Weep You No More Sad Fountains - Chapter 7
Weep You No More Sad Fountains
Chapter 7
Beauty
"The highest and most beautiful things in life are not to be heard about, nor read about, nor seen but, if one will: are to be lived"
Søren Kierkegaard
The branches by the lake were swaying contentedly in the breeze, no woes did they face, only quiet strength in self-assurance. The sun was out but her rays were cool, which cast this watery world into a sense of blue of the peaceful kind. No loud noises disrupted their time, no sudden flashes of movement: the forest was still, apart from the swaying of the branches by the lake.
The water in which Merlin found himself and his King standing in was not cold, however did possess the quality of clinging to their breeches up to the knee, soaking deeply into their skin; fingers lapping at their calves, leaving cool chills where it was reluctant to leave, but the tide’s waves insisted that the water move on: it could visit again shortly.
Merlin and the King were here for a very unique purpose, and one that Merlin did not think would be a reality so soon.
Many, if they looked at the events as they had passed, may think Merlin in danger of losing Arthur’s affection; however, Merlin did not fear such a fantasy, for his friend had made it explicitly clear, not in his words but in his eye, that it was not the truth that vexed and hurt him, but the concealment of it, and the possible doubts Merlin himself might have had to carry out such a task for so long in them.
It was liberating in fact, for Arthur to know.
Merlin before, could only think about what it would be like, however now that he was in such a change of life, a change in the pace to his breathing; he realised that the reality of events and beats in the world are much more different to the anticipation of them. They are more vivid in colour and brighter in voice, and oh how Merlin’s smile which to shine.
When they had reached Camelot that day, Merlin found himself not afraid that Arthur would hate him, for the passion in his actions and the base meaning of him performing what he did spoke more than expression could achieve.
They went into the King’s chambers, somewhat of a solemn and tense atmosphere; this fact could not be denied. But Arthur wished to know all. He sat Merlin down, and with a brow that commanded gently for the truth to be revealed to him, for the knowledge of time, place and manner to be his own to possess also: Merlin gave him all he desired.
It was in moments such as those, that Merlin was able to fully appreciate what a just and fair King Arthur would be. What he is.
After their conversation, broken by a few silent tears on Merlin’s part from the sensations of such a communication, for the surreal feeling of it all was Arthur able to understand Merlin completely: the sacrifices Merlin had made for his King, the pain he had to endure alone and if debt were to be accounted for, then some would say it was the King’s to be paid. However, no such businesses were to be discussed, for what Merlin had done he did it selflessly and for Arthur.
He said nothing for days.
He was quiet on most matters.
That was until he grasped Merlin’s wrist one day after training -- sweat diamonds caressing his naked chest, some finding comfort in the tendrils of the chest hair that gathered finely on his pectorals -- did he gaze into Merlin’s eyes, calling out to him, taking Merlin by surprise and putting him into a daze when he was able to conquer the strange emotions of Arthur’s proximity and heat, to then focus on his own pupil, to see something quite vulnerable. The King then asked:
‘Help me understand, Merlin, help me see.’
And the servant knew they were safe. Through the tender minds and giddy speed of what had happened, they were safe.
Therefore, here did Merlin find himself, in a lake with the King opposite him within breaths distance, simple clothes worn by both, with branches by the lake swaying in the wind as he helped Arthur to understand, understand a portion of his people to which he was blinded to for most of his life.
Before he said anything, Merlin took a time to study his King’s face, a task he was well acquainted with and enjoyed thoroughly; this fact was too true to be contradicted, so he spoke of nothing to his self.
The King’s height, he noted, was indeed the same as his, however of course, the build was far wider with muscle and years of training compared to Merlin’s lean form. However, what made Merlin wish to smile most, was indeed how the King had inclined his head, therefore part of his brow was to be covered somewhat by his hair, and the eye that connected with his was waiting with expectation and a...
Merlin could not say pride, but he could not say anticipation:
He would settle for, ‘eager, quiet curiosity’.
He smiled at his King.
The sentiment was returned, though somewhat hidden.
What Merlin had come to realise was this: the revealing of his true self had not frightened Arthur nor enraged him, but had indeed sparked a something deeper within him that Merlin cherished, for he felt closer to his friend more than he had in all their past dealings. Their friendship, he was enlightened to, had not been broken by silence on matters which could harm one and pain the other due to their separate upbringing and a powerful subtle destiny that was already forming, but had been strengthened by an intimacy in knowledge that Merlin found himself to be...
He wished not to say lucky,
He would settle for simply, ‘closer’.
‘Feel the air, Arthur, feel the wind as it flies.’ Merlin spoke, with tentative happiness.
The King did as was instructed; a display of goose bumps a physical proof.
‘Feel the water, Arthur, feel the lake as it is drawn to you.’ Merlin spoke, with a voice quiet and deep.
The King had closed his eyes now, closing one sense to enhance another.
‘Feel the earth, Arthur, beneath your feet, feel how it moves and breaths like us.’
‘Feel the fire within your heart, Arthur, the same as the earth, the water and the air.’
Upon some moments of silent reflection, the elements and the King in a state of stimulation, did Arthur open his eyes when he felt Merlin touch his wrist.
Merlin smiled his amusements at Arthur’s shock, the way his eyebrows momentarily inclined at the touch, lip forward, eyes concentrated on that one place they were connected and the strange familiarity of an action unknown. He then looked up to Merlin, and once more their eyes engaged.
Merlin swallowed.
‘Magic is in all places, Arthur.’ The pace at which his heart did beat was unnerving, however he did continue, ‘You just have to look closer, listen.’
When Merlin let go of Arthur’s wrist, for a moment, he thought he saw something to mean that Arthur missed that connection.
He struggled and let the sensations pass.
This would be the first time he cast magic in front of his King intentionally, however he was comforted by the knowledge that he was in no danger of death, or losing his friend.
He made sure that Arthur was looking his way, and with a look of pure openness, did he cast a simple spell into his palm. He hoped that by keeping Arthur with him in this, by keeping his eye that he could guide him in a pace which would be pleasing to him and gentle for the other, a pace that maybe words could not attain. He wished for Arthur to see it in his eyes, to witness the gold that passed over them.
Arthur gasped quietly, but otherwise was silent.
Merlin wished not to startle him, and upon his assurance that Arthur could cope, he lowered his hand and revealed the contents.
In his palm, was a tiny flame.
It rippled in its nature, and from the wind’s subtle temper, but remained delicate.
Arthur smiled, just a small something hidden at the sides of his lips, but there was an acceptance, a fragility that demanded to be cared for.
Consequently, this made Merlin exhale suddenly, a breath he knew not he was holding, and a smile beamed across his features.
Arthur looked up, and Merlin realised this was the most exposed they had seen the other.
‘You can hold it too,’ was the first thing that escaped his own lips without his conscious permission.
Arthur looked cautious, tentative, as if he wished to accept the offer but knew not how to ask for it.
Merlin held his wrist once more, feeling the heavy bulk of it, and placed Arthur’s hand gently on top on his own.
By the placement of his thumb, he could feel how Arthur’s pulse did race and run, he communicated reassurance with his face. Arthur’s eyes were locked on their joined hands, and before long, Merlin whispered something else, his eyes glazed gold once more, and the flame grew from Merlin’s hand through and into Arthur’s.
Merlin removed his hand and Arthur was now holding the flame in his large palm.
He shattered out a bark of laughter, the smile remaining.
Merlin knew what a step this was, and felt a sudden twirl around his heart. Upon looking at Arthur again, realised how it did tug at the strings which held his being together.
He smiled also.
The King then looked up and the flame was gone.
The wind blew freely past them.
How things had changed indeed.
This was a new beginning, Merlin mused to himself, a new chapter to their book, a new turn in the world; and he thought they’d be better for it.
Arthur’s eyes were wide, exposed and were trying to communicate. The King then suddenly grasped Merlin’s forearm and the grip was a vice, tight and deadly, the fingers that were his chains unyielding. The King then looked into his servant’s eyes and there, Merlin found no breath could be obtained.
He seemed so sad, so very damaged. The King seemed to wish that what he would say next would be able to carry the weight he thought it needed. And on closer inspection, there seemed to be a blaze of something else: how he knew that holding Merlin so close to him was unbecoming and inappropriate for a man of his station; how he wished to do this anyway and was conflicted between proprietary of social and emotional means. He seemed to be unable to voice this, and by his physical strain this was known to Merlin, but all he wished himself was for Arthur to know that he had been able to converse all of this without the necessity of speech.
‘I-‘ the King began, ‘I will, Merlin-‘ Merlin waited patiently, filled with concern at his friend’s struggle, how he dropped his head, a collapse in composure, but then he lifted it again, and Merlin then realised how very blue his eyes could be, ‘I will lift the ban on magic, Merlin, just-‘ Merlin didn’t fully comprehend when his own mouth had become agape, nor why there was a gathering of water in his vision, ‘Just give me time.’
Never before had Merlin wished to embrace his King with such intensity. The rush was quite sudden and all Merlin could do within what little barriers they had now was to smile.
Arthur saw Merlin completely:
The very real and beating eyes of azure that shone with their waving tides; his clear, fair complexion, the full lips and rosy breath. Arthur noticed a dimple in the middle of his bottom lip, and a sudden wave to taste it overcame his body. The sensation was accompanied by a warm glow in his core at the need to entangle his fingers within the thick blackthorn hair that Merlin possessed. There was kindliness beneath his fingertips which seemed to mature also.
Arthur saw Merlin completely.
And it is what he realised inside which made him flush inwardly himself.
He cherished Merlin’s open smile, the stripped expression of friendship and acceptance, exposed only for him, he knew.
And for one moment, or for as long as was appropriate, Arthur entertained the idea of always having it.
Merlin smiled more, and it grew stronger.
Chapter 8