FIC: "Light of Arthur" -- Chapter 7 of 17
Title: Light of Arthur
Chapter: 7/17
Author: venivincere (venivincere at hotmail dot com)
Pairing: Merlin/Arthur
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: ~63,000
Warnings (highlight to view): Character death, not Merlin or Arthur. Spoilers through season two. Religious themes.
Category: Drama, romance
Summary: An epic tale of gods and man, destiny and choices, darkness and light, and eternal love that’s fixed as the stars to the celestial sphere. Written for the 2010 Merlin Big Bang at paperlegends.
Special Thanks and Dedication: To lamardeuse: this story, although changed somewhat since, would not be recognizable as the thing that it is without your initial insightful ideas. I can’t thank you enough for your outstanding thoughtfulness and thoroughness in betaing my outline. To itzcoatl: that you took my story and gave it serious attention, that you gave me your brilliant and thoughtful insights and made me think, not only about what I didn’t know but also about what I thought I did know and believe, just blows me away. I can’t thank you enough. And then, to take these ideas and make the most breathtaking art - I am your servant. To metal_dog5, you have outstanding patience and a keen eye for all my thoughtless mistakes; you have taken this beast and cleaned up all its messes and made it company ready, and in short order. I humbly beg your pardon for any mistakes still in here, because your hard work deserves better than my poor efforts. And last but not least, to my cheerleader binglejells: you knew instinctively what I needed and gave it to me when I needed it. Knowledge of rivers and terrain in England? Old English references for spells? You knew it. And how do I thank you for kicking my arse when I needed it, and kissing it when that was what I needed? You played me like a fine, old instrument, and I can’t thank you enough for that.
Author Notes: Like canon, there are many historical anachronisms in this fic (OK, understatement), but hopefully they are of a less egregious nature than the ones in canon. I did a great deal of research in order to inject a level of verisimilitude between the story and actual history, though I did bend dates and facts as needed in order to fit the story. I did not footnote the text, but if there is something in the text that you don’t recognise, there will likely be an explanatory note at the end of the story. When in doubt, look there, and if you can’t find it, asking google will help: it’s how I found most of the facts I did use in this story. Or email me! :-)
Artist Note: itzcoatl did three extraordinary works for this fic. Please let her know how much you enjoyed her work here at her post.
::----------------------------------------------------------::
When he first rose to the surface of his thoughts, there was nothing but soft voices. No feeling, no pain - they spoke quietly over his head, saying… something….
The second time, he came awake coughing, and there were knives in his chest, stabbing and stabbing until his head split open, and he slipped back into that quiet place with no sense or pain.
The third time, he opened his eyes.
He recognised the inside of his tent just as the feeling crashed back into his body, pushing a groan out of him, deep and hoarse, and sending him into another fit of coughing. He would have been concerned about the cutting, bubbling pain in his chest, were it not for the explosive pain in his head.
"Here, drink this," said a voice, and then Arthur loomed over him with a skin in his hands, and asked, "Ready?"
Merlin nodded and then cried out - the pain burst through his skull and for a moment he wavered between awareness and numb, dark retreat.
"Don't try to move," said Arthur.
"Really?" Merlin croaked, but he held still. Arthur tipped the skin to his lips, and he drank icy water until the dank, weedy taste washed out of his mouth.
"Better?" said Arthur, looking strained.
"Yeah," said Merlin, just as he was taken by a fit of violent shivering.
"You've got a fever," said Arthur, "and I don't think we were able to get all the water out of your lungs. Plus you've got a nasty bump on your head. You hit a rock at the bottom of the river."
Events were beginning to take shape in Merlin's mind.
"You're lucky, Merlin," said Arthur. "The water dragged you quite a way downstream. I didn't think-" he took a deep breath and expelled it. "I couldn't believe we got to you in time."
It wasn't until he felt the squeeze on his hand that he realised Arthur had burrowed under the blanket and captured it in one of his own.
"What time is it?" asked Merlin, the appalling, gruff resonance of his voice shaking his brain.
"The morning of the second day since you were thrown."
Oh, no. "Where are we?"
"Still at the ford," Arthur sighed. "Galahad said we shouldn't move you."
"He's right. Gaius-" Gaius! Just the thought of him sent a crippling wave of homesickness washing through Merlin. "Gaius always says to keep watch and not move someone who's hit their head. And keep them awake for a bit."
"A bit late for that," said Arthur, smiling and staring at Merlin's face like he hadn't seen him in ages, "but I think you'll be all right."
The tears gathered in Merlin's eyes and rolled silently into his ears. As much as Merlin wished he wouldn't, Arthur continued looking at him, but there wasn't anything Merlin could do to stop his tears.
"Merlin-"
"My head hurts," Merlin interrupted. "That's all." He worked to keep his breathing slow and even and silent. He felt his lungs might crush from the effort.
Arthur sighed and squeezed his hand again. "Are you hungry? William's turned out to be a decent cook. Well, he's dreadful, but probably less dreadful than the rest of us."
William's mum was Lainey, from the castle kitchens; he'd wanted to turn squire instead of cook and Gawain, recognising a tie to the kitchens could only work in his favour, had picked him up a few months before they'd set off on the quest. But Merlin didn't trust his voice not to waver just yet, and the thought of food made him feel ill, so he whispered a tight "No," and closed his eyes. Oh, but, "William - in my pack, there is a powder of feverfew. Have him heat a cup of water and add a pinch to it."
"Anything else?" said Arthur, a bit archly.
"Sorry, Arthur - Sire - just, if-"
"Merlin."
Merlin opened his eyes, squinting against the pain. Arthur was smirking. Prat.
"Thank you, Arthur," he said, managing a small smile himself before he closed his eyes again. The tent flap rustled as Arthur left.
William sat with him while he drank the feverfew potion and promised to make more twice a day until Merlin was well.
He hadn't meant to sleep, but when he woke, at least his head didn't feel as though it were about to split open. Galahad and Taliesin were sitting in the tent with him, Galahad stretched out in the space next to Merlin with Taliesin's head in his lap, while Taliesin worked on a new ballad about Urien of Rheged. Merlin found the quiet talking and occasional snatches of song quite soothing, and said nothing for quite a long while until the pressure from his bladder could no longer be ignored.
"We'll help," said Galahad, and they took an arm apiece and walked him shaking and shivering out to the sand at the river's edge. It looked to be evening by the light, but any more it was difficult to tell. When he got back to his bedroll he was exhausted and shivering so hard he thought he might vomit.
"You're not hungry, then?" asked Taliesin.
"No," said Merlin, trembling violently. He didn't think he could even keep down a sip of the feverfew potion, which William brought in to him as soon as we was settled. And if he didn't focus on something else, he thought he might dry-heave.
"Who pulled me from the water?" he asked, because he had no recollection of anything after the fall, and he desperately needed a distraction from his roiling stomach.
Galahad and Taliesin looked at each other. "Prince Arthur," said Galahad. "He was quite - well, let's just say I've never seen him move that fast."
It was probably a good thing he was so very cold; there was no danger of his face heating up and turning red.
"He ordered a fire and rode off down the middle of the river," continued Taliesin. "He managed to block your progress with his horse, then he jumped down and dragged you up onto its neck. He mounted again and rode you back to us, stripped you down to nothing, rubbed you all over with a sheet of linen and wrapped you head to toe in his own cloak and bedroll. He held you tight to him until the fire was blazing high, then lay you down with your head near the fire. Your hair was still wet."
Galahad looked at him. "You're a lucky man, Merlin, to serve a man like Prince Arthur."
That he was lucky, he'd realised the first time Arthur had saved his life. And if he were honest with himself, Merlin would admit he liked taking up space in a part of Arthur's heart. Whether or not Arthur would admit it (and he hadn't, not yet, and probably never would, in words) they were friends. But this - putting himself at such a terrible risk when the success of this whole journey was so tenuous, this was humbling in a way Merlin was not used to feeling.
"Thank you," he managed, wrapping up tight in the blankets facing away from the two men, shivering hard and not wanting to see any more of Galahad's slightly pitying look or Taliesin's private smile. After they left, he sat up and risked a weak heating charm on the feverfew potion, and drank it down. He was soon asleep. When he woke later, it was pitch black in the tent and he was finally warm. Arthur lay wrapped around him shoulders to toes, and he relished the break from shivering.
"Better now?"
"Yeah."
Arthur folded Merlin's arms into his chest rubbed his hand up and down Merlin's forearms.
"Arthur… are you OK?" asked Merlin. He didn't know what to expect and didn't really want to explain, but it was plain from what Galahad had said that Arthur was frightened, in his own way.
Arthur took a little while to answer. Then, "I'm fine, Merlin," he said, giving the wrist in his hand a brief squeeze. "Get some sleep. We move on tomorrow."
"Arthur?" said Merlin, his hand wrapping around Arthur's and squeezing back, "Thank you. For everything."
"Yes, well, it's hard to find servants as ridiculously incompetent as you are."
Merlin let slip a quiet snort, and leaned a little heavier back into Arthur's embrace. It wasn't until he had drifted past the point of no return that he thought he heard Arthur say, "And I don't know what I'd do without you."
::-----------------------::
Merlin's head felt much better in the morning, just a dull, lingering ache, but the bubbling tightness in his chest every time he drew breath was far worse, and he could barely catch his breath. He crumpled to his knees by the river and coughed and coughed until he spewed the water he had just drunk all over the sand in front of him. His face was on fire but his body shivered fit to shake him out of his boots. He made his way to the fire where the clothes and winter cloak he'd worn when he fell into the river were finally dried. He was so cold he put the clothes on over the ones he was wearing and wrapped the cloak tight around all.
He turned to the tent, but someone had already taken it down and stowed it. He looked for-
"Pip, is that my horse hitched to the cart?" he said, barely recognising his own voice, it was so deep and full of gravel. The bay mare huddled in the traces behind the roan.
"She's been trained to it," said Pip, "most of 'em here have."
"But where - oh, no," said Merlin. He found Arthur repacking his knives in his saddle bag, but was too winded to sound angry when he said, "Tell me I am not riding with you."
Arthur smirked. "You're not riding with me."
"But-"
"Merlin," said Arthur, putting a hand on his arm. "We need to move on, but you're not yet well enough to ride. I had the cart restowed to make a place for you to lie down. You need to rest."
"But-"
"We will take turns leading the cart horses in your stead," said Arthur. "Your bedroll is already laid out for you. We put it on the last few sacks of grain, so it shouldn't be too lumpy."
"But-"
"No more buts, Merlin," said Arthur, dragging him by the arm to the cart and hoisting him in. There was a little nested area toward the front, and Arthur waited until Merlin was settled in, facing forward so he could see where they were headed. And once he was settled, he was grateful for it; he had so little energy that his morning jaunt left him trembling and exhausted. A coughing fit soon after left him wrung out, as well. He wouldn't have lasted a quarter of an hour on horseback.
"Here's a skin of fresh, clean water for you, and William left you two oat cakes and this" said Arthur, pulling a tiny stoppered flagon from his pocket and handing it to him, along with the skin and one of Merlin's kerchiefs tied up in a bundle. "We'll check on you often, but if you need anything, call out. Oh!"
Arthur trotted back to his horse, dug out a book, and brought it back with a smirk. "If you feel well enough, I think this is something you've been wanting to read," he said, placing the book into Merlin's hands. He was almost back to his horse before Merlin recognised the wood and red leather of the cover.
::--------------------------------::
On this side of the river, the road had a berm, and had not been maintained for years; the paving stones were covered over with dirt packed hard and smooth by many rains and few feet, and all of it carried a fluffy layer of snow where the winds hadn't blown it drifting over the berm. This meant Merlin didn't rattle around the cart as he might have done. The dirt and snow served to muffle the steps of the horses and the noise of the cart wheels, too, so all in all it was a peaceful ride. For a long while, Merlin did nothing but lay wrapped and warm from his ears to his toes and watch the dusky sky, thankful for the cold breeze on his hot face and the top of his head, which felt as though it might blow off every time he coughed. But eventually, he lifted the comfortable weight in his lap and opened its pages. His desire to find out what Arthur had been reading that day was about as intellectual and far removed from carnal curiousity as he could get, never feeling any kind of desire other than for rest, as was usually so when he was ill, but it was better than contemplating the sky for another hour.
Two hours later, as the company were stopping by a stream to refresh the horses, Merlin put the book down. It took him a very short amount of time to realise that his shaking was no longer from the cold.
In his career as a servant to the Prince, he had heard of certain… letters that had been written. Secret letters from a knight in the wars to his intended back home, or of a travelling merchant to his good lady wife. Intimate words, from one lover to another, that had been gathered and told as tales by the bards, in only the latest part of the evening after a feast. Stories they waited to tell until the Ladies of the Court had all retired. The Ecloga were not these kinds of letters. But there was a song… at first, Merlin was hard put to understand that the one Corydon was aflame for was a boy, a boy likely as old as Merlin himself. And while that was a little unusual, it wasn't that Corydon was talking about how to take the boy. To use him. Corydon had said, 'You scorn me, Alexis, and ask not what I am.' And he said, 'Yet love still burns in me; for what bound can be set to love'?
Merlin, for all that the lewd stories had only made their way into the evening's conversation a few times since he came to Camelot, had never seen the prince react with anything other than propriety bordering on indifference. But this, this tale of a man whose love for another man was strong enough to set him aflame, to invoke poetry but not be returned, brought Arthur to his knees. Was it simply the existence of desire? Was it shame? Merlin hoped it wasn't shame that motivated Arthur's lust. Did he allow his lust to express itself because, like Corydon, his desire was chaste - because somewhere, deep down, he understood that he was free from the expectation of his love ever being requited, even as he was sorely disappointed by that? What could this mean?
Perhaps it was simply that Corydon desired another man, that there was the possibility of true love between men… though tales of a man lying with another man for love were not unheard of in the wee hours, either. Could it be that what moved Arthur, what acted as the source of his longing and desire, was the possibility of the strength of love between two men?
Merlin wasn't stupid, and he wasn't prone to looking a hard truth in the eye and giving it a miss. He understood very well that he himself must be whom Arthur considered to be his Alexis, and not simply because Arthur had given him the book to look at in the first place. All the times Arthur had saved him…. As for Merlin, it wasn't difficult at all to admit that he loved Arthur very much, and had for quite some time. Not that he knew what to do about it. Should he question Arthur? Should he hint around it, and see what admissions the Prince might make on his own? Should he let it go, or simply revel in their relationship as it stood, taking every day and every challenge as they came without much in the way of personal acknowledgement?
His mind was too foggy to even consider more. He talked to no one during their brief stop except Arthur himself, who asked Merlin how he was doing but was preoccupied enough not to notice Merlin's turmoil. Merlin began coughing again just as the party started up, and by the time he could stop and wrap his scarf around his mouth and breath in the warm air (which helped), he was so exhausted and his mind so roiling that he shut his eyes to the world and sought the escape of sleep.
Chapter: 7/17
Author: venivincere (venivincere at hotmail dot com)
Pairing: Merlin/Arthur
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: ~63,000
Warnings (highlight to view): Character death, not Merlin or Arthur. Spoilers through season two. Religious themes.
Category: Drama, romance
Summary: An epic tale of gods and man, destiny and choices, darkness and light, and eternal love that’s fixed as the stars to the celestial sphere. Written for the 2010 Merlin Big Bang at paperlegends.
Special Thanks and Dedication: To lamardeuse: this story, although changed somewhat since, would not be recognizable as the thing that it is without your initial insightful ideas. I can’t thank you enough for your outstanding thoughtfulness and thoroughness in betaing my outline. To itzcoatl: that you took my story and gave it serious attention, that you gave me your brilliant and thoughtful insights and made me think, not only about what I didn’t know but also about what I thought I did know and believe, just blows me away. I can’t thank you enough. And then, to take these ideas and make the most breathtaking art - I am your servant. To metal_dog5, you have outstanding patience and a keen eye for all my thoughtless mistakes; you have taken this beast and cleaned up all its messes and made it company ready, and in short order. I humbly beg your pardon for any mistakes still in here, because your hard work deserves better than my poor efforts. And last but not least, to my cheerleader binglejells: you knew instinctively what I needed and gave it to me when I needed it. Knowledge of rivers and terrain in England? Old English references for spells? You knew it. And how do I thank you for kicking my arse when I needed it, and kissing it when that was what I needed? You played me like a fine, old instrument, and I can’t thank you enough for that.
Author Notes: Like canon, there are many historical anachronisms in this fic (OK, understatement), but hopefully they are of a less egregious nature than the ones in canon. I did a great deal of research in order to inject a level of verisimilitude between the story and actual history, though I did bend dates and facts as needed in order to fit the story. I did not footnote the text, but if there is something in the text that you don’t recognise, there will likely be an explanatory note at the end of the story. When in doubt, look there, and if you can’t find it, asking google will help: it’s how I found most of the facts I did use in this story. Or email me! :-)
Artist Note: itzcoatl did three extraordinary works for this fic. Please let her know how much you enjoyed her work here at her post.
::----------------------------------------------------------::
When he first rose to the surface of his thoughts, there was nothing but soft voices. No feeling, no pain - they spoke quietly over his head, saying… something….
The second time, he came awake coughing, and there were knives in his chest, stabbing and stabbing until his head split open, and he slipped back into that quiet place with no sense or pain.
The third time, he opened his eyes.
He recognised the inside of his tent just as the feeling crashed back into his body, pushing a groan out of him, deep and hoarse, and sending him into another fit of coughing. He would have been concerned about the cutting, bubbling pain in his chest, were it not for the explosive pain in his head.
"Here, drink this," said a voice, and then Arthur loomed over him with a skin in his hands, and asked, "Ready?"
Merlin nodded and then cried out - the pain burst through his skull and for a moment he wavered between awareness and numb, dark retreat.
"Don't try to move," said Arthur.
"Really?" Merlin croaked, but he held still. Arthur tipped the skin to his lips, and he drank icy water until the dank, weedy taste washed out of his mouth.
"Better?" said Arthur, looking strained.
"Yeah," said Merlin, just as he was taken by a fit of violent shivering.
"You've got a fever," said Arthur, "and I don't think we were able to get all the water out of your lungs. Plus you've got a nasty bump on your head. You hit a rock at the bottom of the river."
Events were beginning to take shape in Merlin's mind.
"You're lucky, Merlin," said Arthur. "The water dragged you quite a way downstream. I didn't think-" he took a deep breath and expelled it. "I couldn't believe we got to you in time."
It wasn't until he felt the squeeze on his hand that he realised Arthur had burrowed under the blanket and captured it in one of his own.
"What time is it?" asked Merlin, the appalling, gruff resonance of his voice shaking his brain.
"The morning of the second day since you were thrown."
Oh, no. "Where are we?"
"Still at the ford," Arthur sighed. "Galahad said we shouldn't move you."
"He's right. Gaius-" Gaius! Just the thought of him sent a crippling wave of homesickness washing through Merlin. "Gaius always says to keep watch and not move someone who's hit their head. And keep them awake for a bit."
"A bit late for that," said Arthur, smiling and staring at Merlin's face like he hadn't seen him in ages, "but I think you'll be all right."
The tears gathered in Merlin's eyes and rolled silently into his ears. As much as Merlin wished he wouldn't, Arthur continued looking at him, but there wasn't anything Merlin could do to stop his tears.
"Merlin-"
"My head hurts," Merlin interrupted. "That's all." He worked to keep his breathing slow and even and silent. He felt his lungs might crush from the effort.
Arthur sighed and squeezed his hand again. "Are you hungry? William's turned out to be a decent cook. Well, he's dreadful, but probably less dreadful than the rest of us."
William's mum was Lainey, from the castle kitchens; he'd wanted to turn squire instead of cook and Gawain, recognising a tie to the kitchens could only work in his favour, had picked him up a few months before they'd set off on the quest. But Merlin didn't trust his voice not to waver just yet, and the thought of food made him feel ill, so he whispered a tight "No," and closed his eyes. Oh, but, "William - in my pack, there is a powder of feverfew. Have him heat a cup of water and add a pinch to it."
"Anything else?" said Arthur, a bit archly.
"Sorry, Arthur - Sire - just, if-"
"Merlin."
Merlin opened his eyes, squinting against the pain. Arthur was smirking. Prat.
"Thank you, Arthur," he said, managing a small smile himself before he closed his eyes again. The tent flap rustled as Arthur left.
William sat with him while he drank the feverfew potion and promised to make more twice a day until Merlin was well.
He hadn't meant to sleep, but when he woke, at least his head didn't feel as though it were about to split open. Galahad and Taliesin were sitting in the tent with him, Galahad stretched out in the space next to Merlin with Taliesin's head in his lap, while Taliesin worked on a new ballad about Urien of Rheged. Merlin found the quiet talking and occasional snatches of song quite soothing, and said nothing for quite a long while until the pressure from his bladder could no longer be ignored.
"We'll help," said Galahad, and they took an arm apiece and walked him shaking and shivering out to the sand at the river's edge. It looked to be evening by the light, but any more it was difficult to tell. When he got back to his bedroll he was exhausted and shivering so hard he thought he might vomit.
"You're not hungry, then?" asked Taliesin.
"No," said Merlin, trembling violently. He didn't think he could even keep down a sip of the feverfew potion, which William brought in to him as soon as we was settled. And if he didn't focus on something else, he thought he might dry-heave.
"Who pulled me from the water?" he asked, because he had no recollection of anything after the fall, and he desperately needed a distraction from his roiling stomach.
Galahad and Taliesin looked at each other. "Prince Arthur," said Galahad. "He was quite - well, let's just say I've never seen him move that fast."
It was probably a good thing he was so very cold; there was no danger of his face heating up and turning red.
"He ordered a fire and rode off down the middle of the river," continued Taliesin. "He managed to block your progress with his horse, then he jumped down and dragged you up onto its neck. He mounted again and rode you back to us, stripped you down to nothing, rubbed you all over with a sheet of linen and wrapped you head to toe in his own cloak and bedroll. He held you tight to him until the fire was blazing high, then lay you down with your head near the fire. Your hair was still wet."
Galahad looked at him. "You're a lucky man, Merlin, to serve a man like Prince Arthur."
That he was lucky, he'd realised the first time Arthur had saved his life. And if he were honest with himself, Merlin would admit he liked taking up space in a part of Arthur's heart. Whether or not Arthur would admit it (and he hadn't, not yet, and probably never would, in words) they were friends. But this - putting himself at such a terrible risk when the success of this whole journey was so tenuous, this was humbling in a way Merlin was not used to feeling.
"Thank you," he managed, wrapping up tight in the blankets facing away from the two men, shivering hard and not wanting to see any more of Galahad's slightly pitying look or Taliesin's private smile. After they left, he sat up and risked a weak heating charm on the feverfew potion, and drank it down. He was soon asleep. When he woke later, it was pitch black in the tent and he was finally warm. Arthur lay wrapped around him shoulders to toes, and he relished the break from shivering.
"Better now?"
"Yeah."
Arthur folded Merlin's arms into his chest rubbed his hand up and down Merlin's forearms.
"Arthur… are you OK?" asked Merlin. He didn't know what to expect and didn't really want to explain, but it was plain from what Galahad had said that Arthur was frightened, in his own way.
Arthur took a little while to answer. Then, "I'm fine, Merlin," he said, giving the wrist in his hand a brief squeeze. "Get some sleep. We move on tomorrow."
"Arthur?" said Merlin, his hand wrapping around Arthur's and squeezing back, "Thank you. For everything."
"Yes, well, it's hard to find servants as ridiculously incompetent as you are."
Merlin let slip a quiet snort, and leaned a little heavier back into Arthur's embrace. It wasn't until he had drifted past the point of no return that he thought he heard Arthur say, "And I don't know what I'd do without you."
::-----------------------::
Merlin's head felt much better in the morning, just a dull, lingering ache, but the bubbling tightness in his chest every time he drew breath was far worse, and he could barely catch his breath. He crumpled to his knees by the river and coughed and coughed until he spewed the water he had just drunk all over the sand in front of him. His face was on fire but his body shivered fit to shake him out of his boots. He made his way to the fire where the clothes and winter cloak he'd worn when he fell into the river were finally dried. He was so cold he put the clothes on over the ones he was wearing and wrapped the cloak tight around all.
He turned to the tent, but someone had already taken it down and stowed it. He looked for-
"Pip, is that my horse hitched to the cart?" he said, barely recognising his own voice, it was so deep and full of gravel. The bay mare huddled in the traces behind the roan.
"She's been trained to it," said Pip, "most of 'em here have."
"But where - oh, no," said Merlin. He found Arthur repacking his knives in his saddle bag, but was too winded to sound angry when he said, "Tell me I am not riding with you."
Arthur smirked. "You're not riding with me."
"But-"
"Merlin," said Arthur, putting a hand on his arm. "We need to move on, but you're not yet well enough to ride. I had the cart restowed to make a place for you to lie down. You need to rest."
"But-"
"We will take turns leading the cart horses in your stead," said Arthur. "Your bedroll is already laid out for you. We put it on the last few sacks of grain, so it shouldn't be too lumpy."
"But-"
"No more buts, Merlin," said Arthur, dragging him by the arm to the cart and hoisting him in. There was a little nested area toward the front, and Arthur waited until Merlin was settled in, facing forward so he could see where they were headed. And once he was settled, he was grateful for it; he had so little energy that his morning jaunt left him trembling and exhausted. A coughing fit soon after left him wrung out, as well. He wouldn't have lasted a quarter of an hour on horseback.
"Here's a skin of fresh, clean water for you, and William left you two oat cakes and this" said Arthur, pulling a tiny stoppered flagon from his pocket and handing it to him, along with the skin and one of Merlin's kerchiefs tied up in a bundle. "We'll check on you often, but if you need anything, call out. Oh!"
Arthur trotted back to his horse, dug out a book, and brought it back with a smirk. "If you feel well enough, I think this is something you've been wanting to read," he said, placing the book into Merlin's hands. He was almost back to his horse before Merlin recognised the wood and red leather of the cover.
::--------------------------------::
On this side of the river, the road had a berm, and had not been maintained for years; the paving stones were covered over with dirt packed hard and smooth by many rains and few feet, and all of it carried a fluffy layer of snow where the winds hadn't blown it drifting over the berm. This meant Merlin didn't rattle around the cart as he might have done. The dirt and snow served to muffle the steps of the horses and the noise of the cart wheels, too, so all in all it was a peaceful ride. For a long while, Merlin did nothing but lay wrapped and warm from his ears to his toes and watch the dusky sky, thankful for the cold breeze on his hot face and the top of his head, which felt as though it might blow off every time he coughed. But eventually, he lifted the comfortable weight in his lap and opened its pages. His desire to find out what Arthur had been reading that day was about as intellectual and far removed from carnal curiousity as he could get, never feeling any kind of desire other than for rest, as was usually so when he was ill, but it was better than contemplating the sky for another hour.
Two hours later, as the company were stopping by a stream to refresh the horses, Merlin put the book down. It took him a very short amount of time to realise that his shaking was no longer from the cold.
In his career as a servant to the Prince, he had heard of certain… letters that had been written. Secret letters from a knight in the wars to his intended back home, or of a travelling merchant to his good lady wife. Intimate words, from one lover to another, that had been gathered and told as tales by the bards, in only the latest part of the evening after a feast. Stories they waited to tell until the Ladies of the Court had all retired. The Ecloga were not these kinds of letters. But there was a song… at first, Merlin was hard put to understand that the one Corydon was aflame for was a boy, a boy likely as old as Merlin himself. And while that was a little unusual, it wasn't that Corydon was talking about how to take the boy. To use him. Corydon had said, 'You scorn me, Alexis, and ask not what I am.' And he said, 'Yet love still burns in me; for what bound can be set to love'?
Merlin, for all that the lewd stories had only made their way into the evening's conversation a few times since he came to Camelot, had never seen the prince react with anything other than propriety bordering on indifference. But this, this tale of a man whose love for another man was strong enough to set him aflame, to invoke poetry but not be returned, brought Arthur to his knees. Was it simply the existence of desire? Was it shame? Merlin hoped it wasn't shame that motivated Arthur's lust. Did he allow his lust to express itself because, like Corydon, his desire was chaste - because somewhere, deep down, he understood that he was free from the expectation of his love ever being requited, even as he was sorely disappointed by that? What could this mean?
Perhaps it was simply that Corydon desired another man, that there was the possibility of true love between men… though tales of a man lying with another man for love were not unheard of in the wee hours, either. Could it be that what moved Arthur, what acted as the source of his longing and desire, was the possibility of the strength of love between two men?
Merlin wasn't stupid, and he wasn't prone to looking a hard truth in the eye and giving it a miss. He understood very well that he himself must be whom Arthur considered to be his Alexis, and not simply because Arthur had given him the book to look at in the first place. All the times Arthur had saved him…. As for Merlin, it wasn't difficult at all to admit that he loved Arthur very much, and had for quite some time. Not that he knew what to do about it. Should he question Arthur? Should he hint around it, and see what admissions the Prince might make on his own? Should he let it go, or simply revel in their relationship as it stood, taking every day and every challenge as they came without much in the way of personal acknowledgement?
His mind was too foggy to even consider more. He talked to no one during their brief stop except Arthur himself, who asked Merlin how he was doing but was preoccupied enough not to notice Merlin's turmoil. Merlin began coughing again just as the party started up, and by the time he could stop and wrap his scarf around his mouth and breath in the warm air (which helped), he was so exhausted and his mind so roiling that he shut his eyes to the world and sought the escape of sleep.