Knossos, 1425 BC
Title: Knossos, 1425 BC
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Arthur/Merlin
Wordcount: ~800
Summary: Minoan!AU - bull-leaping. Arthur likes to leap over bulls. Merlin likes to watch.
A/N: Beta'd by riventhorn and fitz_y. I made every effort for historical accuracy, but I'm not an expert and Minoan civilisation is mostly conjecture. Some helpful images: the Bull-Leaping Fresco from Knossos, a modern artist's impression and a diagram.
The bellowing of the bull was almost enough to drown out the cries of the crowd around the courtyard, one irate, the other elated, as they watched the dance playing out before them, violent and graceful, naked bodies arching through the air, skin shining with sweat and oil.
Merlin was on the sidelines, clutching a water jug in clammy hands, waiting for Arthur to take his turn. Arthur was hanging back, letting the other men and women go first. Probably that was what he always did; Merlin wasn’t sure. This was the first time they’d held a bull-leaping since he’d come to the palace at Knossos from his village in the countryside; it was all new and unfamiliar to him.
And it was mesmerising. The bodies glinting in the sunlight, the fluid, athletic movements, the laughter in their eyes as they faced the charging bull head-on, running feet and hoofbeats and bellows and the chanting of the crowd blending together into a manic drumbeat. It burrowed under his skin, thrumming in his veins, until he was itching to rush out and try it for himself.
But he wasn’t looking to be gored by an angry bull, so he stayed where he was, in the shadow of the palace, sheltered from the fierce sunlight, and fixed his gaze on Arthur, watching the muscles ripple under his skin as he shifted, restless. Maybe anxious, though he’d never admit it.
The drumbeat began to build to a crescendo, the bull and the crowd roaring as one, and Arthur finally, finally stepped out into the courtyard, alone and naked but for the cloth wound around his groin. Merlin was suddenly struck by Arthur’s vulnerability-if something were to go wrong, if he were to slip or falter or even hesitate…
The bull whirled around to face Arthur, herded by a group of servants, and time stood still. A hush fell over the crowd. Merlin’s hands were trembling, slipping on the handle of his jug, but he didn’t dare move to wipe them on his tunic.
Then the bull charged, the crowd hollered, and everything was fast and furious again. He stood frozen to the spot, staring at Arthur’s unflinching form, crouched in front of the bull, ready to leap.
The bull’s hooves pounded on the sanded floor, closer and closer, but still Arthur didn’t move. He didn’t move a muscle until the bull was almost upon him. Then suddenly he leapt out and up, gripping the bull’s horns, one in each hand. The bull snorted and bellowed and threw its head back, propelling Arthur through the air in a great smooth rolling arc, every muscle in his body tense, hands just brushing its flanks as he passed over.
The crowd roared as he landed with nary a stumble on the ground, arms upraised, jubilant, but Merlin hardly heard them. He clutched his jug closer to his body, relishing the cold stone against his heated skin, and swallowed.
Then the bull was whirling around, charging back down the courtyard, and Arthur did it again, just as effortlessly, whirling through the air, the bull surging beneath him, and Merlin thought the image might just be burned into his brain forever.
Once he’d landed, Arthur raised his arms above his head again, and the smile on his face was one of pure joy, without a hint of smugness or arrogance. He turned slow circles in the courtyard, and then strutted over towards Merlin.
His chest was heaving as he approached, his hair damp and dark with sweat, his eyes sparkling, and Merlin’s heart was racing, pounding in his chest, as if he’d been the one leaping over the maddened bull.
“Well?” said Arthur quietly, once he was in the shade, close enough that Merlin could smell him, sweat and olive oil and a hint of the musky scent of the bull. “What did you think?”
It was a moment before Merlin could find his tongue. “It was all right,” he said, with a little shrug.
“Oh, you’ve seen better, have you?” said Arthur, raising an eyebrow. And there, there was the smugness.
Merlin shrugged again and held out his jug. “Water, sire?”
Arthur wet his hands, splashed water across his face with a sigh of relief. “You don’t know a thing about it anyway,” he said, then, “I’ll see you in my rooms later.”
He touched a hand to Merlin’s shoulder as he left, so close that Merlin could feel the heat radiating off him, and he felt a shudder run through his body at the sensation. The crowd began to disperse behind him and the bull was led away, stamping and snorting. The jug dangled in his hands, water sloshing inside. By the time he’d caught his breath, the courtyard was all but empty.
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Arthur/Merlin
Wordcount: ~800
Summary: Minoan!AU - bull-leaping. Arthur likes to leap over bulls. Merlin likes to watch.
A/N: Beta'd by riventhorn and fitz_y. I made every effort for historical accuracy, but I'm not an expert and Minoan civilisation is mostly conjecture. Some helpful images: the Bull-Leaping Fresco from Knossos, a modern artist's impression and a diagram.
The bellowing of the bull was almost enough to drown out the cries of the crowd around the courtyard, one irate, the other elated, as they watched the dance playing out before them, violent and graceful, naked bodies arching through the air, skin shining with sweat and oil.
Merlin was on the sidelines, clutching a water jug in clammy hands, waiting for Arthur to take his turn. Arthur was hanging back, letting the other men and women go first. Probably that was what he always did; Merlin wasn’t sure. This was the first time they’d held a bull-leaping since he’d come to the palace at Knossos from his village in the countryside; it was all new and unfamiliar to him.
And it was mesmerising. The bodies glinting in the sunlight, the fluid, athletic movements, the laughter in their eyes as they faced the charging bull head-on, running feet and hoofbeats and bellows and the chanting of the crowd blending together into a manic drumbeat. It burrowed under his skin, thrumming in his veins, until he was itching to rush out and try it for himself.
But he wasn’t looking to be gored by an angry bull, so he stayed where he was, in the shadow of the palace, sheltered from the fierce sunlight, and fixed his gaze on Arthur, watching the muscles ripple under his skin as he shifted, restless. Maybe anxious, though he’d never admit it.
The drumbeat began to build to a crescendo, the bull and the crowd roaring as one, and Arthur finally, finally stepped out into the courtyard, alone and naked but for the cloth wound around his groin. Merlin was suddenly struck by Arthur’s vulnerability-if something were to go wrong, if he were to slip or falter or even hesitate…
The bull whirled around to face Arthur, herded by a group of servants, and time stood still. A hush fell over the crowd. Merlin’s hands were trembling, slipping on the handle of his jug, but he didn’t dare move to wipe them on his tunic.
Then the bull charged, the crowd hollered, and everything was fast and furious again. He stood frozen to the spot, staring at Arthur’s unflinching form, crouched in front of the bull, ready to leap.
The bull’s hooves pounded on the sanded floor, closer and closer, but still Arthur didn’t move. He didn’t move a muscle until the bull was almost upon him. Then suddenly he leapt out and up, gripping the bull’s horns, one in each hand. The bull snorted and bellowed and threw its head back, propelling Arthur through the air in a great smooth rolling arc, every muscle in his body tense, hands just brushing its flanks as he passed over.
The crowd roared as he landed with nary a stumble on the ground, arms upraised, jubilant, but Merlin hardly heard them. He clutched his jug closer to his body, relishing the cold stone against his heated skin, and swallowed.
Then the bull was whirling around, charging back down the courtyard, and Arthur did it again, just as effortlessly, whirling through the air, the bull surging beneath him, and Merlin thought the image might just be burned into his brain forever.
Once he’d landed, Arthur raised his arms above his head again, and the smile on his face was one of pure joy, without a hint of smugness or arrogance. He turned slow circles in the courtyard, and then strutted over towards Merlin.
His chest was heaving as he approached, his hair damp and dark with sweat, his eyes sparkling, and Merlin’s heart was racing, pounding in his chest, as if he’d been the one leaping over the maddened bull.
“Well?” said Arthur quietly, once he was in the shade, close enough that Merlin could smell him, sweat and olive oil and a hint of the musky scent of the bull. “What did you think?”
It was a moment before Merlin could find his tongue. “It was all right,” he said, with a little shrug.
“Oh, you’ve seen better, have you?” said Arthur, raising an eyebrow. And there, there was the smugness.
Merlin shrugged again and held out his jug. “Water, sire?”
Arthur wet his hands, splashed water across his face with a sigh of relief. “You don’t know a thing about it anyway,” he said, then, “I’ll see you in my rooms later.”
He touched a hand to Merlin’s shoulder as he left, so close that Merlin could feel the heat radiating off him, and he felt a shudder run through his body at the sensation. The crowd began to disperse behind him and the bull was led away, stamping and snorting. The jug dangled in his hands, water sloshing inside. By the time he’d caught his breath, the courtyard was all but empty.