Weep You No More Sad Fountains - Chapter 10
Weep You No More Sad Fountains
Chapter 10
Love
“Let me not to the marriage of true minds
Admit impediments. Love is not love
Which alters when it alteration finds,
Or bends with the remover to remove:
O no! It is an ever-fixèd mark
That looks on tempests and is never shaken;
It is the star to every wandering bark,
Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken.
Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks
Within his bending sickle's compass come:
Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,
But bears it out even to the edge of doom.
If this be error and upon me proved,
I never writ, nor no man ever loved.”
Sonnet 116, William Shakespeare
The Princess Mithian: oh what a creature!
She had the beauty that Merlin thought no other women could match, for when the sun shone upon her face, the shadows that fell increased definition and notice; her soft skin lit to perfection and in darkness, her complexion was so that she would glow, and viewers could find the sun within her. She was good-tempered, so obliging and gratifying in fact, that Merlin was surprised that she was able to decide upon anything; however she also did not lack will, and carried herself properly, not unaware of her power but not arrogant enough to accentuate it. She held fire close to her breast. Merlin knew no other women more accomplished than her, more temperate, more kind. The man who was to be her husband, would not only find his bride to be unmatched in physical attributes, but in character and disposition also.
Very stunning indeed, Merlin thought.
The Princess was welcomed to Camelot with all the pleasantries that the Kingdom was able to give; her every comfort was seen to and everyone seemed to find her a most agreeable and an amiable spirit.
Merlin had no illusions as to why she was here.
With Guinevere’s absence and Camelot without a Queen, it was highly recommended by all that the events of the past should be burnt with a new female guardian.
If only memories could be forgot as easily as burning them!
Upon reflection, Merlin could find her without a fault, and it was the talk and gossip of the castle, the entire city, of how very beautiful the Princess was, and giddy suspicion was high as to why she was here on such short notice.
Merlin tried his best to avoid the conversation detailing her, but wherever he went, wherever his duties took him, he found that she was the prime topic in all communications; some courageous, or foolish few even asked Merlin himself if the King had any intention towards her, for they would love Camelot to be blessed with such a face, and it would be a most shameful crime to leave those graces to the grave and leave the world no copy.
Merlin found himself trapped, and despite his best efforts, he felt every pang possible in her presence, whether that be in person or in speech.
Merlin thought it was not in his disposition to truly hate anyone, and found his labours fruitless in trying to loathe the Princess. He knew the feat was limitless as it was pointless, but with a radiance so strong as he was presented with: what he loathed most ardently was to have to admit that she was a most worthy candidate for the King’s heart as any other fine lady. No matter how much energy he disposed, Merlin could not find a flaw worth attention or exaggeration to soothe the ache that had perpetuated within his chest.
He would be happy, indifferent to Arthur’s choice of bride, and resolved to continue his silence. The beating within his breast would have to be satisfied with minimal nutrition: for he could not reveal such truths, and therefore rested the feeling, restrained it continuously as it thrashed and throbbed in refusal; he did not listen to its pleas, despite the futility the knowledge in it would not be rested, or reside, could bring.
XxXxX
‘Merlin, undress me,’ Arthur spoke as they entered his chambers to retire for the night, ‘Did you not think the feast went well?’
Yet another banquet in her honour was held, and Merlin was subjected to the torture of seeing the Princess so close to the King. Merlin thought there was a slight comfort in the fact, for every movement she made, he reversed, but settled that to confliction over sharing his throne with someone he didn’t know.
The King was smiling as Merlin dismantled his robe, ‘Yes,’ the answer contained a positive assurance, and that was all.
The King turned and his grin increased, his eyes possessing a somewhat knowing aura, or perhaps smug, Merlin was unsure, ‘Do you not think her beautiful, Merlin?’
How could he refuse?
Merlin turned his back in hopes any emotion conveyed would be undetected.
‘Yes, she is very beautiful,’ Merlin said, his voice distant but his words sensible.
After a beat, he went back to assisting the King.
Once he was comfortable and ready for the night, Merlin was prepared to leave, the air too thick to be handled, that was until the King said something entirely unexpected,
‘Do you find me handsome, Merlin?’
Merlin froze, while adjusting the laces on the King’s nightshirt, momentarily. There was complete confidence in the answer that would be given, and, if he were in less of a flustered state, Merlin may have found grounds to be vexed with his arrogance.
‘No,’ the word leaped out into existence without his conscience thought, and felt his blood rise in temperature and feared his face was just as hot.
He daren’t look at the King, who seemed as a menacing presence in front of him, taunting; Merlin had no doubt there was to be a grin on his face, his eyes filled with mirth, which only made him more distressed and took deliberate pains to avoid his pointed look.
He heard the King chuckle softly.
Merlin felt an irregular heartbeat overcome him, and suddenly wondered if his misstep might be recovered.
Stepping away, adjusting the sheets, he spoke again, careful to level his voice,
‘Well... you’re not ugly,’ His mind had abandoned him the moment he heard the King’s amusement in a bellow of laughter, the roaring hum in his chest audible.
He looked down, ‘Yes,’ was his final statement and rushed for the door, no obstacles in his way.
He was almost able to complete his goal until Arthur called out to him, quite innocently, which made his tone obviously teasing, ‘Merlin,’ he was obliged to stop, and turn.
He steeled his face; put all pains into not portraying what was raging inside.
The King leered with excellently covered hilarity, his eyes piercing, penetrating; his tall, firm, upright figure imposing,
‘You’re blushing, Merlin.’
Then he turned for the night, signalling Merlin’s departure.
Merlin knew not what to do with himself, suddenly very conscious of his colour, and provoked beyond all remark, exited with haste.
XxXxX
The morning brought no relief, and Merlin found himself feeling most foolish and highly ashamed.
There was to be a hunting trip today, for the Princess loved hunting.
Merlin would rejoice if someone could find reason why she was not Arthur’s match!
During the exercise, Merlin trailed behind as far as was polite and necessary while the King and Lady Mithian spoke gaily together.
His reverie, caught between pain and frustration, was broken by his King’s voice,
‘Are you not enjoying yourself, Merlin?’ his teasing manner had not subsided with sleep, Merlin thought regretfully.
He did not answer, thinking that would be answer enough.
The King, smiled to himself brightly, and due to keeping his head forward and watching his step for any protruding roots, what the King said next was definitely a surprise, and almost made him lose balance as much as it snapped his concentration, ‘After today, you can do as you wish; in fact, I believe what I’m saying is: you’re allowed the day off.’
Merlin now looked to him in shock, confused for his benevolence, but he was only met with a self-satisfied smirk from his King, the act possibly inappropriate for someone of Arthur’s title, but he gave the offer in such a way that it somehow seemed to give himself more amusement than it did wound any pride; with this, he rode on to catch up to the deserted Princess, and Merlin was left to lament on what to do with moments such as these, where his pulse pounded so infuriately.
XxXxX
After assuring himself the King would be able to handle himself for the rest of the night, preparing clothes and such, Merlin found himself thoughtless as to what to do now.
He was not used to such liberties and found it most infuriating that the King could be able to have such an effect on him: to bring about such disorientation.
However, all feelings ebbed into a warm beating, which Merlin found himself smiling contentedly at for only a moment.
He helped Gaius run a few errands for a few hours, finding complete idleness restless with him. Once Gaius shooed him away, telling him all was well, to enjoy himself, Merlin was left with a feeling of possibility.
He decided to cherish what little time he had, and made his way through the upper district, into the lower town, and out of Camelot.
There was a large dirt path heading south which Merlin enjoyed, took a walk there if ever he could. He found the air most agreeable, the wind a chilling refreshment, and decided to forward his step to the oak tree yonder. It was to the right of the path, healthy in colour and steady in standing, with a bench pleasantly placed beneath it.
Merlin found the bench, sat upon it, and gazed at Camelot in the evening twilight, but no vivid colours were in the sky, for there were clouds, grey and black gathering.
The castle was certainly magnificent, and from the angle to which the tree had grown, upon a bend in the road it was, he found he was out of sight from the main wall.
Now, alone and lonely, Merlin’s mind reflected upon the nauseous swell which had been creeping upon him as of late.
All his own desires were futile to obtain, his wishes unforgivable, his prayers unheard, but he did not blame a soul for why he found himself to the brick of tears, only that he should feel anything so strongly at all.
The wind blew past him, darkness came.
He did not know how long he had been seated there, shaking with cold or with the effort to be contained he knew not, but a rustle disturbed all things.
He looked, alert, to his side, and found that the King was appearing out of the alcove of forest beside him.
He immediately protested to look at his gaze, for he was in a most vulnerable position, and wished with passion that he could be anywhere but here!
He stood and walked a few paces, breathing heavily through his chest, yet fast and stammered, eyes tense with tears which he refused to let fall now.
Arthur was behind him.
‘How are you Merlin?’
Why was the King here? Merlin wondered, sniffing, was this evening not meant to be his to be spent in peace? He was blown by the intensity in Arthur’s concern, and found all function hopeless.
‘You must be attached to Camelot, are you not, Merlin?’
Merlin was almost surprised enough to turn around, not understanding why Arthur should ask such a thing, but found his lips quivering to answer with, ‘Yes, extremely, I believe.’
There was a pause, and the wind blew once more for the last time.
‘And, you would be said to part from it?’
His hoarse voice was tangling with Merlin’s ear so sweetly, ‘Yes, sire.’
Arthur hummed in consideration and said no more for a few moments.
‘Come sit down with me,’ Arthur motioned with his hand as if offering, but Merlin still did not turn, could not see his act, could only hear his clothes twist tightly around his body as it too must have twisted.
‘No, sire. Indeed I wish-’
‘I insist.’ This was a stern and unyielding demand, and when Merlin prepared himself enough to be able to look at the King without visible pain, did he find that Arthur was already seated, looking quite seriously ahead of himself.
Merlin sat beside him, and mirrored his position unconsciously, now both staring forward at Camelot as the moon showed her light upon the path.
‘What do you think of Princess Mithian?’
Merlin whimpered silently.
This was a blow, yet he would not let it prostrate him.
‘You have already asked, sire, and I have told you she is very beautiful.’
‘So you believe I should marry her?’
Merlin hesitated, ‘If you find it necessary then-’
Arthur hummed again, and Merlin felt the beat fall upon him with suppressing weight.
‘Then you are going to be married, sire?’ Merlin hoped no dampness seeped into his words.
‘Very soon, at least according to rumour,’ that answered nothing and did not satisfy Merlin to the smallest degree; he found it clenched at his heart.
‘It will be a barrier, sire,’ Merlin resumed the conversation, ‘from your happiness if you do not love her, and from everything you can do and-’
‘And? From what, Merlin?’
‘From me, sire.’
He said this almost involuntarily, and with his free will crushed, did the tears finally gush out. He did not collapse so to be heard though, he did not sob.
‘I believe we are akin, do you not think, Merlin?’ Arthur said as if bemused, his voice strong and rumbling in his throat.
Merlin was surprised, his heart was still.
‘I’ve noticed recently Merlin that I hold a strange regard to you, I feel it when we are close: as now, and it calls for you when you are away: it is as if I had a string somewhere under my left ribs, tightly knotted to a similar string situated in the corresponding quarter of your little frame.’ He smiled, melancholy, seeming to be lost in thought, ‘And if I am to be married, I am afraid that bond we share will be snapped; and then I've a nervous notion I should take to bleeding inwardly. As for you, you'd forget me.’
‘I could never-’
‘Look, Merlin, is this not a fine night?’
Merlin sobbed convulsively; for he could repress what he endured no longer; he was obliged to yield, and he was shaken with acute distress.
But upon Arthur’s proceeding to talk again, and not to what wrenched Merlin most, he stood up in his state and turned to him, completely broken,
‘Do you think that I feel things differently to you? Do you think because I am poor, a servant, and beneath you that I feel nothing, that I have no heart, no soul?’ Merlin’s voiced trembled, his throat was wet, ‘Well I have just as much heart as you, just as much soul, and if I had any power over you I would make it as difficult for you to leave me as it is for me to leave you. I have had these feelings crushing at my chest, without the relief of communicating anything to a single creature; and if you were just to ask, I could produce enough emotion that would satisfy even you.’ Merlin ended in a series of sniffs, breathing overpowering, and proceeded to walk away from his torture, for it was impossible to stay.
There was a flash, and thunder cracked the skies, rumbled to the earth.
‘Merlin!’ Arthur called, firmly desperate.
‘Go away!’ Merlin cried, but found that Arthur had grabbed his wrist, arm around his waist, and secluded him to the intimate area.
The clouds cracked around and rain suddenly poured forth down. Both were soaked to the bone within seconds of the torrent.
Merlin struggled for all his worth, with all his might, ‘Let go of me!’ he shouted.
‘Merlin, Merlin, do you trust me?’
‘No.’
‘Do you think me false?’
‘Absolutely.’
‘Merlin, I will not marry!’ He exclaimed with a voice so taunt Merlin feared the release; he stopped trying to escape, and looked into Arthur’s eyes, and found his breath escaping him. He had placed his other hand of Arthur’s collarbone, but was insensible of it.
‘I feel the same,’ Arthur pushed out as if it pained him, ‘I thought I could overpower it by marrying Guinevere, but in denying my feelings, a force greater than God struck me down, I was punished with dishonour! So, if I cannot marry you, Merlin, then I will not marry at all.’
Arthur breathed at a pace so quick. His eyes were wild, desperate, hopeful and... so very tired.
‘I cannot make speeches, Merlin,’ he soon resumed, in sincere, genuine tenderness, ‘You know what I am. I have blamed you, lectured you, and you have borne it better than I deserve, you see, you understand me. I may be a King, but I am also a man, and you have bewitched me Merlin, body and soul.’
Merlin saw how the pupil pleaded to be understood, begged for his forgiveness, the iris wept around the black, and Merlin then realised that Arthur’s face was beaded with tear stains. It was hard to distinguish against the rain, but he found them, and noticed how wet Arthur’s hair was.
His heart stopped, he could not believe it: Arthur was telling him the truth.
Mouth agape, he asked,
‘Are you earnest?’
Arthur paused to breathe, then answered on the exhale,
‘Absolutely.’
Merlin whimpered at the mirror, smiled, found his lips convulsing, as he gazed into Arthur’s blue eyes, earnest.
And then, what ecstasy did vibrate, shudder and pleasantly assault his being!
He found his lips tangled into a perpetual smile: to have these sensations of loyalty, friendship, forbearance and love reciprocated by Arthur himself!
The King smiled, allowing himself a victory he found worthy of such displays.
Merlin felt drained, positively empty of all tension, now loose, unravelled.
He heard the rain around him, yet he did not care for it.
He was suddenly aware of how close Arthur was to him, and his eyes darted to his lips momentarily before returning to his eyes when he saw them being licked. Arthur swallowed, his throat muscles moving with the action.
He shivered; a combination of raptures and chill alike, but the latter did not matter, for Arthur’s arms were tight, and warm, his frame supporting Merlin’s.
Merlin was indeed speechless from his happiness, only strengthened, intensified and lengthened by Arthur’s smile, his crooked couple of teeth of the right side of his upper jaw showing and on pearly display, his eyes beaming and slightly tearful, all inhibition to hold them in extinct in Merlin’s radiance.
Merlin’s hands, completely entrapped within his glee, made a tentative action to accomplish a task he so ever much had desired to do before: he raised them, shaking, to mould with Arthur’s cheeks. The move was slow, but not from uncertainty, but from utter overwhelming that he could, and that no resistance would be met: all this, from Arthur’s tried and tired features, was communicated.
When Merlin’s hands were in place, he made note of how every unique Arthur’s skin felt, maybe tough ordinarily, however made soft and wet from the water above them. Merlin’s heart was beating at a most irregular exhilarated pace: spasms of suppressed sensation bursting from its seams, and the cascading fall did wonderment to his blood flow. And what made it pound harder, more profusely, was the manner in which, upon the contact, Arthur closed his eyes, the lids tensing, leaned into the touch as if it was a treasure, something precious, something that cured him; that Merlin’s touch soothed all wounds within.
Merlin gasped at the unexpected reaction, was joyful for it, and merrily feared how he could not contain such feelings, when the object of his desires was so close, and so warm against the rain.
Arthur then licked his lips, looking to Merlin’s, and he realised how very soft, and small his breathing was. Arthur then leaned closer, resting his head on Merlin’s forehead, closing his eyes, and for a short while, there tete-a-tete was silent, and filled Merlin’s veins.
Drink up any decadence that might follow them, the fall was indeed very much worth the landing!
Arthur then broke the spell by straightening his head, and Merlin did the same. He was suddenly very aware of what they were now entitled to and it was both exciting and brilliant. Merlin smiled with joyous nerves. Arthur looked at him intently from beneath his soaked lashes, his blonde hair dampened a darker shade, and Merlin continued to smile, unadulterated, carefree, as did Arthur. He then inched closer, pausing, brushing Merlin’s nose, the servant laughed, and also brought himself closer, both breathing tenderly as lips then melted together.
They were still as Merlin wept with euphoria, eyes closed.
Arthur moaned, and continued to kiss Merlin as passionately, as intimately as he could.
The plump padding of Arthur’s lips were intoxicating to Merlin, their wet texture and firm pressure stimulating to his pleasures. They moved against his with force, slowly, yet purposefully, nervous yet determined, all with a pure bliss of feeling. Arthur coaxed Merlin to open his lips, and he felt an even wetter muscle caress his lips. Upon knowing what it was, and what it intended, Merlin groaned softly and granted the tongue entrance, mixing it with his own as the beasts stroked, and dazzled together, soothed with dancing desperate lips.
Arthur moved his hands, huge and sweetly invading against Merlin’s skin, and slid them under his tunic to find and hold tender, sensitive skin on his lower back.
A warmth, greater than he thought possible, permeated through his body and he brought Arthur closer with his hands, wrapping an arm around his neck, tangled his fingers with the drenched hair, rough against his fingers. Arthur growled strongly yet quietly, as he aligned Merlin’s body with his own and pressured the surfaces to meet in perfect harmony, arms coiling around his waist.
Merlin lost himself in that kiss, found absolute ambrosia in Arthur’s taste, felt shivers, stammers, starts in his heart and was flooded with elated euphoria.
Heat radiated from each body, adsorbed by the other.
Merlin couldn’t breathe after a while, but didn’t realise the fact until it came almost deadly, and finding he could not breathe Arthur, they mutually inhaled the air around them, eyes still closed.
In that moment, if Merlin were to die, he thought he’d die happy, and with no regrets.
Contented bliss flowed, and Arthur resumed their previous activity with eagerness and smiles.
When lightning struck a nearby tree, they broke apart abruptly, looking to each other in their exhilaration, and, with Arthur taking Merlin’s hand, and kissing him along the way against any vertical surface, whether that be tree or fence, led Merlin back to the castle.
When they approached the courtyard, they found shelter from the thunder, from the storm in an open passage besides the main entrance, supported by pillars.
Here, not caring for onlookers, Arthur pressed Merlin against the stone wall, and licked into his welcoming mouth, caressed by enthusiastic, ecstatic lips.
Their clothes were damp, clinging to their skin, but neither cared when such practises could be accomplished with a most satisfactory result.
Neither even flinched when the thunder roared or the rain raced against the stone, against the pillars of the passage.
Merlin knew that he shouldn’t let Arthur conquer him completely, but he could not resist, could not resist the warmth he promised with every touch of his hands, every embrace of his lips.
The storm raged above them, loud and boisterous, but they were sheltered.
Hands stroked necks and twisted in hair, fabric was forgotten.
Merlin, a thought entered his mind momentarily, of how no good could come of this, and as he, for a brief few seconds, waited for the rain to pour life down upon them, thought that before he thought he could never hold onto something this good.
And for the first time, Merlin believed he was good enough for Arthur.
They had a chance for happiness, and were taking it with fervour and passionate impatience.
Arthur broke their connection this time, and smiled excitedly at Merlin, completely stripped bare of all pretences.
What made the bliss all the more special and moving, was that: Merlin craved Arthur’s heart, and here he was, giving it to him, bleeding in his hand.
Merlin surged forward and kissed his King for an unknown time.
They were so reluctant to part, but part they must, and only sweet talking of how the sooner they parted, the sooner they could be together, did ease the action’s pain of having to let go.
‘Go,’ Arthur spoke, still holding Merlin, still kissing him frequently.
Merlin laughed.
‘You’ll catch a cold,’ he said, showing no signs of removal.
Merlin held his large frame closer.
But on a crack of lightning, did they finally stop, but the pounding of their hearts never would.
Arthur still held Merlin’s hands, seeming so easy to crush, and decided it would be best to kiss his servant again, grabbing him forcefully, the sensations of light-headedness prolonged.
‘I must go,’ Merlin spoke finally, punctuated by sudden pecks from Arthur, until he, too, let him go.
Now parted by more than a few paces, Merlin felt the full extent of the weakness in his legs, and never parted his eyes from Arthur.
He walked at an angle, afraid to look away; in case this was a dream, for all attributes of a dream did it hold.
Arthur just grinned, fixed to the spot in the outdoor passage.
‘Until tomorrow, Merlin,’ Arthur called quietly, so that only he could hear him despite the lack of audience, but loud enough over the bellows of the storm. And Merlin thought him an idol in that moment, for he looked not only all that a man should be, looked every measure tried, but irrevocably happy, and Merlin was the cause.
Merlin smiled, contentedly, shaking with sensations inwardly and exterior, and upon entering the warmth of the castle, only thought one touching thought:
Just take care, in what you ask of me, Arthur, because I could never say no...
Chapter 11