moved with an easy grace, and one second he was on the ground, his fingers curled around Arthur’s knee like they were the only thing keeping Arthur from falling, and the next he was behind Arthur, and before Arthur knew it, they were moving forward again, Merlin’s knees tucked in behind Arthur’s, his chest sturdy against the sudden slump of Arthur’s back. “Sit up straight.” Arthur could feel Merlin’s breath on his ear, and something in his stomach tightened. “Eyes straight ahead.” This time, the words were whispered, but they were no less powerful. Arthur’s body responded to Merlin’s commands, even though Arthur felt numb and beaten. “Don’t lean on your hands, Arthur, come on, this is basic stuff.”
Something like ego make Arthur snap, “I know how to ride a horse, Merlin.”
The startled laugh behind him was worth the ache in Arthur’s legs. Or maybe it was the ache in Arthur’s legs that made the startled laugh behind him worth it. When they finally dismounted and began the walk back to Camelot, it was dark out, and Arthur had to suppress the urge to count the stars.
# # #
“You bought a horse for me?”
If he was shrieking, it was only a little, but Merlin wasn’t entirely sure he understood what was going on. Freya was sitting across from him, looking rather proud of herself, with her elbows on the table and her fingers curled around a mug of tea. “Well, not for you, exactly,” Freya said. “And I didn’t buy him, really. He’s my mum’s, or he was. Her mare’s foal.”
“So you stole your mother’s horse for me?”
“I told you! Not for you, just...for you. In the future. You’ll need him!”
“The last thing Camelot needs is a horse that you could have sold,” Merlin said, still incredulous.
“Merlin, it’s not for Camelot either.” Freya shifted, “I’ve been having strange dreams,” she admitted quietly. “Dreams of another life, it feels like. I’ve raised this horse, I grew up with this horse. You need this horse, but you have to make me a promise, Merlin.”
“Freya, I can’t take your horse.”
“It’s not my horse and it’s not your horse. Look, you’re going to think I’m crazy. But I’ve heard you’re working with Arthur Pendragon.”
“That’s not--”
“The whole world knows you’re working with Arthur Pendragon, don’t lie. Not to me. It doesn’t matter, anyway. That’s not the point.” She frowned and ran a hand through her hair, Merlin wondered if the whole world was going crazy. “Have you ever felt too big for your skin, Merlin?” she asked, her voice quiet. “Because I do. I have dreams, and it’s like I belong in a different era--a different world.”
“Freya--”
“Stop interrupting me, Merlin, and answer the question. Do you believe in magic?”
Merlin opened his mouth to answer, and then shut it again, quickly. Did he believe in magic? He hadn’t up until recently. Up until the midnight chats with an old green horse named Kilgharrah. Merlin sighed and looked at Freya, “Maybe I’m learning to,” he said, instead of a real answer. He knew exactly what she was talking about--he had dreams too, of a battlefield and a child with cold, dead eyes.
Freya was looking at him, her eyes dark and impossible to understand. She had always been like that, since the day he’d met her--although back then she’d been angrier. Freya had been Merlin’s first introduction to the world of therapeutic riding, long before he’d ever thought to consider it a career. She’d been tossed out of her house and living on the streets, and when she’d been adopted--they were both fifteen at the time--Merlin had started trying to get her into horses. It’d been a guidance counselor at school who’d suggested therapeutic riding.
Still, though, Merlin only talked to her once every few months. The fact that she’d been at the barn that morning, hunched over in the parking lot, waiting for him, had made him nervous. She looked frail. Years and years of inexplicable illnesses had always kept her pale and still, but that morning, she’d been sitting on a bench outside the barn. Her hands had been shoved deep into her pockets, and she’d curled around herself, hunched, like she was protecting something.
“Merlin,” she’d greeted him as he made his way over to her. “You don’t look well.” He’d laughed and said something about pots and kettles.
Now she was talking about magic, and Merlin wanted to tell her that he felt like a whole new part of him had opened up--like he had a new window in his mind, but it was still just a little too foggy to see through. Maybe that was magic, or maybe something else was. Merlin didn’t know, but he was starting to believe.
“You said you wanted me to promise you something,” Merlin reminded her, settling his own hands around his mug.
“A promise,” Freya said seriously, her eyes boring into his. “A real promise Merlin--this is a big deal, you can’t laugh at it. It’s going to sound mad.”
“Everything you say sounds mad.”
“Merlin. Please.”
“Fine. I promise not to laugh at your promise.”
She rolled her eyes at him, so Merlin allowed himself a smile. “Merlin,” she said, “The horse--his name is Excalibur.”
“That’s a lovely name.”
“His name is Excalibur,” Freya repeated, her voice forceful, “And only--Merlin, listen to me--only Arthur should ride this horse.”
Merlin dropped his mug. “I’m sorry?”
“It’s just a feeling--but, I think it’s important. Please, just think about it.”
After a few seconds, Merlin nodded. “So where is this horse?” he asked finally, “This stolen horse named Excalibur--Freya, are you having a laugh? Merlin, Arthur, Excalibur?”
“I’ve made him comfortable in the empty stall next to Kilgarah’s. Anyway. I should leave you to meet him,” she smiled. “Merlin, trust yourself, I know things feel out of sorts, but everything will make sense.”
“How do you know that?”
“It’s just a feeling.” She kissed Merlin’s cheek on her way out the door. Merlin was left alone in the tack room with two cooling mugs of tea and the unfortunate luck to be alone in the barn with the talking horse.
“Fantastic,” he sighed.
~~~
If he was nothing else at all, Excalibur was a beautiful horse. A holstein, by the looks of him, big and stately and an amazing silver grey. Merlin held a hand out, and the horse pushed against it, nickering a greeting. “Hey boy,” Merlin said softly, rubbing Excalibur’s muzzle. “Well you are a beauty, aren’t you?”
“They were bred in the 14th century and used as war horses.”
“Hello, Kilgharrah,” Merlin answered.
“Hello, young warlock,” a horse couldn’t smile, not really, but Merlin could hear a smile in Kilgarahh’s voice. “A new addition to our kingdom,” the horse added, tossing his head in the direction of Excalibur.
Merlin sighed and stepped away from the new horse, turning instead to face Kilgharrah, the big green horse who had started talking. He sighed and ran a hand through his hair, “I’m not going mad, am I?” he asked, pulling a carrot out of his pocket and holding it out on a flat palm. Kilgharrah reached out and--”Ow!” Merlin yelped, “You bit me!”
Kilgharrah snorted, “I am old,” he answered loftily, “I am not as coordinated as I once was.”
Merlin rolled his eyes. “Fine,” he answered. “So, giant talking horse--”
“I believe the children call me the great dragon.”
“Yes, right. Great Dragon--of course. So, Great Dragon, what do you know about this horse?”
“The warning that Freya gave you was true, Merlin,” Kilgharrah answered. “This horse is destined for greatness alongside Arthur. You must not let anyone else ride him--it will have disastrous consequences for us all.”
“I appreciate your--uh--wisdom, but this is hardly life or death. We’re horse riders--messed up horse riders, and you’re a talking horse. You can’t possibly expect me to be taking this all seriously.”
“I suppose not, young warlock,” Kilgharrah said. “But haven’t you ever felt too big for your skin?”
Freya had said the same thing. Merlin flinched and shrugged. He turned to walk away.
“Merlin,” Kilgharrah said, his voice heavy with warning, “Can you think of any reason that your limp should be getting so much worse?”
Merlin stopped suddenly, his back to the horse. “What?”
“I can think of a reason. You will meet him soon, Merlin, and everything will be put to the test. I can only hope that you will be ready. There’s magic in the world, young warlock, and it is waking up. He has been awake for much longer than the magic, much longer than you. It is his gift--and also his curse. He will never forget; in all his incarnations, he has never forgotten. Be prepared, Merlin. This is much older than the sport you compete in.”
~~~
“It’s only been a week, Merlin,” Arthur said, stretching and scratching his stomach. It was earlier than he’d gotten up in a long time, and he stifled a yawn. Apparently, covering your ears and yelling I can’t hear you for several months had ruined his morning person persona. Merlin seemed equally unhappy to be awake, his head tipped to the side as he looked at Arthur. His gaze was hazy, and his hand was, Arthur noted, rubbing at his lower back. “Are you well?” he asked, stepping closer and trying to catch Merlin’s sleepy blue eyes.
“Fine,” Merlin answered quickly, yawning again. He took a step back just as Arthur reached a hand out to steady him, and Arthur flailed miserably for a second, his fingers swiping through air where there had once been a shoulder to grip.
He coughed to cover the awkwardness of the moment and stretched again. The sound of his shoulders popping startled a smile out of him. Merlin though, had gone quiet, and his eyes were wide. “What are you--oh,” Arthur faltered, glancing down. His hand was still hung behind his head, and his hem had ridden up. Displayed there on his stomach for everyone--or maybe just Merlin--to see, was his scar. The parting gift of his dead horse.
Merlin stepped forward again, this time his gaze more intent: Arthur jumped when warm fingers brushed against his skin. Merlin traced the line of the scar, his fingers walking slowly over Arthur’s stomach, curling up around his ribcage. Merlin stopped there, his palm flat and warm against Arthur’s skin. Arthur shivered.
“I--” Merlin started, but Arthur shook his head, blinked fast a few times, and finally met Merlin’s gaze. He stood still, staring at Merlin, and Merlin stared back. Arthur didn’t know what to say, he wasn’t sure there was anything to say at all.
Merlin’s palm was still warm against Arthur’s side. It seemed right, then, to reach around Merlin and rest his own hand against the small of Merlin’s back. For a second, Merlin’s eyes darted around nervously. Arthur went still, waiting. They must have looked ridiculous, standing in the middle of the barn aisle with their hands under each other’s shirts, but Arthur wasn’t inclined to move.
Somewhere behind them, a horse snorted loudly. Merlin darted back as though he had been burned.
“We should get started,” Merlin said, his voice quick and breathy. “I have lessons in a few hours.” Merlin turned, hurrying toward the tack room.
“Right,” Arthur said, his own voice rough. “Right.”
Arthur gave Merlin a moment to himself, heading instead over to Gwaine’s stall. The horse snorted in greeting, throwing his head over the stall door and butting his nose against Arthur’s shoulder. “Hey buddy,” Arthur said quietly. He winced when Gwaine drooled on him. “You are disgusting. You think this is funny, don’t you? Monster.”
Behind him, Merlin laughed. “He’s definitely a troublemaker,” Merlin answered. “But he’s a brave guy, aren’t you?” With practiced ease, Merlin shifted the saddle he was holding to rest on his hip. He reached out with his other hand to thread his fingers through Gwaine’s mane, tugging affectionately. “Atta boy,” Merlin murmured.
Arthur grabbed the saddle, and there was comfortable silence (aside from the sound of Gwaine’s breathing) as the two of them tacked up the horse. Arthur took a shaky breath, laying his palm flat against Gwaine’s neck. He’d been riding for nearly a week, although the rides had been much more timid and much less comfortable than Arthur’s initial ride. Once the euphoria of I’m on a horse had worn off, Arthur had been left with the reality of being on a horse, and all the things that entailed. Today, Merlin thought he was ready to start jumping again.
“Arthur,” Merlin’s voice was right behind him, and Arthur jumped--he couldn’t help the grimace that crossed his face. He’d been jumping since the accident, just not the kind of jumping that happened on a horse. “Sorry,” Merlin laughed, stepping away. “I just wanted to say that you’ve done really well. Really. It’s just a small course. The ring is in the middle of nowhere. There’ll be no one to watch, just you and me.”
Arthur closed his eyes tightly, just for a moment, before he finally nodded his head. Merlin stepped around Gwaine, and then out into the early morning light. It was just barely dawn, and the sun was buried behind clouds. The air was heavy with the promise of heat, but for now it was still cool enough to raise goosebumps on Arthur’s arms, or at least that’s what he told himself--the goosebumps were from the cold, damp air.
Gwaine was familiar at his shoulder, and Arthur followed Merlin out on the paths. He hadn’t been lying, the ring was as close to the middle of nowhere as the pair of them were going to get. It was tucked away between Gaius’s house and the barn, hidden behind the slopes of two small hills. Arthur breathed out nervously when Merlin slowed to a stop. Gwaine stopped beside Arthur, until the three of them were standing there, staring at the ring. “Right,” Arthur echoed himself earlier. He nodded his head forcefully and turned. His movements were jerky as he fumbled with the stirrups. For the second time that day, Merlin reached out and touched him. He was standing right behind Arthur, and Arthur could feel Merlin’s breath on his neck. Slowly, like he was working with a skittish horse, Merlin guided Arthur’s fingers through the motions.
“Do you want a leg up?” he asked, still close enough that Arthur imagined he could hear Merlin’s heartbeat.
“Your back--” Arthur started, instead of saying no.
Merlin moved away, “Mount up, then,” he said, nodding at the horse and crossing his arms. Merlin was, Arthur had begun to realize, a truly formidable person. He was good with his riders, Arthur had known that, but the balance he struck between patience and gruffness was admirable. He knew when Arthur needed a hand, and when Arthur needed to--for lack of a less punny expression--cowboy up.
Arthur looked at Merlin for a moment, and then he looked at the horse. He straightened up and ran a hand through his hair. This should have gotten easier, but it never did. He could feel Merlin’s eyes on his back, though, a firm reminder that Arthur had options, sure, but none of them were better than this one. He lifted his leg and slipped his foot into the stirrup, and it was automatic, the motion of mounting up came as easily to him as it had every other time he’d gotten on a horse in his life. Not everything, then, was Before and After. Not, then, the things that mattered.
The tightness of his stomach and shoulders eased some once he had his stirrups adjusted and was settled in the saddle. The world felt smaller here. When they were young, Morgana had read a series of books called The Saddle Club. One of the girls--the most avid rider--had joked that she would find anything beautiful if she was looking at it from the back of a horse. Arthur had always scoffed at that, (“Piles of rubbish?” he’d demanded, “Really, Morgana”) but now he could see something valid in her logic.
Merlin, for all his walking-corpse appearance, seemed almost to be glowing. His eyes were bright and alive, and for an instant, just a moment, the blue seemed gold. Hay like spun gold, Arthur remembered, Blue, bright blue. Just flashes of color. Memories that he couldn’t really remember. He tightened his hands on the reins and blinked, but Merlin’s eyes were just blue. Lovely, yes. Bright, of course. But blue. Not gold.
“You’re stalling, Arthur!” Merlin’s voice was sharp and pointed. “Walk.”
So Arthur nudged Gwaine forward, and they walked. He absorbed the feeling of that silence in this ring, and out of the corner of his eye, he glanced at Merlin. Gwaine snorted, tossing his head, and Arthur laughed. “You’re impatient,” he said to the horse.
“And--let’s trot,” Merlin called--no longer from the side of the ring where he’d been before. He’d fallen, almost naturally it seemed, into the center. Arthur held Gwaine back for a moment. At the sound of the command, the horse had pulled for his head, slipping into a trot before Arthur had really asked for it. He made Gwaine wait for a few steps before giving the command himself. “Good, Arthur,” Merlin said. Arthur could feel Merlin’s eyes on him, and he glanced over to look at Merlin. “Eyes straight ahead.” Merlin corrected.
Again, Arthur absorbed the silence, feeling Gwaine beneath him, posting in time to the smooth and steady gait. “Merlin,” he drawled, rolling his eyes, “I think we can get a move on.”
“Oh you do, do you?” Merlin called, and Arthur didn’t dare look at him again. “Fine then, let’s see you pick up a canter. Start with the blue and white crossrail.”
Something old and almost foreign in Arthur reared up impatiently. The crossrail that Merlin was talking about was simple--a child’s jump. He frowned at it, shifting in his seat to straighten his approach. “Arthur!” Merlin’s voice rang out loud and unexpected, “Focus on the jump. That’s sloppy riding!”
Arthur bristled, “It’s a crossrail, Merlin!” he snapped.
“That’s right, Arthur,” Merlin said, “It’s just a crossrail. Why have you gone around it twice now?”
Arthur went still in the saddle. He flushed. “I was trying to get a better approach.”
“You were avoiding the jump. You want to be ready to ride with the best of them again? Arthur, this is your choice, but you have to make it.”
Arthur frowned, “I really wasn’t avoiding it,” he answered.
Merlin didn’t answer.
Arthur made one more loop around the ring before he set his eyes over the jump. He allowed himself only a second to look at it before he focused on the rules. He looked beyond the jump, aiming for a tree. It was still sloppy riding, to focus so much on a fixed point, but Arthur’s hands were shaking, and it helped him keep it together. He took a slow breath, and counted off the strides under his breath.
“Good,” he heard Merlin say, but then the jump was right there and Arthur could either fall off or go over. He decided to go over.
“Good, Arthur!” Merlin called from the center of the ring. Arthur opened his eyes and realized they’d jumped and gone halfway around the ring. He heard the smile in Merlin’s voice, “Next time, maybe keep your eyes open.”
Arthur grimaced, “Right,” he said.
Merlin grinned at him, shaking his head slowly. “Ok,” he said, “Let’s do a few more.”
Merlin had him go over jumps, each one progressively higher and more difficult than the last. The jumps were simple, and Arthur took them one at a time. He made a full circle around the ring after each jump before taking the next one, and the whole time, Merlin kept up a steady stream of corrections and compliments.
“You know,” Arthur called after he’d taken a jump that looked like a brick wall, “I don’t remember ever being corrected this much in just one lesson.”
“Well then you must have gotten exceptionally sloppy,” Merlin answered. “And walk.” Arthur pulled Gwaine out of the canter, settling into a brisk walk. It would keep both of them alert and prepared. “Let’s try a course,” Merlin said. “Can you memorize it?”
Arthur scoffed and Merlin rolled his eyes.
“Right, then,” Merlin said. “Why don’t you--”
“Why don’t you give the poor man a break, Merlin?”
Arthur startled, but Merlin just smiled. “What can I do for you, Gaius?”
“You’ve got lessons. I don’t expect these children will prepare themselves for this show on their own, do you?”
“No, Gaius.” Merlin was laughing.
“Show?” Arthur asked, letting Gwaine fall back into a steadier and easier walk.
“A charity show,” Merlin said, walking over and hooking his hand in Arthur’s reins. Artur slipped off Gwaine, landing next to Merlin on the ground. Their shoulders bumped, and hidden from Gaius by Gwaine’s body, Arthur offered Merlin a half private smile. Merlin grinned back openly before he continued. “It’s held in Wales every year. They get some famous riders, some famous trainers, and a whole group of kids from barns like Camelot. We always bring a few kids--” Merlin broke off, a strange look on his face. “Well, Gwen brings a few kids. I stay here.”
“You don’t go?”
“No. We split the lessons. Work on our strengths with the kids so that they have a good time and hopefully do well.”
“If Camelot sends kids, don’t they ever ask you to ride in the show?”
“I don’t show,” Merlin said shortly. “I can’t.”
“Right,” Arthur answered, aware of Gaius still standing on the side of the ring, clearing his throat impatiently. “But don’t they ask you to judge? A rider like you--you’re the best of the best, Merlin. Why wouldn’t they ask--”
Merlin’s mouth was tight. “I don’t show,” he said again. “You should cool him down. I have to go and teach a lesson. Gaius! I’ll be right up. Can you start the kids off with a warm up?”
Arthur hadn’t felt so good in a long time. He was---happy. He felt whole. “Merlin!” he called out. Merlin paused, but didn’t turn around. “I’d like to ride,” Arthur said, “In the show. If they’d have me.”
“That sounds like a wonderful idea,” Gaius said before Merlin could answer. “I’ll put you in touch with the right people, shall I?”
“Yes, thanks,” Arthur answered.
Merlin didn’t say anything, but Arthur was sure he saw him smile.
~~~
It had been a long time since Merlin had felt as terrible as he did, but the next morning, when he went to get out of bed, he felt like he was dying. He pushed the covers back and stood up, automatically reaching around to rub the soreness out of his back, but once his legs were under him, he fell forward, and god help him, he screamed.
Gwen poked her head around the door, her face worried. When she saw him on the floor, she paled. “Jesus Merlin,” she said sharply, “What on Earth are you doing? Have you been riding again? How can I help?” She barely paused for breath. “God, oh god, I’m sorry, I’m yelling. Are you ok? Should I call the doctor?”
“I’m fine,” Merlin said, allowing her to pull him to his feet. The strange thing was, he was fine. He felt fine. Whatever it was had passed, his back didn’t even ache. “My legs must’ve been asleep. I just frightened myself when I toppled over. I’m all limbs, you know that,” he said, grabbing her hand and squeezing. She laced their fingers together, but looked skeptical.
“Must’ve done,” she answered quietly.
“You were out rather late last night,” Merlin said, forcing a change in subject. He dragged her out of his room, and only let go when they got to the kitchen. She sighed at him and flopped into a chair, dropping her head onto the table. Merlin grinned, “Very late, then,” he teased, fluffing her curls and going to make her a mug of coffee. “A bloke! Tell me about him.”
“He’s very handsome,” Gwen answered woefully.
“Don’t sound so cheerful about it,” Merlin laughed. He set the mug down in front of her, and she curled her fingers around it.
“He’s charming,” she said slowly, “And clever. Really clever. He’s a writer, you know. And he likes horses.”
“That all sounds promising,” Merlin said, “Why do you look so horrified?”
“It’s too good to be true! Isn’t it? Charming and handsome, there must be something wrong with him.”
“Why don’t you bring him around to the barn?”
“I will,” Gwen smiled. “You sure you’re fine, though? That was--frightening.”
Merlin dropped a kiss on top of her head and a plate of eggs in front of her. “I feel wonderful,” he answered. “I haven’t ridden in a few days, I think I’ll call Arthur and see if he’s up for a little friendly competition.”
Gwen snorted and waved him away, so Merlin turned back toward his room to get changed. “Oh, Merlin?” she called, blinking up innocently at him through her lashes, “Kick his arse, yeah?”
“Yeah,” Merlin promised, smiling so hard it hurt.
~~~
“So what’s the course?” Arthur asked as he eased Gwaine out of the canter.
Merlin grinned, “It’s easy, don’t worry. I won’t go too hard on you just yet.”
“Oh please,” Arthur rolled his eyes, “I’m sure that I’ll be loads better at riding than you.”
Merlin laughed. “We’ll see,” he promised. He’d drawn the course up on a map. It was easy, certainly easier than the courses that the two of them were used to competing on, but still harder than Arthur had yet ridden. For Merlin, too, it was difficult. Perhaps a little ambitious, given the way he’d woken up that morning, but he’d felt wonderful since then, and Merlin’s body was so rarely this agreeable that he couldn’t waste the chance to try something a little rougher than normal. He’d cleared it with Gaius that morning, at least as far as Fish went. His godfather was still skeptical that it was something Merlin could handle.
The truth was, after the accident, Merlin’s body had been far more damaged than Fish’s. Fish would probably have made an excellent horse for someone showing on a less advanced circuit, and if nothing else, he would’ve been an amazing lesson horse. But he was Merlin’s horse, and so his repertoire had been limited over the years to fit Merlin’s limited capacities.
Merlin pushed his nervous thoughts aside. With the jumps laid out between them, he felt whole. His back hadn’t hurt in hours--it was the longest he’d ever gone without some amount of pain. “Think you can handle this?” he asked as he lead Arthur and Gwaine out to the old cross country course.
Arthur rolled his eyes, “You’re off your game,” he reminded Merlin, “Yesterday’s champion. Don’t worry about me, worry about you.”
There was a time--and maybe it was only a few days ago--when those words would have cut Merlin down. Today, they just made him laugh. He winked at Arthur, “What’s the winners prize, then?” he asked.
“Whatever he wants,” Arthur answered seriously.
“You’re quite dramatic,” Merlin said, snorting. “Right, here’s the start.”
For a second, the old cross country course looked like it had been there for thousands of years, but Merlin blinked, and it was gone. He swallowed a nervous laugh and laid his palm flat against Fish’s side. “Let’s show him what a real champion rides like,” Merlin whispered.
They took off. Fish was smaller than Gwaine, and more lithe. He could hear Arthur cantering along behind him, but he was lost in the moment. Faster, he thought, determined to get a firm lead. Fish, as he always had, seemed to read Merlin’s mind. Merlin grinned and tucked down low, making himself as small an obstacle as possible. The wind whistled in his ears, and he counted strides as they approached the first jump.
He couldn’t even hear Arthur behind him. All Merlin knew was horse beneath him and the jump in front of him. He rose up, pressed his heels down, and gave Fish his head. The jump was in front of them, then below them, and finally behind them.
It was like flying, and it was like they’d never been stopped.
The second jump came up more quickly than the first, and Merlin counted heartbeats instead of strides. He and Fish had always communicated in a way that people often joked was preternatural, but nothing had ever felt more natural to Merlin than living in sync with his horse, caught in moments, trapped in flight.
Then they were at the third jump, and Merlin gave in to the sense of joy that was nearly bubbling out of him. He couldn’t hear Arthur behind him, or the birds, or anything but his horse and the wind in his ears. The laugh that spilled out of his mouth was involuntary and loud, but Merlin didn’t lose his focus. He felt lighter than a feather, and he threaded his fingers through Fish’s mane, breathing in. Then the third jump was behind them, and there were only two more.
Merlin’s body moved with Fish’s, their laboured breathing perfectly in sync. Merlin could feel it every time Fish’s feet touched the ground. He was aware of every flick of the horse’s tail. People had always thought it strange, the way that Merlin would reach up to flick a fly off Fish’s withers before the horse even had a chance to react, but for Merlin it was normal. He’d always been hypersensitive to his horse’s body. He could see the fourth jump around the corner, and he realized that he was going to win. He was still a champion. They were still a team. Merlin exhaled sharply with the realization, relief flooding through him. Together, as always, he and Fish rounded the corner to take the jump. They were riding, they were riding, they were jumping and--
It was like a switch went off.
Merlin screamed before he really processed the pain, his body reacting before his mind did. He felt the way each of his muscles tensed and spasmed, he felt his feet slide out of the stirrups, and his arms pinwheel. He felt it the moment he left the saddle. Merlin felt everything--Each second that passed, the way the air pressed against his body as he fell. He felt heavy, as though gravity was actually reaching for him, clutching at his shoulders and yanking him against the ground. He felt the ground, too, when he hit it, hard and unyielding. After that, all Merlin felt was the pain.
It was like someone was scraping a razor blade down his spine and digging their fingers into the wounds. It was like nothing he had ever felt before. If anything was preternatural, he thought just before he finally hit the ground, it was this pain. It was unreal.
He heard Arthur then, just a shout, just a fragment of a word, and then everything was black, and Merlin didn’t feel anything at all.
>>>
Art link: On LJ
Rating: R
Word Count: ~41,000
His hands were shaking, and that was more embarrassing than Arthur cared to admit. He’d just thrown the equivalent of a temper tantrum: storming off into the trees with biting words that he’d fully intended to claw at Merlin’s scars. Because that was the thing, wasn’t it? Merlin’s scars. They bothered Arthur, because they were so obvious, and they’d healed. Arthur and his scars, though. They just sat and waited, brooding and broken, lonely and empty--
But no, that wasn’t quite right either. Arthur sighed and dropped his forehead against Gwaine’s stall. Merlin’s scars were visible, sure, but they weren’t healed--not really. And maybe that was the thing, then, that Merlin’s scars were different. Arthur had always prided himself on his control of his body, the comfort of his physique. The way he could move, control, and exist as something more than the average person. Arthur knew his body, Arthur could control his body, and maybe, he realized, maybe Merlin’s wounds seemed healed because if they were Arthur’s--if it were Arthur’s broken body, and not his broken mind--maybe he would be able to overcome that.
The thought that came next was bitter and vindictive. It was petty, but Arthur wondered if Merlin was maybe just a little too weak. He thought of the slump to Merlin’s shoulders, the awkward swing to his walk to compensate for injuries buried under his skin, and he thought that Arthur Pendragon would be better than that. If it was just physical, if it was just his back, then maybe.
Arthur slumped his shoulders and felt the wood grain dig against his forehead. There would be marks, an imprint that would prove he had been here, in this stall, for at least a few moments. Arthur sighed and closed his eyes against the sunlight that made the hay tangled in his boots glow like spun gold.
Blue sky, a crash--Arthur startled automatically, opening his eyes against remembering his accident. He felt different than he did after the nightmares. His heart was beating fast, and there was sweat on his palms, but it was exhilarating, and there wasn’t an overwhelming sense of guilt. Behind him, Gwaine shifted innocuously from foot to foot, and Arthur heard the lithe palomino huff out a breath. He closed his eyes again.
Blue sky, a crash--the clang of steel on steel. Blue sk--eyes, blue eyes, and smile that made them crinkle at the edges. The blur of a laugh, and hay like spun gold. Blue eyes--blue sky, lying on his back and blinking up against the sunlight, lying in hay like spun gold, a thigh just barely touching his--then sitting up, a warm breath ghosting against the back of his neck--
“Oh my god,” Arthur yelped, his eyes shooting open as he stumbled forward. “Did you just drool on my neck you monster?” he spun around and eyed Gwaine. The horse bobbed his head slowly, and Arthur grimaced. “You did, didn’t you?” He lifted a hand and wiped the slobber off the back of his neck, and with it wiped away day dreams of something that felt so much lighter than the life he lived now. “Did I give you a proper cool down?” Arthur asked the horse, pressing a hand to Gwaine’s chest to check for heat and sweat. “Maybe just another lap or two around the barn.”
Gwaine bobbed his head again, and it looked enough like a nod that Arthur grabbed a halter and a lead rope and guided the horse back out into the sunlight.
Merlin was nowhere to be seen, thankfully, and Arthur let Gwaine meander, the horse nosing at the grass and Arthur occasionally stopping to stare out over Camelot. It was expansive and glowing, caught in a rare moment of sunshine that seemed to brush over the entire world. There hadn’t been sun like this in too long, brilliant and bright. Almost ancient. Arthur sighed and leaned against Gwaine as they crested one of the smaller hills. It was just big enough to allow him to see the rest of the property.
The barn, farther behind him than he’d thought it would be, looked almost small against a backdrop of trees and grass, and endless tangles of white fences. He squinted, and could just barely make out Morgana sunning herself on a bench. She was stretched out, long and languid, her legs too long and hanging over the edge. She looked like a star, but most of all, she looked at home. Arthur shut his eyes and tried to remember what being at home felt like, because no matter how welcoming the smell of leather and hay was, no matter how familiar the shift of Gwaine’s weight as he tried to nudge Arthur toward a nicer patch of grass, there was something that kept Arthur apart from all of this. You don’t belong, the world seemed to be telling him, and it was true. Arthur didn’t see the point of feeling at home in a world that was empty of his horse.
He opened his eyes again, stumbling as Gwaine stomped his foot impatiently, the jolt of movement throwing Arthur off balance. That was when he saw Merlin, his steps slower than expected, and Fish keeping pace beside him. They were the picture of a matched set: horse and rider. Merlin’s limp was more pronounced from a distance. Arthur could see the jolted rhythm. It was in the way Merlin moved his hips, there was something wrong about it. Arthur gritted his teeth and turned his gaze back to Gwaine.
Here, on top of the hill with Camelot spread below him like a kingdom, Arthur wondered what it would take to get back home. Gwaine tugged on the lead, knocking Arthur out of his thoughts. Arthur swallowed around a lump in his throat and took one step forward, then another. Slowly, as slowly as Merlin, Arthur and Gwaine headed back into the barn.
It was empty when they got there, of Merlin or Gwen or Morgana, the silence was peaceful, calming. And yet, as Arthur settled Gwaine back into his stall, he swore he heard laughter. When he looked around him though, he saw only an old horse hanging its head over the stall door, watching him.
“Insanity was always going to come,” Arthur said, glancing at the name tag under the old horse’s saddle rack as he walked past, “Don’t you agree, Kilgharrah?”
# # #
The next day found Arthur leaning against the door to Gwaine’s stall, stretching and looking out over the general cloudiness of the day. The wood grain was rough beneath his palms, digging in and hurting just enough to remind him that it was there. He smiled; his appreciation for sensory detail had been coming back over the past few days. Since the accident, so much of what he was feeling had been depressing. The crushing weight of guilt had drowned out even the most familiar sensations: the coolness of his sheets, the way the sun feels--anything that was even a little less important than accidentaccidentaccident became peripheral, and then it became nothing at all. But since he’d been coming to Camelot, he’d slowly become more and more aware of the smaller details in life, like Gwaine, right then, chewing on his sleeve.
“You’re a monster,” he said, not for the first time. Gwaine snorted and bobbed his head, and Arthur had never met a horse who could smirk before he’d met Gwaine. “I don’t have any carrots,” Arthur said, but Gwaine leaned over the stall door anyway and nosed at Arthur’s pocket. Arthur shut his eyes and tangled his fingers in Gwaine’s mane.
“I have an apple.”
Arthur turned and saw Merlin. He looked tired, bone-deep tired. The kind of tired that Arthur remembered feeling from the days before he’d started walking again. For an instant, Arthur thought about reaching forward and catching Merlin’s arm. He wanted to lead him to a bench somewhere and have him sit down until some color returned to his cheeks. Instead, he reached out and took the apple Merlin held out in his palm. “Thank you,” he said.
Merlin just nodded and kept walking. He disappeared around the corner, most likely on his way to visit Fish. Arthur watched him go. He’d gotten into the habit of looking at Merlin’s steps, and today Merlin seemed more off balance than ever. Arthur looked back at Gwaine and offered the horse the apple. Gwaine’s lips moved over his palm, and Arthur leaned back against the stall, staring at the horse.
“Why am I even here?” he asked. He didn’t expect an answer, but Gwaine swished his tail and butted his head warmly against Arthur’s chest, which sort of felt like an answer anyway. “Ok,” he said after a second. “Lets go for another walk.”
The day was dark and damp, but it felt good. It was the kind of day you could curl up inside, and Gwaine was warm and alive under the hand Arthur placed on his neck. He’d been planning to head straight out into the trails surrounding Camelot, but he turned, moving down another aisle instead. He ended up in front of Fish’s stall, but he had to peer over the door to find Merlin.
He was, for some strange reason, sitting in the bedding of the stall with his legs tucked up against his chest. The Fisher King was looking less like a champion and more like an old guard dog. The effect was somewhat spoiled by the fact that the big black horse was eating hay, and consequently dropping pieces into Merlin’s dark hair.
“Come on a walk with us,” Arthur said.
Merlin’s eyes flicked up. “Was that a command, my lord?” he asked, with just a little more bite in the words than Arthur had expected. He must have seen something on Arthur’s face, because he slowly got to his feet. Arthur pretended not to notice the way he steadied himself on Fish’s shoulder. “Sorry,” Merlin added, “I’m sore today. It makes me grumpy--or that’s what Gwen says, anyway.”
It took Merlin longer than it probably should have to open the stall door and step out into the aisle. He was still pale. Arthur forced a smile, “Why don’t you ride him?” he asked, motioning to Gwaine. “He doesn’t look like he’s boney. He’d probably be comfortable bareback.” To punctuate his point, Arthur ran his hand over the horse’s back. Gwaine probably would be very comfortable, Arthur thought. He really was an attractive horse.
“Do I look that awful?” Merlin asked, glancing over at Arthur through his hair.
“If I said yes, would that make you cry?” Arthur raised an eyebrow at him, and was rewarded with a smile. Merlin’s smile was strange--it was a contradiction. At first, it was unbelievably goofy, the kind of smile that made Arthur want to smile back, but at the same time it was beautiful. It was bright, like nothing else Arthur had seen before--except, he had seen a smile like that before. He was sure of it. Arthur blinked and shook his head, but he couldn’t shake the familiarity of Merlin. There was no other reason for the way he reacted to Merlin--Arthur hadn’t been this close with anyone in years. Except maybe Elena, but she’d been part of his life for too long for him to call her a friend. She was more of a constant, and Arthur’s life lacked for those, certainly. But Merlin was familiar, and Merlin came easily to Arthur, and that was--well, it was exhilarating actually, if a little frightening.
“Arthur?” Merlin said, and Arthur blinked.
“Sorry. I was just thinking.”
“Yes,” Merlin smirked at him. “That much was obvious.”
There wasn’t any more color to Merlin’s complexion, not really, but the movement seemed to make him sound--better, Arthur supposed. Maybe sitting around until some color came back to his cheeks wasn’t what was good for him. Arthur rolled his eyes, “Come on Merlin,” he half sneered, tugging both horse and Merlin out of the barn and into the dubious “light” of the grey morning.
It was the silence that Arthur had missed the most. There was no silence in the world like the one he found around horses. Even the crunch of Merlin’s footsteps next to him as they walked out past the barn and into the fields beyond couldn’t really disrupt the sense of calm--it was soothing, actually, to hear the steady swish-swing of Merlin’s gait. Strange, at first, because the rhythm was off, but soothing all the same. Arthur debated the pros and cons of closing his eyes and letting the horse lead him, but he thought about Gwaine, and what he knew about the handsome palomino, and after a moment, he decided it would be better to leave his eyes open.
“I don’t blame you,” Merlin said finally, “For not wanting to ride. I dunno if you thought I sounded like I was blaming you, but I don’t. Not really. I just know what it feels like to feel like you shouldn’t get to ride. I just wanted you to know that.”
“Had you really not told that to anyone?”
“Yeah,” Merlin said, running a hand through his hair. It was a mess. “I mean, I tried. Not very hard, but. Sometimes it’s just like--you just want someone to get where you’re coming from.”
“But I can’t expect you to get where I’m coming from,” Arthur said. “I see your horse every day--”
“Arthur, you haven’t even been to Arcturus’s grave,” Merlin said quietly. “Prove that you want to get better. That’s what Gwen told me to do--she told me to prove it. Can you prove it? Are you brave enough?”
Merlin was alive. Arthur didn’t know why that surprised him so much.
“Hold him,” he said out loud.
He moved like he had cement blocks for feet, and the pounding in his ears drowned out whatever it was that Merlin said. Arthur saw his lips move, but that was a blur too. He moved like he had cement blocks for feet, half expecting every step to send him plummeting into the earth. Instead, his steps took him closer and closer to Gwaine and Merlin, until he was looking at them both. His hands weren’t shaking, but he thought they should be.
The movement was as fluid as it was familiar. Arthur stepped onto a stump he didn’t remember being there before, and he swung his leg over Gwaine’s back. As slowly as it had happened, it was over.
Arthur was sitting on the back of a horse.
For a moment he thought he might do something horrible, like faint or throw up. Instead, his hands and traitorous body, still moving of its own accord, shifted. He’d been right, earlier.Gwaine was comfortable. His fingers curled in the strands of Gwaine’s mane, and Arthur took the lead rope that Merlin offered him. He shifted his weight, and then Gwaine moved forward. Arthur felt suspended in time, and then he felt like it rushed to catch up with him. He was walking, then trotting, and cantering. The paths around Camelot were clear except for staged obstacles, and Arthur was cantering, he was riding, and then he was jumping over a fallen log, and Gwaine breathing hard, and someone was whooping and laughing.
It took Arthur a second to realize that he was the one laughing, that those sounds were coming out of his mouth. As quickly as the elation had come up, the dread pooled heavy in Arthur’s stomach. Panic. Pain. Bright blue. A horse screaming--
“Heels down, Arthur!” a voice jolted him out of his own head, and Arthur automatically sat up straighter. “Better, good. Eyes where you’re going, not on your hands!” the commands were sharp and accurate. Arthur’s body responded before his mind did, years of training kicking in. His eyes focused on the next obstacle, a small branch across the path. “Arthur! Are you planning on walking over that jump? I thought you were a champion rider?”
Arthur nudged Gwaine forward, guiding the horse with his legs and his seat and his eyes far more than with his hands. It was just a small thing, practically a ground pole. Arthur took it at Gwaine’s easy trot, breathing in time with the horse. “That’s the ticket,” the voice responded, dragged out and smooth. Arthur slowed Gwaine to a walk and then eased into a halt. He blinked in surprise when he realized that Merlin had been the one instructing him.
Of course it was Merlin. Who else would that voice have belonged to?
Still, the tone had thrown Arthur off. Even when Merlin had been frustrated with him, his voice had been soft. Quiet. Not shy, but almost empty. The voice of a broken thing. Arthur looked at Merlin now, and reminded himself that Merlin was not a broken thing. For all his appearances of being the walking dead, Merlin stood in the center of the clearing like the champion he used to be.
“I’m riding a horse,” Arthur said. “I’m riding a horse.”
“Easy,” Merlin answered, moving forward. “Arthur, hey.”
Arthur looked down at Merlin as Merlin placed a hand on Arthur’s knee. He was on a horse. Riding. On a horse. “I’m on a horse,” Arthur said, and this time his voice and hands were shaking.
It was the sort of thing he should have expected. The sort of thing he would have done if he were Merlin, but it still surprised him. Merlin moved with an easy grace, and one second he was on the ground, his fingers curled around Arthur’s knee like they were the only thing keeping Arthur from falling, and the next he was behind Arthur, and before Arthur knew it, they were moving forward again, Merlin’s knees tucked in behind Arthur’s, his chest sturdy against the sudden slump of Arthur’s back. “Sit up straight.” Arthur could feel Merlin’s breath on his ear, and something in his stomach tightened. “Eyes straight ahead.” This time, the words were whispered, but they were no less powerful. Arthur’s body responded to Merlin’s commands, even though Arthur felt numb and beaten. “Don’t lean on your hands, Arthur, come on, this is basic stuff.”
Something like ego make Arthur snap, “I know how to ride a horse, Merlin.”
The startled laugh behind him was worth the ache in Arthur’s legs. Or maybe it was the ache in Arthur’s legs that made the startled laugh behind him worth it. When they finally dismounted and began the walk back to Camelot, it was dark out, and Arthur had to suppress the urge to count the stars.
# # #
“You bought a horse for me?”
If he was shrieking, it was only a little, but Merlin wasn’t entirely sure he understood what was going on. Freya was sitting across from him, looking rather proud of herself, with her elbows on the table and her fingers curled around a mug of tea. “Well, not for you, exactly,” Freya said. “And I didn’t buy him, really. He’s my mum’s, or he was. Her mare’s foal.”
“So you stole your mother’s horse for me?”
“I told you! Not for you, just...for you. In the future. You’ll need him!”
“The last thing Camelot needs is a horse that you could have sold,” Merlin said, still incredulous.
“Merlin, it’s not for Camelot either.” Freya shifted, “I’ve been having strange dreams,” she admitted quietly. “Dreams of another life, it feels like. I’ve raised this horse, I grew up with this horse. You need this horse, but you have to make me a promise, Merlin.”
“Freya, I can’t take your horse.”
“It’s not my horse and it’s not your horse. Look, you’re going to think I’m crazy. But I’ve heard you’re working with Arthur Pendragon.”
“That’s not--”
“The whole world knows you’re working with Arthur Pendragon, don’t lie. Not to me. It doesn’t matter, anyway. That’s not the point.” She frowned and ran a hand through her hair, Merlin wondered if the whole world was going crazy. “Have you ever felt too big for your skin, Merlin?” she asked, her voice quiet. “Because I do. I have dreams, and it’s like I belong in a different era--a different world.”
“Freya--”
“Stop interrupting me, Merlin, and answer the question. Do you believe in magic?”
Merlin opened his mouth to answer, and then shut it again, quickly. Did he believe in magic? He hadn’t up until recently. Up until the midnight chats with an old green horse named Kilgharrah. Merlin sighed and looked at Freya, “Maybe I’m learning to,” he said, instead of a real answer. He knew exactly what she was talking about--he had dreams too, of a battlefield and a child with cold, dead eyes.
Freya was looking at him, her eyes dark and impossible to understand. She had always been like that, since the day he’d met her--although back then she’d been angrier. Freya had been Merlin’s first introduction to the world of therapeutic riding, long before he’d ever thought to consider it a career. She’d been tossed out of her house and living on the streets, and when she’d been adopted--they were both fifteen at the time--Merlin had started trying to get her into horses. It’d been a guidance counselor at school who’d suggested therapeutic riding.
Still, though, Merlin only talked to her once every few months. The fact that she’d been at the barn that morning, hunched over in the parking lot, waiting for him, had made him nervous. She looked frail. Years and years of inexplicable illnesses had always kept her pale and still, but that morning, she’d been sitting on a bench outside the barn. Her hands had been shoved deep into her pockets, and she’d curled around herself, hunched, like she was protecting something.
“Merlin,” she’d greeted him as he made his way over to her. “You don’t look well.” He’d laughed and said something about pots and kettles.
Now she was talking about magic, and Merlin wanted to tell her that he felt like a whole new part of him had opened up--like he had a new window in his mind, but it was still just a little too foggy to see through. Maybe that was magic, or maybe something else was. Merlin didn’t know, but he was starting to believe.
“You said you wanted me to promise you something,” Merlin reminded her, settling his own hands around his mug.
“A promise,” Freya said seriously, her eyes boring into his. “A real promise Merlin--this is a big deal, you can’t laugh at it. It’s going to sound mad.”
“Everything you say sounds mad.”
“Merlin. Please.”
“Fine. I promise not to laugh at your promise.”
She rolled her eyes at him, so Merlin allowed himself a smile. “Merlin,” she said, “The horse--his name is Excalibur.”
“That’s a lovely name.”
“His name is Excalibur,” Freya repeated, her voice forceful, “And only--Merlin, listen to me--only Arthur should ride this horse.”
Merlin dropped his mug. “I’m sorry?”
“It’s just a feeling--but, I think it’s important. Please, just think about it.”
After a few seconds, Merlin nodded. “So where is this horse?” he asked finally, “This stolen horse named Excalibur--Freya, are you having a laugh? Merlin, Arthur, Excalibur?”
“I’ve made him comfortable in the empty stall next to Kilgarah’s. Anyway. I should leave you to meet him,” she smiled. “Merlin, trust yourself, I know things feel out of sorts, but everything will make sense.”
“How do you know that?”
“It’s just a feeling.” She kissed Merlin’s cheek on her way out the door. Merlin was left alone in the tack room with two cooling mugs of tea and the unfortunate luck to be alone in the barn with the talking horse.
“Fantastic,” he sighed.
~~~
If he was nothing else at all, Excalibur was a beautiful horse. A holstein, by the looks of him, big and stately and an amazing silver grey. Merlin held a hand out, and the horse pushed against it, nickering a greeting. “Hey boy,” Merlin said softly, rubbing Excalibur’s muzzle. “Well you are a beauty, aren’t you?”
“They were bred in the 14th century and used as war horses.”
“Hello, Kilgharrah,” Merlin answered.
“Hello, young warlock,” a horse couldn’t smile, not really, but Merlin could hear a smile in Kilgarahh’s voice. “A new addition to our kingdom,” the horse added, tossing his head in the direction of Excalibur.
Merlin sighed and stepped away from the new horse, turning instead to face Kilgharrah, the big green horse who had started talking. He sighed and ran a hand through his hair, “I’m not going mad, am I?” he asked, pulling a carrot out of his pocket and holding it out on a flat palm. Kilgharrah reached out and--”Ow!” Merlin yelped, “You bit me!”
Kilgharrah snorted, “I am old,” he answered loftily, “I am not as coordinated as I once was.”
Merlin rolled his eyes. “Fine,” he answered. “So, giant talking horse--”
“I believe the children call me the great dragon.”
“Yes, right. Great Dragon--of course. So, Great Dragon, what do you know about this horse?”
“The warning that Freya gave you was true, Merlin,” Kilgharrah answered. “This horse is destined for greatness alongside Arthur. You must not let anyone else ride him--it will have disastrous consequences for us all.”
“I appreciate your--uh--wisdom, but this is hardly life or death. We’re horse riders--messed up horse riders, and you’re a talking horse. You can’t possibly expect me to be taking this all seriously.”
“I suppose not, young warlock,” Kilgharrah said. “But haven’t you ever felt too big for your skin?”
Freya had said the same thing. Merlin flinched and shrugged. He turned to walk away.
“Merlin,” Kilgharrah said, his voice heavy with warning, “Can you think of any reason that your limp should be getting so much worse?”
Merlin stopped suddenly, his back to the horse. “What?”
“I can think of a reason. You will meet him soon, Merlin, and everything will be put to the test. I can only hope that you will be ready. There’s magic in the world, young warlock, and it is waking up. He has been awake for much longer than the magic, much longer than you. It is his gift--and also his curse. He will never forget; in all his incarnations, he has never forgotten. Be prepared, Merlin. This is much older than the sport you compete in.”
~~~
“It’s only been a week, Merlin,” Arthur said, stretching and scratching his stomach. It was earlier than he’d gotten up in a long time, and he stifled a yawn. Apparently, covering your ears and yelling I can’t hear you for several months had ruined his morning person persona. Merlin seemed equally unhappy to be awake, his head tipped to the side as he looked at Arthur. His gaze was hazy, and his hand was, Arthur noted, rubbing at his lower back. “Are you well?” he asked, stepping closer and trying to catch Merlin’s sleepy blue eyes.
“Fine,” Merlin answered quickly, yawning again. He took a step back just as Arthur reached a hand out to steady him, and Arthur flailed miserably for a second, his fingers swiping through air where there had once been a shoulder to grip.
He coughed to cover the awkwardness of the moment and stretched again. The sound of his shoulders popping startled a smile out of him. Merlin though, had gone quiet, and his eyes were wide. “What are you--oh,” Arthur faltered, glancing down. His hand was still hung behind his head, and his hem had ridden up. Displayed there on his stomach for everyone--or maybe just Merlin--to see, was his scar. The parting gift of his dead horse.
Merlin stepped forward again, this time his gaze more intent: Arthur jumped when warm fingers brushed against his skin. Merlin traced the line of the scar, his fingers walking slowly over Arthur’s stomach, curling up around his ribcage. Merlin stopped there, his palm flat and warm against Arthur’s skin. Arthur shivered.
“I--” Merlin started, but Arthur shook his head, blinked fast a few times, and finally met Merlin’s gaze. He stood still, staring at Merlin, and Merlin stared back. Arthur didn’t know what to say, he wasn’t sure there was anything to say at all.
Merlin’s palm was still warm against Arthur’s side. It seemed right, then, to reach around Merlin and rest his own hand against the small of Merlin’s back. For a second, Merlin’s eyes darted around nervously. Arthur went still, waiting. They must have looked ridiculous, standing in the middle of the barn aisle with their hands under each other’s shirts, but Arthur wasn’t inclined to move.
Somewhere behind them, a horse snorted loudly. Merlin darted back as though he had been burned.
“We should get started,” Merlin said, his voice quick and breathy. “I have lessons in a few hours.” Merlin turned, hurrying toward the tack room.
“Right,” Arthur said, his own voice rough. “Right.”
Arthur gave Merlin a moment to himself, heading instead over to Gwaine’s stall. The horse snorted in greeting, throwing his head over the stall door and butting his nose against Arthur’s shoulder. “Hey buddy,” Arthur said quietly. He winced when Gwaine drooled on him. “You are disgusting. You think this is funny, don’t you? Monster.”
Behind him, Merlin laughed. “He’s definitely a troublemaker,” Merlin answered. “But he’s a brave guy, aren’t you?” With practiced ease, Merlin shifted the saddle he was holding to rest on his hip. He reached out with his other hand to thread his fingers through Gwaine’s mane, tugging affectionately. “Atta boy,” Merlin murmured.
Arthur grabbed the saddle, and there was comfortable silence (aside from the sound of Gwaine’s breathing) as the two of them tacked up the horse. Arthur took a shaky breath, laying his palm flat against Gwaine’s neck. He’d been riding for nearly a week, although the rides had been much more timid and much less comfortable than Arthur’s initial ride. Once the euphoria of I’m on a horse had worn off, Arthur had been left with the reality of being on a horse, and all the things that entailed. Today, Merlin thought he was ready to start jumping again.
“Arthur,” Merlin’s voice was right behind him, and Arthur jumped--he couldn’t help the grimace that crossed his face. He’d been jumping since the accident, just not the kind of jumping that happened on a horse. “Sorry,” Merlin laughed, stepping away. “I just wanted to say that you’ve done really well. Really. It’s just a small course. The ring is in the middle of nowhere. There’ll be no one to watch, just you and me.”
Arthur closed his eyes tightly, just for a moment, before he finally nodded his head. Merlin stepped around Gwaine, and then out into the early morning light. It was just barely dawn, and the sun was buried behind clouds. The air was heavy with the promise of heat, but for now it was still cool enough to raise goosebumps on Arthur’s arms, or at least that’s what he told himself--the goosebumps were from the cold, damp air.
Gwaine was familiar at his shoulder, and Arthur followed Merlin out on the paths. He hadn’t been lying, the ring was as close to the middle of nowhere as the pair of them were going to get. It was tucked away between Gaius’s house and the barn, hidden behind the slopes of two small hills. Arthur breathed out nervously when Merlin slowed to a stop. Gwaine stopped beside Arthur, until the three of them were standing there, staring at the ring. “Right,” Arthur echoed himself earlier. He nodded his head forcefully and turned. His movements were jerky as he fumbled with the stirrups. For the second time that day, Merlin reached out and touched him. He was standing right behind Arthur, and Arthur could feel Merlin’s breath on his neck. Slowly, like he was working with a skittish horse, Merlin guided Arthur’s fingers through the motions.
“Do you want a leg up?” he asked, still close enough that Arthur imagined he could hear Merlin’s heartbeat.
“Your back--” Arthur started, instead of saying no.
Merlin moved away, “Mount up, then,” he said, nodding at the horse and crossing his arms. Merlin was, Arthur had begun to realize, a truly formidable person. He was good with his riders, Arthur had known that, but the balance he struck between patience and gruffness was admirable. He knew when Arthur needed a hand, and when Arthur needed to--for lack of a less punny expression--cowboy up.
Arthur looked at Merlin for a moment, and then he looked at the horse. He straightened up and ran a hand through his hair. This should have gotten easier, but it never did. He could feel Merlin’s eyes on his back, though, a firm reminder that Arthur had options, sure, but none of them were better than this one. He lifted his leg and slipped his foot into the stirrup, and it was automatic, the motion of mounting up came as easily to him as it had every other time he’d gotten on a horse in his life. Not everything, then, was Before and After. Not, then, the things that mattered.
The tightness of his stomach and shoulders eased some once he had his stirrups adjusted and was settled in the saddle. The world felt smaller here. When they were young, Morgana had read a series of books called The Saddle Club. One of the girls--the most avid rider--had joked that she would find anything beautiful if she was looking at it from the back of a horse. Arthur had always scoffed at that, (“Piles of rubbish?” he’d demanded, “Really, Morgana”) but now he could see something valid in her logic.
Merlin, for all his walking-corpse appearance, seemed almost to be glowing. His eyes were bright and alive, and for an instant, just a moment, the blue seemed gold. Hay like spun gold, Arthur remembered, Blue, bright blue. Just flashes of color. Memories that he couldn’t really remember. He tightened his hands on the reins and blinked, but Merlin’s eyes were just blue. Lovely, yes. Bright, of course. But blue. Not gold.
“You’re stalling, Arthur!” Merlin’s voice was sharp and pointed. “Walk.”
So Arthur nudged Gwaine forward, and they walked. He absorbed the feeling of that silence in this ring, and out of the corner of his eye, he glanced at Merlin. Gwaine snorted, tossing his head, and Arthur laughed. “You’re impatient,” he said to the horse.
“And--let’s trot,” Merlin called--no longer from the side of the ring where he’d been before. He’d fallen, almost naturally it seemed, into the center. Arthur held Gwaine back for a moment. At the sound of the command, the horse had pulled for his head, slipping into a trot before Arthur had really asked for it. He made Gwaine wait for a few steps before giving the command himself. “Good, Arthur,” Merlin said. Arthur could feel Merlin’s eyes on him, and he glanced over to look at Merlin. “Eyes straight ahead.” Merlin corrected.
Again, Arthur absorbed the silence, feeling Gwaine beneath him, posting in time to the smooth and steady gait. “Merlin,” he drawled, rolling his eyes, “I think we can get a move on.”
“Oh you do, do you?” Merlin called, and Arthur didn’t dare look at him again. “Fine then, let’s see you pick up a canter. Start with the blue and white crossrail.”
Something old and almost foreign in Arthur reared up impatiently. The crossrail that Merlin was talking about was simple--a child’s jump. He frowned at it, shifting in his seat to straighten his approach. “Arthur!” Merlin’s voice rang out loud and unexpected, “Focus on the jump. That’s sloppy riding!”
Arthur bristled, “It’s a crossrail, Merlin!” he snapped.
“That’s right, Arthur,” Merlin said, “It’s just a crossrail. Why have you gone around it twice now?”
Arthur went still in the saddle. He flushed. “I was trying to get a better approach.”
“You were avoiding the jump. You want to be ready to ride with the best of them again? Arthur, this is your choice, but you have to make it.”
Arthur frowned, “I really wasn’t avoiding it,” he answered.
Merlin didn’t answer.
Arthur made one more loop around the ring before he set his eyes over the jump. He allowed himself only a second to look at it before he focused on the rules. He looked beyond the jump, aiming for a tree. It was still sloppy riding, to focus so much on a fixed point, but Arthur’s hands were shaking, and it helped him keep it together. He took a slow breath, and counted off the strides under his breath.
“Good,” he heard Merlin say, but then the jump was right there and Arthur could either fall off or go over. He decided to go over.
“Good, Arthur!” Merlin called from the center of the ring. Arthur opened his eyes and realized they’d jumped and gone halfway around the ring. He heard the smile in Merlin’s voice, “Next time, maybe keep your eyes open.”
Arthur grimaced, “Right,” he said.
Merlin grinned at him, shaking his head slowly. “Ok,” he said, “Let’s do a few more.”
Merlin had him go over jumps, each one progressively higher and more difficult than the last. The jumps were simple, and Arthur took them one at a time. He made a full circle around the ring after each jump before taking the next one, and the whole time, Merlin kept up a steady stream of corrections and compliments.
“You know,” Arthur called after he’d taken a jump that looked like a brick wall, “I don’t remember ever being corrected this much in just one lesson.”
“Well then you must have gotten exceptionally sloppy,” Merlin answered. “And walk.” Arthur pulled Gwaine out of the canter, settling into a brisk walk. It would keep both of them alert and prepared. “Let’s try a course,” Merlin said. “Can you memorize it?”
Arthur scoffed and Merlin rolled his eyes.
“Right, then,” Merlin said. “Why don’t you--”
“Why don’t you give the poor man a break, Merlin?”
Arthur startled, but Merlin just smiled. “What can I do for you, Gaius?”
“You’ve got lessons. I don’t expect these children will prepare themselves for this show on their own, do you?”
“No, Gaius.” Merlin was laughing.
“Show?” Arthur asked, letting Gwaine fall back into a steadier and easier walk.
“A charity show,” Merlin said, walking over and hooking his hand in Arthur’s reins. Artur slipped off Gwaine, landing next to Merlin on the ground. Their shoulders bumped, and hidden from Gaius by Gwaine’s body, Arthur offered Merlin a half private smile. Merlin grinned back openly before he continued. “It’s held in Wales every year. They get some famous riders, some famous trainers, and a whole group of kids from barns like Camelot. We always bring a few kids--” Merlin broke off, a strange look on his face. “Well, Gwen brings a few kids. I stay here.”
“You don’t go?”
“No. We split the lessons. Work on our strengths with the kids so that they have a good time and hopefully do well.”
“If Camelot sends kids, don’t they ever ask you to ride in the show?”
“I don’t show,” Merlin said shortly. “I can’t.”
“Right,” Arthur answered, aware of Gaius still standing on the side of the ring, clearing his throat impatiently. “But don’t they ask you to judge? A rider like you--you’re the best of the best, Merlin. Why wouldn’t they ask--”
Merlin’s mouth was tight. “I don’t show,” he said again. “You should cool him down. I have to go and teach a lesson. Gaius! I’ll be right up. Can you start the kids off with a warm up?”
Arthur hadn’t felt so good in a long time. He was---happy. He felt whole. “Merlin!” he called out. Merlin paused, but didn’t turn around. “I’d like to ride,” Arthur said, “In the show. If they’d have me.”
“That sounds like a wonderful idea,” Gaius said before Merlin could answer. “I’ll put you in touch with the right people, shall I?”
“Yes, thanks,” Arthur answered.
Merlin didn’t say anything, but Arthur was sure he saw him smile.
~~~
It had been a long time since Merlin had felt as terrible as he did, but the next morning, when he went to get out of bed, he felt like he was dying. He pushed the covers back and stood up, automatically reaching around to rub the soreness out of his back, but once his legs were under him, he fell forward, and god help him, he screamed.
Gwen poked her head around the door, her face worried. When she saw him on the floor, she paled. “Jesus Merlin,” she said sharply, “What on Earth are you doing? Have you been riding again? How can I help?” She barely paused for breath. “God, oh god, I’m sorry, I’m yelling. Are you ok? Should I call the doctor?”
“I’m fine,” Merlin said, allowing her to pull him to his feet. The strange thing was, he was fine. He felt fine. Whatever it was had passed, his back didn’t even ache. “My legs must’ve been asleep. I just frightened myself when I toppled over. I’m all limbs, you know that,” he said, grabbing her hand and squeezing. She laced their fingers together, but looked skeptical.
“Must’ve done,” she answered quietly.
“You were out rather late last night,” Merlin said, forcing a change in subject. He dragged her out of his room, and only let go when they got to the kitchen. She sighed at him and flopped into a chair, dropping her head onto the table. Merlin grinned, “Very late, then,” he teased, fluffing her curls and going to make her a mug of coffee. “A bloke! Tell me about him.”
“He’s very handsome,” Gwen answered woefully.
“Don’t sound so cheerful about it,” Merlin laughed. He set the mug down in front of her, and she curled her fingers around it.
“He’s charming,” she said slowly, “And clever. Really clever. He’s a writer, you know. And he likes horses.”
“That all sounds promising,” Merlin said, “Why do you look so horrified?”
“It’s too good to be true! Isn’t it? Charming and handsome, there must be something wrong with him.”
“Why don’t you bring him around to the barn?”
“I will,” Gwen smiled. “You sure you’re fine, though? That was--frightening.”
Merlin dropped a kiss on top of her head and a plate of eggs in front of her. “I feel wonderful,” he answered. “I haven’t ridden in a few days, I think I’ll call Arthur and see if he’s up for a little friendly competition.”
Gwen snorted and waved him away, so Merlin turned back toward his room to get changed. “Oh, Merlin?” she called, blinking up innocently at him through her lashes, “Kick his arse, yeah?”
“Yeah,” Merlin promised, smiling so hard it hurt.
~~~
“So what’s the course?” Arthur asked as he eased Gwaine out of the canter.
Merlin grinned, “It’s easy, don’t worry. I won’t go too hard on you just yet.”
“Oh please,” Arthur rolled his eyes, “I’m sure that I’ll be loads better at riding than you.”
Merlin laughed. “We’ll see,” he promised. He’d drawn the course up on a map. It was easy, certainly easier than the courses that the two of them were used to competing on, but still harder than Arthur had yet ridden. For Merlin, too, it was difficult. Perhaps a little ambitious, given the way he’d woken up that morning, but he’d felt wonderful since then, and Merlin’s body was so rarely this agreeable that he couldn’t waste the chance to try something a little rougher than normal. He’d cleared it with Gaius that morning, at least as far as Fish went. His godfather was still skeptical that it was something Merlin could handle.
The truth was, after the accident, Merlin’s body had been far more damaged than Fish’s. Fish would probably have made an excellent horse for someone showing on a less advanced circuit, and if nothing else, he would’ve been an amazing lesson horse. But he was Merlin’s horse, and so his repertoire had been limited over the years to fit Merlin’s limited capacities.
Merlin pushed his nervous thoughts aside. With the jumps laid out between them, he felt whole. His back hadn’t hurt in hours--it was the longest he’d ever gone without some amount of pain. “Think you can handle this?” he asked as he lead Arthur and Gwaine out to the old cross country course.
Arthur rolled his eyes, “You’re off your game,” he reminded Merlin, “Yesterday’s champion. Don’t worry about me, worry about you.”
There was a time--and maybe it was only a few days ago--when those words would have cut Merlin down. Today, they just made him laugh. He winked at Arthur, “What’s the winners prize, then?” he asked.
“Whatever he wants,” Arthur answered seriously.
“You’re quite dramatic,” Merlin said, snorting. “Right, here’s the start.”
For a second, the old cross country course looked like it had been there for thousands of years, but Merlin blinked, and it was gone. He swallowed a nervous laugh and laid his palm flat against Fish’s side. “Let’s show him what a real champion rides like,” Merlin whispered.
They took off. Fish was smaller than Gwaine, and more lithe. He could hear Arthur cantering along behind him, but he was lost in the moment. Faster, he thought, determined to get a firm lead. Fish, as he always had, seemed to read Merlin’s mind. Merlin grinned and tucked down low, making himself as small an obstacle as possible. The wind whistled in his ears, and he counted strides as they approached the first jump.
He couldn’t even hear Arthur behind him. All Merlin knew was horse beneath him and the jump in front of him. He rose up, pressed his heels down, and gave Fish his head. The jump was in front of them, then below them, and finally behind them.
It was like flying, and it was like they’d never been stopped.
The second jump came up more quickly than the first, and Merlin counted heartbeats instead of strides. He and Fish had always communicated in a way that people often joked was preternatural, but nothing had ever felt more natural to Merlin than living in sync with his horse, caught in moments, trapped in flight.
Then they were at the third jump, and Merlin gave in to the sense of joy that was nearly bubbling out of him. He couldn’t hear Arthur behind him, or the birds, or anything but his horse and the wind in his ears. The laugh that spilled out of his mouth was involuntary and loud, but Merlin didn’t lose his focus. He felt lighter than a feather, and he threaded his fingers through Fish’s mane, breathing in. Then the third jump was behind them, and there were only two more.
Merlin’s body moved with Fish’s, their laboured breathing perfectly in sync. Merlin could feel it every time Fish’s feet touched the ground. He was aware of every flick of the horse’s tail. People had always thought it strange, the way that Merlin would reach up to flick a fly off Fish’s withers before the horse even had a chance to react, but for Merlin it was normal. He’d always been hypersensitive to his horse’s body. He could see the fourth jump around the corner, and he realized that he was going to win. He was still a champion. They were still a team. Merlin exhaled sharply with the realization, relief flooding through him. Together, as always, he and Fish rounded the corner to take the jump. They were riding, they were riding, they were jumping and--
It was like a switch went off.
Merlin screamed before he really processed the pain, his body reacting before his mind did. He felt the way each of his muscles tensed and spasmed, he felt his feet slide out of the stirrups, and his arms pinwheel. He felt it the moment he left the saddle. Merlin felt everything--Each second that passed, the way the air pressed against his body as he fell. He felt heavy, as though gravity was actually reaching for him, clutching at his shoulders and yanking him against the ground. He felt the ground, too, when he hit it, hard and unyielding. After that, all Merlin felt was the pain.
It was like someone was scraping a razor blade down his spine and digging their fingers into the wounds. It was like nothing he had ever felt before. If anything was preternatural, he thought just before he finally hit the ground, it was this pain. It was unreal.
He heard Arthur then, just a shout, just a fragment of a word, and then everything was black, and Merlin didn’t feel anything at all.
>>>