Merlin Fic: Flight
Title: Flight
Rating: PG
Pairings: Arthur/Gwen, slight (imaginary) Merlin/Arthur
Genre/Warnings: Angst, Drabble, One-Shot
Summary: Sometimes Merlin wishes he could soar to a distance, away from the kingdom, and swerve through the clouds, letting his magic slip freely from his fingertips and embrace him like a soft, warm and welcoming blanket.
Author's Notes: First Merlin fic! I wanted to go furthur with this but I'm testing the waters of Camelot, seeing if it's warm enough to wade in deeper.
Sometimes he wishes he could fly. Like Killargrah did, taking to the navy sky, raining down torrents of fire as he poured out his pain from being chained to damp rock and echoing chambers for two decades. Sometimes Merlin wishes he could soar to a distance, away from the kingdom, and swerve through the clouds, letting his magic slip freely from his fingertips and embrace him like a soft, warm and welcoming blanket.
But at times like these, as Arthur stands at the head of the throne, Merlin remembers the chains round his wrists he clasped himself into, biting into his skin raw and eating to his bones. Unlike the dragon, Merlin is truly the last of his kind and he had, voluntarily, turned the key to his locks and thrown the escape away.
“I will marry her.” Arthur had said to the fire, eyes downcast but determined. His elbow was bouncing on his knee and his leg pressed up against Merlin’s own as they sat side by side, taking watch of the starless night. It seemed with all that had happened - Morgana reappearing devil-like and hell gone loose, the wretched image of Agravaine dying in the tunnel, and Camelot in seize - the stars had flown away, leaving behind the moon to be the Earth’s sole protector. “When this is all over, Guinevere will be my queen.”
Merlin had looked to Arthur who was looking from Gwen’s darkened sleeping form from behind the fire and then to Merlin. The king’s pursed lips and blue eyes sent a gaze Merlin could not understand. In his quickest thoughts, he thought Arthur might have looked at him in question, or in worried apprehension, or hopeful, yet sad expectancy. But they were just that: quick thoughts lost like the stars above.
So Merlin only nodded, said, “Of course,” and leant his shoulder into Arthur’s, smile loose and unbearably uncomfortably wide above the strain of his many heavy chains. “Then Camelot will finally have a queen alongside its king.”
It was easier to smile when Arthur smiled back then, or when it was too dark for the other to see the complete weariness that Merlin held inside of his heart. And even if Arthur had seen, Merlin knew he would never understand what it was like - to willingly chain yourself to something that drains you, which wears you down, fastens you to an empty place in the dark, but yet you can’t leave because you won’t. Because under all that confinement set into stone, there is light. The only light in the world.
And that light shines bright as Arthur takes Gwen by the hand, crown shimmering gold in the afternoon sun and seemingly in its perfect place atop her head, and leads her to sit beside him. Merlin’s smile never breaks but his eyes are unseeing, edged with salt water that blurs his vision and soothes out the sharpness he knows he shouldn’t feel.
One day that light will break the chains and take Merlin away from his prison cave. One day, Arthur will rule Albion and allow magic to flow into the air and fill the skies with more stars than the universe can hold.
And one day, Arthur will finally see Merlin for who he really was and is, and flight would seem like the possible.