eosrose's gift from starzangel1
Title: The Prince in the Tower
Medium: Fanfic
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Arthur/Merlin
Warnings: Mpreg
A/N: Set in canon-universe-ish, few years post-series 3, Uther still king, established Merlin/Arthur, male pregnancy normal/natural occurrence. Word count ~1,000.
Summary: An imprisoned Arthur is alone with his thoughts.
The Prince in the Tower
Through the drafty window, Arthur saw the fog roll in from the distant hills. It pooled deeply, thick and grey, in the valley and swirled amongst the forest, stealthily smothering the trees from view even as he watched. Soon it would reach the lakeside ruins and then the castle. Its freezing tendrils would swiftly curl upwards to enwrap the tower. Arthur rested a troubled hand against the pane. It would be a cold night.
The prince turned, feigning an air of fortitude, and abandoned the window in favour of the rickety old bed in the corner. He rubbed his arms and pulled a scratchy wool blanket about himself. Feeling so very alone, Arthur reflected on how he still found it difficult to be cast in the role of damsel in distress. He’d resisted the awful truth of being unable to get himself out of this mess, but he was weaponless, the door was very solid and very locked, the window was a very, very long way above the ground, and the tower’s stonework was almost faultlessly smooth. So, he was stuck, trapped, imprisoned. There was nothing for him to do except wait to be rescued.
Wait to be rescued by Merlin.
It still didn’t quite roll off his tongue right, despite it being well over a year since he’d discovered Merlin - Old Religion evildoer-zappingly powerful sorcerer - was perfectly capable of rescuing him. Perhaps his current condition, accompanied by its indisputable exemption from death-defying heroics or heavy lifting, should’ve helped prepare him. But it didn’t. After all, he had still been getting used to not being able to run up steps without almost falling back down them again in a fit of dizziness.
Not that retaining his ability for exertion would’ve helped him at all here, anyway. He was fairly certain that the door was magically locked - it made his fingertips tingle when he touched it, not to mention his shoulder when he slammed his weight against it. This was definitely Merlin’s department.
Arthur shuffled over to the window again, blanket pulled tight around his shoulders. The fog had swallowed the lake and buried the ruins. He wouldn’t be surprised if the fog was magical, too. Although, he tended to think everything was magical these days. Well, it often was.
Of course, when they finally got back to Camelot, he would take all the credit for heroically escaping from his imprisonment. He’d bask in the glory, Merlin standing in his shadow. Yet, he wouldn’t enjoy it like he used to. He was no longer clueless as to Merlin’s help - or, as it sometimes happened, Merlin entirely saving the day by himself - and so there would be nagging guilt and a night of making it up to his lover - not that that was exactly a hardship. Arthur knew he’d find himself wishing things could be different, that Merlin could have the applause he deserved. But his magic had to be kept secret. Uther couldn’t know, could never know - a brief magic-induced trip into an alternate timeline had taught them that harsh lesson.
It wounded Arthur that he couldn’t tell his father just how great and wonderful and powerful his prospective son-in-law was. However, they’d had a hard enough time persuading the King to swallow the morsel of information that the prince truly loved his servant and nothing could separate them - and Uther had tried, ruthlessly so. They still weren’t sure how well the way had been paved to impart a rather important piece of news to the King. It was troublesome that Uther still wouldn’t consent to their marriage, and although their news should force his hand, it wasn’t clear into doing what. Arthur was already making back-up preparations to leave the kingdom for several months - a lone crusade sounded noble and impressive, right? Coming home empty-handed - well, it wouldn’t exactly be that in his case - was the normal outcome, so his apparent noble adventure wouldn’t be easily disproved.
After all, an heir could be legitimised years after their birth. It wasn’t so very bad, considering everything.
It still made Arthur sulk, though. There was no sign of a dark-haired young man stepping out of the fog at the foot of the tower, so Arthur abandoned the window once more. He lay down on the bed, shifted into as comfortable a position as he could find on the thin, lumpy mattress, and stared up at the rafters. His hands found their way to lie comfortably on his abdomen. He could feel the little telltale curve of his belly, the baby rapidly heading towards four months, soon to make itself known through clothing. This wasn’t a secret he would be able to keep from Uther much longer. Either he faced his father and told him the news, or he fled the kingdom and had the baby in secret. He hated the idea of hiding Merlin’s child, which he considered such a blessing, a proud joy. Yet, if keeping another secret protected Merlin and their child, it would have to be done.
There was also the issue of whether their child had magic. Merlin couldn’t sense anything yet, or claimed he couldn’t. Arthur had his suspicions. It was a worrisome possibility, for Hunith had plenty of harrowing stories of Merlin as a baby in a realm where magic was forbidden. However, there were plenty of cute stories as well, Arthur briefly reminded himself and a smile flittered across his pale face.
Then steely blue eyes bore into the rafters, challenging his father from afar. Arthur would do whatever it took to protect his child.
Coldness filled the room, the fog pressing against the windowpane. Arthur pulled another blanket over himself and curled onto his side. Tiredness tugged at him and he closed his eyes with a sigh. He might as well pass the waiting in sleep, perhaps waking to find Merlin bursting heroically into the room to embrace him...arms holding him tight, a warm hand slipping under his tunic to touch his belly, the other cupping the back of his neck, lips hungrily meeting his, moving together, deepening, tongues brushing, sweet taste, rush of heat, hearts racing, together.
Arthur drifted into a vision of Merlin galloping his bay horse through a forest. Magic surged unseen through the sorcerer, ready for angry release against Arthur’s captors.
The prince slept, his soul knowing rescue was imminent. A peaceful smile lay upon his waiting lips.
Medium: Fanfic
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Arthur/Merlin
Warnings: Mpreg
A/N: Set in canon-universe-ish, few years post-series 3, Uther still king, established Merlin/Arthur, male pregnancy normal/natural occurrence. Word count ~1,000.
Summary: An imprisoned Arthur is alone with his thoughts.
The Prince in the Tower
Through the drafty window, Arthur saw the fog roll in from the distant hills. It pooled deeply, thick and grey, in the valley and swirled amongst the forest, stealthily smothering the trees from view even as he watched. Soon it would reach the lakeside ruins and then the castle. Its freezing tendrils would swiftly curl upwards to enwrap the tower. Arthur rested a troubled hand against the pane. It would be a cold night.
The prince turned, feigning an air of fortitude, and abandoned the window in favour of the rickety old bed in the corner. He rubbed his arms and pulled a scratchy wool blanket about himself. Feeling so very alone, Arthur reflected on how he still found it difficult to be cast in the role of damsel in distress. He’d resisted the awful truth of being unable to get himself out of this mess, but he was weaponless, the door was very solid and very locked, the window was a very, very long way above the ground, and the tower’s stonework was almost faultlessly smooth. So, he was stuck, trapped, imprisoned. There was nothing for him to do except wait to be rescued.
Wait to be rescued by Merlin.
It still didn’t quite roll off his tongue right, despite it being well over a year since he’d discovered Merlin - Old Religion evildoer-zappingly powerful sorcerer - was perfectly capable of rescuing him. Perhaps his current condition, accompanied by its indisputable exemption from death-defying heroics or heavy lifting, should’ve helped prepare him. But it didn’t. After all, he had still been getting used to not being able to run up steps without almost falling back down them again in a fit of dizziness.
Not that retaining his ability for exertion would’ve helped him at all here, anyway. He was fairly certain that the door was magically locked - it made his fingertips tingle when he touched it, not to mention his shoulder when he slammed his weight against it. This was definitely Merlin’s department.
Arthur shuffled over to the window again, blanket pulled tight around his shoulders. The fog had swallowed the lake and buried the ruins. He wouldn’t be surprised if the fog was magical, too. Although, he tended to think everything was magical these days. Well, it often was.
Of course, when they finally got back to Camelot, he would take all the credit for heroically escaping from his imprisonment. He’d bask in the glory, Merlin standing in his shadow. Yet, he wouldn’t enjoy it like he used to. He was no longer clueless as to Merlin’s help - or, as it sometimes happened, Merlin entirely saving the day by himself - and so there would be nagging guilt and a night of making it up to his lover - not that that was exactly a hardship. Arthur knew he’d find himself wishing things could be different, that Merlin could have the applause he deserved. But his magic had to be kept secret. Uther couldn’t know, could never know - a brief magic-induced trip into an alternate timeline had taught them that harsh lesson.
It wounded Arthur that he couldn’t tell his father just how great and wonderful and powerful his prospective son-in-law was. However, they’d had a hard enough time persuading the King to swallow the morsel of information that the prince truly loved his servant and nothing could separate them - and Uther had tried, ruthlessly so. They still weren’t sure how well the way had been paved to impart a rather important piece of news to the King. It was troublesome that Uther still wouldn’t consent to their marriage, and although their news should force his hand, it wasn’t clear into doing what. Arthur was already making back-up preparations to leave the kingdom for several months - a lone crusade sounded noble and impressive, right? Coming home empty-handed - well, it wouldn’t exactly be that in his case - was the normal outcome, so his apparent noble adventure wouldn’t be easily disproved.
After all, an heir could be legitimised years after their birth. It wasn’t so very bad, considering everything.
It still made Arthur sulk, though. There was no sign of a dark-haired young man stepping out of the fog at the foot of the tower, so Arthur abandoned the window once more. He lay down on the bed, shifted into as comfortable a position as he could find on the thin, lumpy mattress, and stared up at the rafters. His hands found their way to lie comfortably on his abdomen. He could feel the little telltale curve of his belly, the baby rapidly heading towards four months, soon to make itself known through clothing. This wasn’t a secret he would be able to keep from Uther much longer. Either he faced his father and told him the news, or he fled the kingdom and had the baby in secret. He hated the idea of hiding Merlin’s child, which he considered such a blessing, a proud joy. Yet, if keeping another secret protected Merlin and their child, it would have to be done.
There was also the issue of whether their child had magic. Merlin couldn’t sense anything yet, or claimed he couldn’t. Arthur had his suspicions. It was a worrisome possibility, for Hunith had plenty of harrowing stories of Merlin as a baby in a realm where magic was forbidden. However, there were plenty of cute stories as well, Arthur briefly reminded himself and a smile flittered across his pale face.
Then steely blue eyes bore into the rafters, challenging his father from afar. Arthur would do whatever it took to protect his child.
Coldness filled the room, the fog pressing against the windowpane. Arthur pulled another blanket over himself and curled onto his side. Tiredness tugged at him and he closed his eyes with a sigh. He might as well pass the waiting in sleep, perhaps waking to find Merlin bursting heroically into the room to embrace him...arms holding him tight, a warm hand slipping under his tunic to touch his belly, the other cupping the back of his neck, lips hungrily meeting his, moving together, deepening, tongues brushing, sweet taste, rush of heat, hearts racing, together.
Arthur drifted into a vision of Merlin galloping his bay horse through a forest. Magic surged unseen through the sorcerer, ready for angry release against Arthur’s captors.
The prince slept, his soul knowing rescue was imminent. A peaceful smile lay upon his waiting lips.